and Amber's respect for her grew, if anything. This was a woman who had the strength to survive.
Amber resolved to try herself, and after discovering Amber's state, Beatta felt for the younger woman and gave her some tips. She first asked Amber if she was prepared to do whatever it took, if it came to it. Trepidation set like a stone in Amber's belly, but she assented, and Beatta told her what she needed to know.
Amber had lost some weight, but if anything her slim waist emphasised her curves, and with her soft brown eyes and full lips, she knew she was considered pretty. Her first time, she didn't even have to let herself be touched; she simply smiled at the guard, a young Tingaran growing his first stubble.
She received frowns from some of the other women, but that night, she ate better than she had in weeks. Amber didn't care. She wasn't doing it for herself. She was doing it for her child.
Beatta had her own reason to live. The Halrana woman had been separated from her husband and child at the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta and was desperate to be reunited with them. She spoke constantly about her son, and Amber reassured Beatta that her family would be waiting when they both escaped to Altura. Amber didn't feel bad about potentially giving Beatta false hope — determination had to come from somewhere.
Amber knew now that Miro was alive, and had been in command at the Bridge of Sutanesta. Amber had also heard that an enchantress, a young woman barely out of the Academy, had created the bridge of light that saved so many lives. It was the last time Amber could remember smiling. It could only be Ella.
She pictured Miro and Ella now, remembering the last time the three of them had been together, the day Amber and Ella had graduated from the Academy of Enchanters. Amber remembered sitting close to Miro, their legs touching, both knowing it but neither moving away.
Thinking of Miro was the only thing that kept Amber going. In the darkest days, when hope was at its lowest, she would remember his face, and the things he used to say.
"Mistakes are there to teach you," she could almost hear his voice. "You learn from them, and you move on."
Amber had made many mistakes in her life. But by far, her greatest regret of all was never telling Miro that she loved him.
Amber knew it was absurd to think about it, with life in the prison camp as precarious as it was, but still she couldn't help herself. If she ever did see Miro again, how would he react to her baby?
Igor Samson, Amber's husband, was dead, and she supposed that like so many of the women here she was now a widow, but would Amber and Igor's baby come between her and Miro? Had he found some other woman by now, and forgotten her altogether?
Unless Amber could escape, there was no use thinking about it.
Gazing around the camp, Amber looked again at the metal fence, memorising the layout of the guard stations, running the plan again through her mind.
Finally she sat back down, and once more her eyes met Beatta's.
Soon, they would be free.
~
I T WAS another two weeks before the time was right. In early evening, when the camp was a scene of chaos as the prisoners fought each other to get their one meal for the day, Amber saw an older woman stumble into one of the guards near the eastern side of the fence.
It was the signal.
Amber nodded to Beatta, and the brown-haired Halrana nodded back. Immediately both women began to walk briskly away from the commotion, towards where a storage hut screened part of the western side of the fence.
Amber risked a glance over her shoulder. In the distance she saw the older woman — Ness, her name was — take a knife from her ragged clothing and plunge it into the guard's chest. There was instant pandemonium, drawing guards from all over the camp.
Amber thought about what Beatta had told her about Ness, and prayed that her sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. Ness was a distant relative of Beatta's, and she had the plague.
Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey