Xira POV
As I shuffled out of the kitchen, my legs felt like they were made of lead. I was adrift in the sprawling maze of the packhouse, unsure of where to turn.
Would I be sent back to the pigsty? Would the guard be waiting to haul me back to a cell? The warmth of the stew in my belly was already beginning to fade, replaced by a cold, familiar dread.
"Come with me."
The voice was soft, barely a whisper against the clatter of the kitchen behind me. I turned to see the same maid who had looked at me with something other than hatred in the Eram fields.
She didn't wait to see if I would obey; she simply turned on her heel and began to walk.
I followed her immediately, my head bowed. As I trailed a foot behind her, watching the rhythmic sway of her plain grey skirts, I found myself wishing I had the courage to speak. I wanted to ask her name.
I wanted to say thank you for the water, even if it had ended in a whipping.
