The horses screeched in panic as embers fell from the burning ceiling. Smoke swirled; Terrick choked on it as he leaned over me. “Lass!” He touched my arm and cried out when his hand burnt.
Fire rippled across my skin. My clothes had disintegrated, as had my straw bed. And the fire continued to spread, and spread, and spread….
“I’m sorry, lass,” Terrick coughed and sputtered. He raised a knife over his head, his eyes watering. “I’m sorry.” He drove the handle into my temple, rendering meunconcious—unconscious.
* * *
I wasn’t blamedfor the fire.
A stableboy had left a candle in the hayloft. According to the rumors, at least. I’m certain Terrick was the source of that falsity. But no one questioned it. Flames and straw were a deadly mixture, after all. And, with people from the neighboring houses and shops working together to extinguish the flames and rescue those trapped inside, no human or equine lives were lost.
It should have been a relief.
But it wasn’t.
I’d nearly killed again. And that night began the longest and most miserable stretch of my life.
25
Bug Guts
The plus side of having my new teacher? I got to leave my prison every morning and join The Breakfast Club (my name for the group, not theirs).
The downside? Well…
I stared at the goop in my bowl. “Is this bug guts?”
Braxton slid onto the bench beside me, already partially finished with his bowl of bug guts. “Id’s porddridge,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
“Ah, porridge. Of course. How could I have mistaken it for anything else?” I’d never seen porridge look so gray. And slimy. And the way it jiggled when I moved the bowl…
Blech.
“It won’t kill you,” Kaelan laughed as he sat across from me.
“That’s debatable.” I glowered at my bowl. “I miss bacon.Whycan’t we have bacon and eggs for breakfast?”
“There’d never be enough,” a raven-haired woman named Moira answered. She sat diagonally from me and was happily slurping up the porridge.
“Eggs are used for other things, ain’t they?” the blond-haired man, Garvin, added. He wasn’t asking for clarification. He tacked a question to the end ofeverysentence:“Yes, the sky is blue, ain’t it?” “My name is Garvin, ain’t it?”
“Seems an awful waste to eat eggs by themselves,” Belanna said. “The chickens work hard to make them, ye know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jeeze. I didn’t know eggs were such a hot commodity.”
“I’m sure the chickens from yer world can’t lay more than one egg a day,” Belanna said.
“Probably not. But most of our chickens are raised in a lab and pumped full of steroids, so maybe they can. I dunno.”
Five sets of eyes stared at me in shock. And revulsion.
I shrugged. “There are a lot of free-range chickens too. I think. Look, the vegan lifestyle’s not for me. I tried it. And, I’ll have you know, I can make a wicked mushroom and spinach omelet.”
“What’s an omelet?” Kaelan asked.
“What’s an—oh myGOD, you poor deprived child.” I poked at my goopy porridge. “Although maybe it’s agoodthing you’ve never had an omelet. You’d never be able to go back to eating this crap…”
This was The Breakfast Club.
