Wallis frowned. ‘That’s not even enough to—’
‘I know,’ Lyndal said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
She turned to a young mother holding a girl around three years of age, stilling when she caught sight of the girl’s face. Her eyes were closed, her skin grey and lips blue. Lyndal stepped around the pot and carefully placed a hand on the girl’s chest.
No heartbeat.
No movement at all.
She pulled her hand back as though burned. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The woman stared at her with bloodshot eyes. ‘She’ll be all right once I get some food into her. Please.’
Lyndal swallowed. ‘Your daughter is dead. I’m sorry.’
The mother shook her head, eyes watery. ‘She was crying all morning, said her stomach hurt. A bit of soup will fix her.’
It was not the first time Lyndal had encountered mothers unable to accept the loss, mothers who had sacrificed every morsel of food so their child could eat, only to discover it was still not enough.
‘I’ll have someone help you,’ Lyndal said quietly.
‘You shut your mouth!’ the woman fired back, clutching her daughter as tears spilled over and fell down her cheeks. ‘I’m not leaving until you hand me a bowl.’
Astin stepped between them. ‘Lower your voice,’ he told the woman, signalling to another defender.
‘My daughter has as much right to this food as anyone else here,’ the woman screamed.
Astin took her by the arm and pulled her out of the line. ‘Your daughter is dead, and the food is for the living.’ He handed the woman over to the waiting defender. ‘Find out if she has family in the borough, and take care of the girl.’
The defender nodded and led the woman away.
Wallis dropped the bowl she was holding and pressed a hand to her chest. ‘She’s really dead?’
Lyndal bent and picked up the bowl, brushing it off and handing it back to her. ‘That’s why we’re here. Keep going.’
Wallis took the bowl from Lyndal’s trembling hand and turned back to the pot.
‘Everyone all right?’ Astin asked when he returned.
Lyndal forced a smile and faced the line. ‘Who’s next?’
They continued filling bowls until every pot was empty. Then they added a little water to each pot to collect the fat around the edges, handing that to the next family in place of soup. An older man took the final bone, and then there was nothing left to hand over.
A woman was next in line, a girl clinging to her leg and another on her hip. Her face collapsed when she realised the pots were all empty, and a hand went over her face in an attempt to hide the devastation from her children.
It broke something in Lyndal.
If she was hot before, she was boiling now as she tried to keep her emotions contained. ‘I need some air,’ she said, moving away from the fires.
‘Are you all right?’ Wallis called to her back.
Lyndal covered her ears to block the growing noise coming from the line of people. Anguish poured out of the merchants, filling the square.
Black spots danced in her vision, and just as she felt herself begin to tilt, Astin appeared, catching her around the waist. ‘Clear the square,’ he shouted to an approaching defender. ‘And help the maid.’ He pressed a hand to Lyndal’s burning cheek. ‘Let’s get you cooled down.’
She wanted to object, tell him she was fine, but the numbness in her body suggested otherwise. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘What doesn’t make sense?’
