One of us.
I may be well fed and warm, but I’m still a slum rat. I wonder if that will ever change, or if the scars of the last few years will remain, come what may.
‘Okay, so bear with me.’ Llinos lifts up a full-length black gown from the pile. The material is a floaty chiffon with a V-neckline. ‘Try this one. I’ve got an idea.’
Knowing she won’t take no for an answer, I slip it on and stand in front of her.
‘So here’s what I’m thinking.’ She crouches down, picking up a handful of fabric. ‘We do the bottom like last time – take out a panel and have leather fighting shorts underneath. It can be your signature.’
‘And on top?’
‘And on top, we make this a smidgen lower.’ She gestures to the neckline. ‘But the sleeves will be the real statement. We’ll open them up with a slit down from the shoulder, and then I’ll see if I can find some type of wire to hold them open.’
‘Hold them open?’ I repeat dubiously.
‘Yeah, kinda like bat wings.’
‘Bat wings?’ I’ve been reduced to parroting things back to her. It doesn’t sound like the type of thing I’d normally wear.
‘Trust me, you will look phenomenal.’ Llinos reads my reticence and continues, ‘Like a serious badass. Which is exactly how you want everyone to see you, right?’
I can tell from her eyes that she’s desperate to do this, and considering how good a job she did before, I’d hardly feel right saying no. Besides, if cutting up all my gowns brings her joy, then I’m not going to stop her.
‘Fine,’ I groan, though a smile curls my lips. ‘Do your thing.’
It’slate by the time Llinos leaves, and despite the long day, sleep doesn’t come. My body obviously feels like it’s rested enough.
In addition, something’s been weighing on my mind since I first got here, and it feels like it’s time I do something about it. So, after getting up and dressed, I make my way to the kitchens.
Just as I hoped, Leilah is still there, wiping down the last of the kitchen sides. She doesn’t bother looking up as I enter.
‘It’s late,’ she says bluntly. ‘We’re not serving food now.’
‘I know,’ I say quickly.
As she lifts her head, her eyes sweep me up and down and then soften a little. ‘Looks like you could do with more.’
‘I’m not here for me,’ I respond. ‘And I don’t need food. Not like they do.’
Her brow furrows.
‘People in the slums are starving,’ I explain. ‘Really starving. There are children barely surviving on a meal a day. Not even that sometimes. And meanwhile, up here, we have these feasts where half the food isn’t even eaten. There’s so much waste. So I was wondering – hoping – if we could somehow arrange for the leftovers to be taken to the slums?’
‘You want to send them half-chewed chicken legs and smears of mashed potato?’ She arches an eyebrow.
‘Yes. Anything and everything you have left over. Please.’
A soft sigh escapes her lips. ‘I don’t have the means nor the time to arrange a carriage to carry it down.’
‘If you can just contact a friend of mine in the slums, he’ll see it done. He’ll arrange it all.’ Ruben would help organise it. Iknowhe would. And after all the deaths of the first trial, it would be great to have something actually worth celebrating, like starving people getting the food they deserve.
Leilah presses her lips together. ‘I’ll need to get someone’s authority to do so. Leave it with me.’
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
I make my way back to my room, but I still feel edgy. Rather than poring over the books from the library, the way I’ve done most nights, I find myself staring at the box the dagger came in, wondering if there’s a clue in it. Something that will reveal more about its origin. If I can just find a symbol, then maybe I could give that to Caroline to look into. After all, it would be great if I felt comfortable enough to use it in a trial at some point, without fearing what it would do.
The box is ornately patterned with swirls and wooden inlays, but there’s nothing discernible in the way of symbols or letters that I can make out. It just looks like a very pretty box.
