“Whoa there!” His hands come up to steady me, and I stumble back, looking up into his face.
I don’t need this right now. I don’t think my nerves will take it.
“Master Roland.” I step back some more. “Apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No harm done.” He smiles broadly, but his eyes are narrowed as they take me in. He’s a hard man. Fair, but hard. He has to be. We survive rather than thrive. It wouldn’t take much to tip the balance. We all have to pull our weight at all times. “Are you on your way to get your meal for the day?”
I nod. “Yes, Master.” I clasp my hands in front of me.
He studies me for a moment more, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “Good, good.” He nods slowly. “And are you ready for tomorrow’s performance?” He tilts his head.
My throat tightens. “I am. I’m very much looking forward to it.”
I’m such a liar. I hate that I have to lie to survive, but what else can I do?
His eyes narrow, and I wonder if he can read the anxiety written all over my face. “I’ve been hearing things, Isla. Good things, indeed, and all about the new routine you’ve been working on.”
“Oh.” I nod a few times. “That is good to know, Master.”
“I’m expecting great things from you.” He leans in, his voice dropping. “You’ve been with us for two summers now. You knowhow important these performances are, especially at the courts. We need to impress. We need to be…memorable…valued, so that we will be welcomed back with open arms. This is where the coin is. This is where we need to be…where we need to shine.”
There’s an edge to his words. A warning.
“I understand.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “You won’t be disappointed.”
He searches my face for another long moment, then nods. “See that I’m not.” He pats my shoulder once, almost fatherly. “I like you, Isla.”
Kakara help me, but it’s another one of his damned veiled warnings.
“I’ll do my best, Master.”
“I know you will.” He steps aside, gesturing toward the cook fires. “Don’t let me keep you from your meal. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
I nod and hurry past him, my throat suddenly dry. The smell of cooking meat should make my mouth water, but instead, the worry churning in my gut makes me feel a little ill.
I have to be perfect tomorrow. But not too perfect.
I’ll have to dazzle, but not so much that I give myself away.
That’s the impossible line I’ve been walking for a long time now.
No one must ever know.
I can still remember the look of terror on my mother’s face when she said those words to me for the first time. It was the day she found out I could wield magic. She said them to me countless times after. It was the last thing she ever said to me before being dragged away to be stoned to death.
No one must ever know.
The terrible feeling that’s been growing in my chest for weeks now intensifies. It’s like a dark whisper that something bad is coming. It feels like I’m running out of time.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. I’m just nervous. That’s all. Tomorrow will go fine. It has to.
The cook fires come into view, and I join the queue of performers waiting for food. The cook ladles stew into wooden bowls. When it’s my turn, she gives me a nod and an extra piece of bread.
“Thanks, Bess.”
“Eat up, girl. You look like you could use it.”
I take my bowl and move away from the fire, looking for somewhere quiet to sit. I go to the very edge of the sitting area. I don’t feel much like talking.
