“It’s none of your business is what it is,” Acte said as she ushered me into the center of the room. “Wait here. Don’t move. Don’t touchanything. Don’t even breathe too loudly. Or the Erinyes will come and pluck out your eyes.”
“The Erinyes only pluck out bad people’s eyes.”
“And those of misbehaving slaves,” she warned.
Before I could reply, Acte turned on her heel and stalked out of the door.
The chamber somehow felt larger in her absence, the walls looming so high I feared they might topple down on me at any moment. Even so, I kept still, hands knotted behind my back, muscles drawn in so stiffly they began to itch.
I will behave, Mama.
Time trudged past, and Acte’s threat began to grow distant in my mind, unraveled by fingers of curiosity tugging at my thoughts. After what felt like a small eternity, I dared a single step forward. Pausing, I waited for the Erinyes to swoop down on their wings of vengeance and claw at my eyes. But only silence greeted me. I took a few more tentative steps, and that silence held, the expanse of it like an open, beckoning palm.
Wondering if Acte had forgotten about me, I began to drift around the space. For a big room, it had very little within it, the towering walls empty save for two giant crossed spears. To one side, there was a table littered with tablets. I picked one up at random, tracing my fingers over the swirly shapes etched into the wax, wondering what it mustbe like to be able to read such strange markings.
Nobody taught my kind to read. Especially not girls.
My eyes fell to an unsheathed sword lying beside the tablets, the blade winking dangerously in the moonlight. I went to touch it, wondering if it felt as cold as it looked, but my attention was caught by a table on the far side of the room. Here, an array of fresh, untouched fruit had been piled high—plump apricots, shiny olives, grapes sitting fat on the vine. Though it was the tray of honeyed figs that drew me to the table, my mouth watering as I eyed their pink, glazed flesh.Could I…
I stuffed a fig into my mouth, swallowing so quickly I almost choked. Glancing around the empty room, I took another. This time, I chewed slowly, savoring its rich, gritty sweetness on my tongue. Though we prepared this food daily for our masters, the meals we ate never tasted like this.
Before I could stop myself, I shoveled three more figs into my mouth, one after the other. My belly gurgled contentedly as I licked my fingers, eyeing the rest of the food, wondering what else I might try.
Melanthius will be so jealous when I tell him about this…
Someone cleared their throat, shattering the silence.
Shock locked itself around my muscles, a honey-coated finger suspended midway to my mouth. Turning stiffly, I found a girl watching me, eyes glinting like polished silver. She was standing in the doorway to an adjoining room, as still and silent as the shadows around her.
How long had she been there?
My mouth went dry as I watched her walk into the pool of moonlight reaching between the pillars. She looked only a little older than I, yet she was considerably taller with long, slender limbs.
She stopped a few feet away, and we stared at each other, seconds tumbling into minutes. I knew I should not have been gawking. I had been taught to keep my eyes on the floor when in the presence of our masters. But I could not help it.
The girl was the most striking thing I had ever seen.
She looked like she belonged in the realm of the divine, stitched from shadows and moonlight and secrets, all things beautifully mysterious. Her face was narrow and delicate, her eyes a peculiar shade of gray, like the great Goddess of Wisdom herself. Her dark hair was plaited neatly around her head, so tidy compared to my wild mane of rust-red curls.
I could tell from the gleam of her spotless, olive skin that she was not like me. Her clothing confirmed it, too, swathes of deep purple pinned at her right shoulder by a golden brooch. Only royalty wore purple—that’s what Mother said.
I glanced down at my tattered tunic, marred with stains even older than I. It was far too large for me, hanging below my knees, and was the only item of clothing I owned, handed down by my brother and countless children before him.
“Are you Princess Helen?” I breathed.
“What makes you ask that?” Her voice was deep for a girl’s yet flowed with an elegance so unlike the accents of those I had grown up with.
“Mama says Princess Helen is the most beautiful girl ever born. She’s the king’s daughter.”
“Are you trying to flatter me so I won’t inform the king of your pilfering?” she asked. At my frown, she added, “Pilfering means stealing.”
“I know that,” I lied, crossing my arms. “And I wasn’t stealing nothing.”
“That’s incorrect.”
“Is not,” I shot back.
Her lips twitched upward. “Your phrasing, I mean. You should either say youwere notstealing, or youstole nothing.”
