“Of course she did. She’s been training for this her whole life—and by training, I mean backstabbing with a smile and rehearsing her own name like it’s a prayer.”
“She told the etiquette instructor that bowing too deeply is bad for the spine.”
“Well, her spine is probably the only flexible thing about her.”
The silence after our laughter faded stretched longer than usual.
“Have you let yourself think about it very much?” she asked at last.
“What?”
“If you win. What you’d actually do.”
I turned to face the wall more fully, and Roz looked up at me. I petted its head soothingly. “Of course. Every second.” I blinked, thinking about it even now. “Although, it’s easier to focus on gettingthrougheverything than getting my hopes up, I think.”
“Indeed.” She paused, then said softly, “I think about it a lot too. Even if maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t think anyone from back home really believes I have a chance.”
My hand paused on Roz’s fur. “Why wouldn’t they?” I asked quietly, leaning closer to the little opening between our rooms so my voice didn’t get lost in the cracks.
Anysa made a tiny noise, halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Well … you remember the pie incident.”
I snorted. Yes, I did.
“People don’t forget things like that in a village our size.” She hesitated, then added, barely audible, “I was the only girl left in the village that was the right age for the Trials. They had no choice but to choose me. To them, I’ve always been … a humorous story. A cautionary tale. Not someone who could actually win. I just—I just hope I can prove them wrong.”
My chest tightened. Gods, I hadn’t expected that little confession to land so hard.
“All of us are trying to prove something,” I murmured. Through the narrow gap in the wall, I could almost feel Anysa’s breath, thin and wavering. “Every woman here. Whether we admit it or not. We’re not here solely for our villages.”
Some wanted escape.
Some wanted revenge.
Some wanted power or safety or simply a future that wasn’t forced by someone else’s hand.
Maybe I wanted a little bit of all of that.
And some, like Anysa, just wanted the world to stop doubting them.
“I think you already are proving them wrong,” I said softly. “You’re here. You’re standing beside the strongest women in Sparta. That’s no small thing.”
“Thank you,” Anysa whispered, almost shy. “That helps.”
I cleared my throat, trying to get the excess emotion out. “So what would you do if you won?”
“Feed my village,” she said immediately. “Gods, Helena, you should’ve seen what we ate last winter. Old lentils and jerky and goat milk when my goat could give it. My mother tried to sell her sandals for a sack of moldy barley. All while we watched the palace send shipments of figs for the king’s dogs that lived with the soldiers stationed at every corner.”
I stared at the wall between us and swallowed hard.
“Moldy barley?” I asked quietly, the words tasting wrong even as I spoke them.
“When we were lucky.” Her voice had flattened. No edge, no emotion—just fact.
My stomach turned. I thought of the gilded platters piled high in the palace kitchens. Of the figs soaked in syrup and wine. Of the soft leather sandals we wore to training. Of the scent of roasted meat drifting through the halls at all hours.
The soldiers’ dogs had bellies full while our people starved.
Heat rose in my chest. Not pity, but rage.
