I peek up again, and to my horror, he’s still looking at me. My face heats up faster than Morwen’s ovens.
Great.
Now, I probably look like a tomato with hair.
I force myself to focus on doling out soup to the seemingly endless line of hungry warriors. But every so often, my focus drifts back to that log.
I serve the last warrior his soup, a man so tall I’m half convinced he’s part giant. Maybe that’s where all my height went—this guy stole it.
When the line ends and the last of the warriors have been served, I head back to Morwen’s tent.
“Time to clean up,” Morwen announces as she gestures to the mountain of dirty bowls and spoons.
I eye the pile warily. “Are you sure we can’t toss them in the river?”
Morwen scowls at me. “Get to work.”
I join three other women, who introduce themselves as Brennah, Ava, and Feyona.
Brennah’s brown eyes sparkle with mischief, and freckles sprinkle her nose. She’s young—probably a summer younger than me—with a figure that makes me wonder if the gods got distracted while crafting her and accidentally gave her all the curves they were supposed to spread around. Her nose is pierced with what looks suspiciously like a bone, and I bite my tongue to keep from asking if it’s from the last person who annoyed her.
Ava stands next to her, around forty, with streaks of gray peeking through her brown hair. Her light blue eyes hold a warmth that reminds me of my mother, and I find myself instantly at ease around her.
Then there’s Feyona. If Brennah is a whirlwind, Feyona is the eye of the storm. She looks around eight summers older than me and is strikingly beautiful, with dark hair and bronzed skin that makes me look like I’ve been living under a rock. Her clothes are as dark as her hair.
We gather all the dirty dishes onto a cart, then push it toward the lake. Our feet crunch through a light dusting of snow as we walk to the water’s edge. I eye the water, half-expecting to see fish frozen in place beneath the icy surface.
The frigid air stings my cheeks, and I yank my cloak tighter around myself, trying to block out the cold.
Brennah talks the entire time, seeming impervious to the cold as she regales us with a story about the time she tried ice fishing. I only half-listen, too focused on not slipping on the icypath.
“Well, this looks inviting,” I say. “Nothing says clean dishes like potential frostbite.”
Brennah giggles. “It’s not that bad. Think of it as an invigorating experience.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Invigorating? Is that what we call freezing to death?”
Ava snorts as she rolls up her sleeves. “Less talking, more washing. These dishes won’t clean themselves.”
“Right.” Feyona grabs a cloth and a bar of lye soap as she continues. “Let’s get to it.”
I exhale, then plunge my hands into the icy water. “Hades,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I think my soul just left my body.”
Brennah laughs, her cheeks already rosy from the cold. “You’ll get used to it…eventually.”
“Eventually?” I say skeptically. “You mean when I’ve lost all feeling in my extremities?”
They laugh as we fall into a rhythm, scrubbing the dishes with sand and soap, then rinsing them in the frigid water. My fingers quickly turn red, then an alarming shade of purple.
“So, Everly,” Brennah says, breaking the silence. “You never told us what brought you here.”
I pause with a half-cleaned bowl in my hands. “Probably the overwhelming urge to stick my hands in ice-cold water.”
Sunlight dances in Feyona’s eyes as she rolls them at me. “Truly? What’s your story?”
A sigh escapes me as I focus on a particularly stubborn bit of dried food. “It’s not very exciting. I was looking for work to help my family in Astarobane.”
“And you came all the way to a Bloodstone camp for that?” Brennah asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.
