There is a pause as the older women look at each other.
“That is an unpleasant fate,” she answers slowly, as if measuring her words.
I consider pressing them on this further. I want to know what that fate is. I want to know what I am risking by holding the Dread at arm’s reach. Does my survival rest on making the brute desire me?
“Don’t worry, Lina,” Helena says, touching my arm softly. “You are not in danger. It is the ones who refuse to accept their new reality that struggle the most. You are chosen. You were fought for. You are lovely. And you are fitting into the community well.”
“Truly,” the shorter of the three woman says. “You will be with us a long while, I am sure of it.”
But her smile seems forced. Does she herself not believe that I will be here a long time? I don’t wish to be here a long time, but if my time is more limited than I’d realized, I will have to ensure I take advantage of every possible moment.
I am lost in thought for the next several minutes, soaking in the warm water.
My body feels as if it’s being chased by a shadow beast, fearful of some invisible foe. My soul is soft and aching. My mind drifting into nothingness.
The women continue a soft chatter.
“Under the pit?” one whispers in a hushed tone. “What a tragedy.”
I blink, coming back to reality. The three older women are sitting close as they talk, as if it’s something urgent and perhaps secret.
“How long has she been there?”
“Two or three days.”
“Poor thing.”
“Who is a poor thing?” I blurt out before I reconsider. This conversation is obviously not meant for me, but then again, theyare close enough they should be prepared that I could overhear them.
“Oh, nothing, child,” one of them answers.
“May as well tell her. She’ll hear about these sorts of things eventually,” the shorter one says and without waiting for a response, continues. “One of the servants was caught stealing recently and is now in the dungeons.”
“Dungeons,” I repeat. I do remember Gordian mentioning them.
“Reserved for only criminals. It’s very sad when one of our own community turns out to be so untrustworthy.”
I frown. That is sad. “What did she steal?”
“Some jewelry, I heard.”
“Oh, I heard it was milk.”
Those are two very different crimes. “Why would she need to steal milk?”
The oldest woman pauses before answering. “The servants have limited rations, based on their needs. She doesn’t need more; she just wanted it. We all must accept our role in this community. It is the way. If you resist, you are cast out.”
“We serve the Drak,” the other two say in unison.
Is being hungry truly a crime? “Do we not have enough food to share with all?”
The Drahkitas exchange a look.
Helena’s brow creases. “Of course we have enough. But different roles have different needs. Your needs are so much more than those who work.”
I jerk back from her. Are they? Doesn’t working require more sustenance?
“And what about you?” I ask Helena. “Do you eat your fill, or are you limited?”
