Sally clasps her hands and nods, but the tray doesn’t even move. “Precisely.” She hands me the golden platter with a smile. “Now, your turn.”
Taking a deep breath, I lift the tray onto my head. It wobbles as I struggle to find my center of balance. My hands shoot up to steady it, and Sally clicks her tongue.
“Elbows in, back straight. Imagine a string pulling you up from the crown of your head.”
I adjusted my posture, and the tray steadies slightly.
“Better. Now walk.”
I take one tentative step, then another. The tray teeters, but I manage to keep it—and myself—upright. After a few laps around the room, my neck and shoulders start to ache.
“Good.” Sally claps. “Now we’ll add some weight.”
She places cups of water on the tray, starting with two and increasing steadily until it’s covered. The addedweight presses down, and every muscle in my body tenses to keep everything balanced.
For hours, I practice walking back and forth, turning carefully, switching the hand I use to steady the tray. Sweat rolls down my back, but I begin to find a rhythm. Pride and confidence swell within me, and I make the mistake of smiling.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Sally warns, reading my thoughts. “Next, we’ll practice serving.”
“Wait, what have I been doing?” I ask, catching my breath.
“Walking.” She gives me another thin smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Now you need to learn how to present the tray to guests.”
She swiftly removes the tray from my head. I wince and pinch my eyes shut, expecting the glasses to spill and water to rain down. When nothing happens, I open my eyes, and Sally has the tray perfectly balanced, not a drop spilled.
“When a guest beckons for you to stop, you must slowly lean forward by bending at the waist until your torso is parallel with the floor.” She demonstrates, rolling the tray smoothly along the back of her head to rest flat against her upper back. “This allows them to take what they wish with ease.”
My jaw hangs open. “You want me to be a human table?”
Her nostrils flare as she takes in a deep breath. “If you wish to call it so,” she replies coolly. “Now it’s your turn.”
With the tray loaded and balanced on my head, I attempt to mimic her movements. I bend forward, butthe moment I do, the tray tilts. Cups slide, and before I can attempt to catch them, my dress is soaked.
From the corner of the room, Ronan observes with his arms crossed. “Again,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.
When Sally’s back is turned, I shoot him a withering glare before I grit my teeth and try again. And again. And again. Each attempt ends the same way—with me drenched and frustrated and Ronan’s infuriatingly calm voice urging me to repeat the process.
By the end of the day, exhaustion weighs down my limbs. I haven’t managed a single successful attempt at the “human table,” but I have managed to drown myself over and over again. I groan after my last attempt, muscles I didn’t know I had screaming in protest.
Luckily, Sally finally relents. “That’s enough for today. We’ll resume at first light.”
“Great,” I mutter under my breath.
She gives me a curt nod before exiting the room, leaving me alone with Ronan. My shoulders slump as I sink onto a wooden bench, peeling the wet fabric away from my clammy skin. All I want is to soak in a tub of water hot enough to scald me, to wash away the aches and the humiliation, to magickally be transported back home.
“You did better than most do on their first day.” Ronan approaches, offering me his hand.
I glare at his outstretched hand. “Spare me the platitudes.” I push myself up without his help. “This whole process is ridiculous.”
“It’s necessary if you’re to pass as a pawn at the festival.”
I meet his gaze, frustration boiling over. “A little empathy wouldn’t kill you.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “This isn’t easy, but it is important.”
“Important toyou,” I snap. “Let’s not pretend this is about me.”
Silence stretches taut between us. Finally, he exhales and turns away. “Let’s return to the inn so you can rest.”
