One of the women who’s sitting by the bank, sucking marrow from a thick bone, gestures toward the river at me with her head.
‘Why?’ she asks, her voice low and gravelly, likely from not being used for a while.
I tap the plant in the cut. ‘Stops fever.’
I’m surprised to find that my voice sounds the same as hers. When was the last time I used it? I can’t remember.
‘How—’ She chokes, then clears her throat and swallows, trying again. ‘How do you know this?’
I blink at her, trying to recall. It must have been something I learned from The Barrack’s healer, but trying to remember is like wading through thick mud.
I stop.
‘Another life,’ I rasp.
She nods and her eyes scan the bank across the river. The male who was watching me is on his hands and knees, gagging. He coughs loudly. It echoes through the cavern. He spits out the algae and then blood sprays from his mouth over the stone in front of him. He collapses on the bank, unmoving.
‘Don’t eat it,’ I mutter.
The woman’s lips split wide and she cackles loudly before going back to her marrow bone and watching the male across the river dying with obvious glee.
I walk slowly to the wall, keeping my eye on the others, not looking at the male side again.
The danger will come from my fellow women.
But no one moves toward me.
When the other fighting slaves around me begin to give in to sleep, I stay awake a little longer, just to make sure no one’s been plotting. Only then do I close my eyes as well.
I dream of laughter, of smiles, of men whose faces I can almost see, and of pleasure that only exists deep in my slumber.
MORGAN
Spring has finally come.I open the casement at the back of the cottage I share with the others in the free human village of Halsford and breathe in the warm air. It always takes longer to feel the seasons change up here in the Ranges.
Jak will already be in the healer’s rooms just off the apothecary shop on the main road, so I’m alone but I have nowhere to be just yet. I meander around my chamber and the main rooms, feeding the glowing embers left from last night’s fire with some kindling and finding the old, faded tunic I wear when I’m helping with the cottage building.
I wash, dress, and grab the dark, earthenware teapot from the table, spooning some of the loose leaves into the bottom. I put some more wood on the fire and pick up the copper kettle, putting it on the hook, swinging it over the flames.
I pause, staring down at it, getting the oddest feeling that this has happened before. The wood on the fire, swinging the kettle beneath, and making tea. I do this every day, I reason. Of course it’s familiar.
But when I look at the table, I get the sensation that there were two cups, not just the one there is at the moment, and it wasn’t here in my cottage at all.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, staring at the table, but the kettle begins to whistle loudly. I come back to myself with a start, taking up the long pincers and pulling the kettle out fromthe hearth. I grab the handle with a tea towel and fill the teapot quickly.
I hear familiar steps coming up to the stoop.
‘Tea?’ I call, already knowing it’ll be Jak.
He pushes open the door and enters.
‘Morning,’ he says, brightly. ‘Aye, if there’s enough.’
I give him a nod and take a second, finely finished cup from the shelf. I put it beside mine.
I get that feeling again. Two cups. A sunny window. Plaiting long, dark hair, and finishing it with a leather tie.
‘Are you alright?’
