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Pushing away from the door, I step out of the way so the older woman can deliver the mugs of ale to the waiting patrons.
As soon as she’s gone, I set to work myself. Younger girls are busy assisting and cleaning up after the cook as he goes about preparing the day’s breakfast. Pots and plates clatter about, curses filling the air as the chaos of the kitchen pulls me in.
I can’t help smile, watching the careful rhythm between the cook and the girls. The smell of eggs and bacon, fills the air as it’s plated alongside thick slices of brown bread.
My stomach grumbles at the untouchable food, reminding me of the meal I’d lost just a short while ago.
“Get a move on, girl,” the cook shouts, turning back to stir a bubbling pot of stew just before it boils over.
Pushing aside my own hunger, and praying to the gods the mistress didn’t hear the cook, I grab the plates of food and hurry to follow after Mary.
The front room is full already. Men sit in groups, laughing and talking as several other tavern maids move through them.
My body tenses as I step further into the room. I feel eyes on me as I search the crowd to find Mary, careful to avoid any stray hands as they reach for me.
“… they’ll be coming any day now. I can practically hear the girls’ screams in my ears already.”
“Thank the gods it was the females who were cursed, otherwise it’d be us doing the screaming.”
“You would say that,” the other man sneers, “but then again you always were a pussy.”
The men roar with laughter at this, but their words give me pause, and I nearly trip over an unseen boot. I just manage to keep the food from slipping off the plate and onto the floor, steadying myself with the back of a chair before I end up losing the rest of today’s wages.
The Choosing.
That must be what the men are talking about. How is that possible? Can it really be happening again so soon?
“Pick up your feet, girl,” Mary calls, snapping me back to the present.
Plastering a smile on my face, I cross over to her, placing the food before the men set about the table. They grimace down at their plates before shoveling the food into their mouths without a word of thanks.
Tearing my eyes from the messy sight, I turn to tend to more patrons as the day’s work truly begins. Taking orders, serving food and ale, and dodging more than a few handsy men, I almost lose myself to the rhythm.
“Better hide your daughters, Seamus,” a deep voice says, followed by too-loud laughter. “Your oldest finally has a figure on her to set the dogs howling for her.”
I’m wary of approaching the table as I move to set down another plate of bacon before the men sitting there. One look at them, and I shudder for the daughters they’re speaking of.
From just looking at them, it’s unclear whether the red-faced man means to claim the daughters himself, or if they’re also talking about the Choosing.
Honestly, I’m not sure Iwantto know.
“I won’t have to hide them,” a thin man says, shooting a glare at the red-faced man. “Unlike what you let happen to your own child, I had the good sense to send them to the coast.”
“What are you trying to say, Rufus?” the red-faced man bellows, his chair scrapping against the floor as he jumps unsteadily to his feet.
I don’t stick around to find out as I quickly move out of the way of the ensuing brawl.
Talk of the Choosing continues to ripple through the tavern all morning as people filter in to eat and drink and gossip. I do my best to ignore it, to push aside the unease that always accompanies any mention of it, but it still manages to set me on edge.
I know it doesn’t affect me. I’m too old and used to catch the eye of the guards. Still, I can’t shake the dread that comes with each new season. The memories of faces taken to never be seen again.
I’m so distracted by my thoughts that I don’t see the red-faced man’s hands reach out to snake around my waist before it’s too late. The moment I feel his hands on me, I stiffen as I’m jolted back to the present.
I should have known better than to get lost in my thoughts in a place like this.
With a tug, the man yanks me off balance and into his lap, my tray clattering to the floor. Pinning me to his chest with one arm, his other hand drops to my hip, and it takes everything in me not to fight back.
“Don’t you worry, girl,” the man says, his breath heavy with alcohol as it heats my ear. “They won’t come for the likes of you. You might as well warm our beds instead. Isn’t that right, brothers?”
