Page 61 of Bred

“His Majesty will choose his surrogate on the eve of the Feast of the Stars—”

My stomach knotted unexpectedly.

The Feast of the Stars was only a few days away.

My hand tightened on the edge of the parchment and I cursed as I released my grip and tried to smooth out the deep creases I’d made in the fine paper. I rolled it up as tightly as I could and winced as I realized flecks of gold paint had stuck to my fingertips.

I tucked the scroll into a pocket in my woolen skirt and brushed my finger against the rough fabric to brush away the remnants of the paint.

The king would make his choice in a few days’ time. I had to work quickly.

“What do you know about the royal surrogates?

The question was stupid, and I could taste it on my tongue as soon as I said the words.

The woman who peeled potatoes next to me snorted.

“You mean you don’t know?”

I shrugged and picked up another potato. “What’s to know?”

“You’re a fool if you don’t,” she snapped.

“Maybe I’m a fool.”

“I could have guessed that for free.”

I glared at the water in the metal pail between my knees. So many potatoes. I didn’t even like potatoes. My hands were wrinkled and ugly from the water, and my fingers were numb from the cold. The Feast of the Stars couldn’t come at a worse time. Winter festivals were always terrible for servants.

The lady of the house would have a magnificent party and the wealthy and powerful guests would be uncountable. I wouldn’t see any of them, of course… I wasn’t even permitted to touch the finished delicacies and plates that would be taken up to the banquet hall.

I should have been grateful that I’d been given a paring knife with a handle made from the pearls collected from the inland sea that lapped against Kraterra’s western shore. At least that’s what I’d been told.

“Please,” I whispered.

The woman next to me sighed.

“You’re just like every moon-eyed girl in the Citadel's shadow.”

“I’m not,” I muttered and dropped another potato into the bucket. The water splashed over my knee and I frowned at the stain as the cold, salted well-water soaked into the cloth and sent a shiver up my spine.

The woman chuckled. “What do you want to know?” The glint in her eye was the only encouragement I needed, and I leaned forward.

“Everything,” I whispered.

Her eyebrow rose slightly. “Where are you from?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But I’m here now.”

“Mmm… I don’t know.”

“Please,” I begged, all thoughts of shame or pretense were shoved away in my desperation. “I want to know. Why would any woman volunteer for... That?”

The woman eyed me carefully as she peeled a potato with expert precision and tossed it into my bucket. The cold water splashed up and hit my cheek, but I didn’t flinch away.

She shook her head. “If I were a younger woman…”

“Would you have gone?” I asked quickly.