Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(19)

There didn’t seem to be anywhere private, and I was hesitant to leave the room, lest Sarannai think I was trying to escape.

After a moment, she glanced back at me. “Not dressed yet? Don’t you know how to do it?” She turned back to Altan. “Where’d you get this one?”

Oh. She expected me to change right here. In front of everyone.

I wanted to sink into the floor. I wasn’t shy about my body. That was the one thing I knew was acceptable. But to strip in front of all these strangers? I’d never imagined such a degrading situation. I united crowds. I inspired them. I did not bare myself.

And while there’d been no direct threats against my person, there’d been mention of what a girl might be useful for here. I didn’t want to encourage that line of thought. Gerel’s assurance about the warriors was one thing, but she hadn’t said anything about the prisoners. A few were still watching. Grinning.

Instead of stripping down, I turned my back to the room and pulled up the trousers underneath my dress. They didn’t fit well, but I pressed all five buttons into their holes. The shirt was trickier, but I managed a complicated maneuver that involved putting clothes on top of clothes and then removing what had been deemed inappropriate.

Before they could take the ruined dress from me, I shoved it deep into the pile of clothes so I could get it back later. The dress was mine. It was one of the only things I owned in this whole place. They couldn’t have it.

“Go eat.” Altan jerked his head toward the nearest table. “You have two minutes left.”

I wanted to argue that I’d been here on time and I was only delayed because they’d made me change clothes, but that seemed like a good way to get in more trouble. So as the other prisoners made their way toward Sarannai to collect buckets, I pushed past until I found a window with a tray of food already prepared.

A girl my age peeked out from the kitchen beyond. Seven flat braids held her hair in place, the ends reaching past her shoulders. It was long, which meant she wasn’t a warrior trainee. She might be a prisoner, too.

I risked a smile as I took my tray and headed to a table.

Two minutes. Less now. I’d never been a fast eater, so I went for the meat first, hoping it would fill me up. It was cool, greasy, and not very good, but I forced it down. No way was I throwing away food again, no matter how terrible it tasted.

The mess hall was almost empty, all the others heading out with their buckets.

I tore through the bread as fast as possible. It stuck to the roof of my mouth, but it was filled with raisins and bits of almonds.

“Soft girl!” Sarannai snapped, and pointed at the buckets. “Enough eating. Get to work.”

Altan strode out of the room, sparing only a second to throw a smirk over his shoulder, as if to say he didn’t expect me to last long.

I downed the mug of lukewarm tea as I stood, then hurried toward the buckets. “I’m ready,” I said.

Sarannai slapped me. Red flared across my vision, followed by a burst of sharp, hot pain in my cheek. I’d forgotten I wasn’t supposed to speak.

But that was all it took: one mistake.

My fingers curled over my face. The skin felt hot already.

The old woman watched me, waiting to see if I’d make a sound. She ran her tongue over her teeth, sucking at something stuck in there.

I swallowed back a whimper and forced my hand back to my side. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. In the back of my mind, I counted the tables (thirteen), chairs (fifty-one), columns (ten), and noorestones (thirty).

“Fine. A trial run, I suppose. Clean this mess hall. I’ll come back before lunch and look it over. If you’ve done a good job, you can stay on. If not, you’ll never leave first level.” With that, she headed out of the room, straight backed and hands at her sides curled like claws.

I watched the door for a moment longer, wondering if I could rush out and get lost in the Pit.

But I would get lost. I didn’t know the layout, or have access to food, or even have a plan. The other prisoners working throughout the Pit might give me away, too.

“You should get started.” The voice came from the window where my food had appeared. It was husky for a girl’s. She was really pretty: a lot like my sister, with her delicate, pointed features, smooth brown skin, and dark eyes. How she maintained herself on this . . . food . . . I could only guess. “She means what she says.”

I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t sure how to get started, so I asked, “What’s your name?”

“Tirta.”

That was a Hartan name. How had she ended up in the Pit? Harta hates harm. It seemed impossible she could have done something that would warrant this kind of punishment. But Hristo had become my protector, and I was possibly the least charming person on Damina.

Being born somewhere didn’t mean we were going to fit in.

So I didn’t ask. Aaru had gotten angry with me. Gerel had never offered. I certainly didn’t want anyone to know why I was here. So I just said, “I’m Mira.”

“I know who you are.” She smiled and motioned toward the buckets. “But even Mira Minkoba has to follow orders in the Pit.”

Mira Minkoba. She knew my surname, not just that I was one of the thousands of girls in the Fallen Isles named Mira. The Luminary Council meant to keep my incarceration quiet, though I didn’t know how they were explaining my absence.