Page 59 of Forcing Fate

I smiled up at Master Elenor’s words. Something so small as her claiming me as her assistant, when I wasn’t really, meant the world to me.

“I would be happy to,” I replied.

It felt like a little bit of my heart was growing back.

Over the next few days, I kept busy with the new refugees. Many women stepped in and cared for the babies, little ones they would ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over. Master Elenor tasked me with overseeing the older children, and I did my best.

Through it all, my peers reminded me over and over again why I didn’t get along with them. Vivian and her friends made a point to harass me as often as possible. I ignored her lot, not sparing a single glance or response. Regardless of my attention, their words pierced my heart and tore out bits with every hurtful remark. Every mention of being useless, a failure, a reject—every mention of what the dragonlings were up to, seemed to rip out a little more.

The teenagers in the refugee party lashed out with words and actions, too. They didn’t know the details, but they quickly realized I was an outcast. I didn’t blame them, though. They survived a terrible ordeal, and I was not one to judge how they processed their pain.

After all, that refusal had been the biggest failure of all time. Then I hid in my room for over a fortnight, depressed and wallowing in pity.

I carried a basket of diapers from the laundry room to the drying line behind the dorms. Off in the distance, women crowded around the barracks’ gate. Frowning, I wondered what drew them there as I hung the diapers on the line.

The crowd of women shifted and churned, but stayed at their place by the gate. Curiosity nagged at me. What was the big deal? Didn’t they have more important things to do?

“A bunch of daisy-brained floozies,” an older woman muttered under her breath. She set her basket beside mine and pinned sheets up on the line.

I smiled at her comment and continued with my task. “What do you think has piqued their interest?” I wondered aloud, reaching into my basket to grab two pins and a square of cloth. I gave it a harsh shake before pinning it up.

“Fresh blood.”

I squinted at her, studying her wrinkled face as she turned to wink at me. My nose crinkled with my confusion.

She let out a cackle as she reached into her basket for a tunic. “Don’t you know what day it is? You should be over there eyeing the goods, lassie.” Her feeble body stretched to pin the tunic to the line.

Realization dawned, and I turned back to face the crowd with understanding. “Recruitment Day,” I mumbled, watching the mass of bodies shift and sway for a better view, like a singular beast.

“Aye, and they’d all like to find a nice young chap to spend the night with.” The old lady tsked and shook her head.

I pressed my lips together as thoughts darted around in my mind like a rabbit escaping a hunter. I hurried to finish pinning up the linen and hung the last diaper. Looking once more at the crowd, I picked up my basket and propped it on my hip as my heart warred with my brain.

“Thinking of having a look for yourself, dearie?”

“I don’t need a man.”

She seemed to think that was the funniest thing she heard in her life, and I walked away frowning as her cackles echoed in my ears.

I spent the rest of the day getting angrier and angrier. Something set me on edge, and I didn’t know what it was. Every time a refugee lashed out, I had to count to ten. Every time I saw one of my peers and they gave me a disgusted or pitying look, I had to sneak off and collect myself.

Seething at yet another refugee calling me ‘hag’, my fingers curled into fists at my sides. One… Two… Three… Four…

“Miss ‘anna?” came a small voice, accompanied by a tug on my dress.

I peered down to see Ran, a little boy of five-winters. He held a stuffed doll under his arm and talked around his thumb.

The older women had been firm with him, saying he was too old to be sucking his thumb. They scolded him for his doll, claiming they were for girls. My heart ached for him. Everyone was too busy to consider why he found comfort in those things.

He watched the Shadows kill his sister and do unspeakable acts to his mother.

The Shadows wore masks and headwear made of skulls, a trophy of the most fearsome thing they had ever killed. It was an outward sign of their rank. Ran had whispered to me late at night that a horse killed his mommy and sister. To watch a man dressed in a horse’s skull slaughter your loved ones was a good enough reason for his self-soothing actions in my book.

“Yes, Ran?” I asked, taking a deep breath and dropping into a crouch beside him. I offered my hand, and he took his thumb out of his mouth and grasped my fingers, looking at me with big brown eyes.

“The mean old lady said I have to take a nap.” He pouted.

“Yes?” I prompted, stifling my irritation. This little boy didn’t deserve my anger toward others.

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