Page 5 of Naga General's Mate

The market square would be busy tomorrow. Busy enough to disappear into the crowd, to blend with the masses of free citizens going about their day. The spaceport wasn’t far. She’d mapped the route a hundred times in her head during previous errands.

But Priscilla would still be here, alone. Vulnerable.

The thought of her sister facing Kurg’s wrath, bearing the punishment for Mila’s escape, turned her stomach more than the kingpin’s cologne. They’d learned young what happened to slaves who ran—or worse, to those left behind.

“Getting slow, girl.” The overseer’s voice carried across the room.

Mila quickened her steps, the familiar mask of subservience settling back into place. The dream of freedom dissolved like sugar in tea, leaving only the bitter dregs of reality. She couldn’t abandon Priscilla. Not to this.

Her sister’s voice echoed from this morning: “At least the kitchen work isn’t so bad.”

Sweet, innocent Priscilla. Still finding light in the darkness. Still worth protecting at any cost.

The wine pitcher emptied. Mila backed away from the table, her head bowed and thoughts locked safely behind carefully blank features. Tomorrow would bring another market run, another chance at freedom that she couldn’t take. Another day of surviving, of keeping Priscilla safe.

Steam billowed as Mila pushed through the kitchen’s swinging door. The familiar clatter of dishes and hiss of water greeted her, along with Priscilla’s quiet humming. Her sister stood at the wash basin, her golden hair escaping its braid as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn pot.

“Here, let me help with that.” Mila grabbed a cloth and stepped beside her sister.

“The overseer won’t like you leaving the hall.”

“They’re too drunk to notice.” Mila’s fingers brushed Priscilla’s as she took the pot. “Your hands are raw enough.”

“So are yours.” Priscilla touched the red patches on Mila’s knuckles.

“I’m used to it.” The metal pot’s burned bottom yielded under Mila’s stronger scrubbing. “Did you eat anything?”

“There’s some bread left from breakfast.”

“That’s not enough.” Mila glanced at the platters of half-eaten delicacies waiting to be cleared. “Take some of the roasted vegetables when you wrap the leftovers.”

“But if they catch me—”

“They won’t.” Mila rinsed the pot and stacked it with the others.

Priscilla’s stomach growled, betraying her hunger. She ducked her head, her cheeks flushing pink. The gesture reminded Mila so much of their mother, it hurt.

“The gathering should end soon.” Mila dried her hands and started organizing the cleaning supplies. “I’ll help you finish here.”

“You don’t have to take care of me all the time.”

“Of course I do.” Mila tucked a loose strand of hair behind Priscilla’s ear. “That’s what big sisters are for.”

They worked in comfortable silence, moving around each other with practiced ease. Mila kept one ear tuned to the hall, alert for any approaching footsteps. Her muscles ached from the day’s labor, but she pushed through it. Every dish cleaned was one less for Priscilla’s tender hands.

“There.” Mila hung the last pot on its hook. “Much better.”

“Thank you.” Priscilla’s smile brightened her tired features. “You always make everything easier.”

The words squeezed Mila’s heart. If only she could make everything easier. If only she could give Priscilla the life she deserved, free from fear and hunger and endless work.

But for now, all she could do was this—steal moments of kindness between the cruelties, share what little comfort they had, and keep her sister’s spirit from breaking.

Back in the dining hall, the alcove’s marble floor reflected the dim evening light as Mila wiped away the last traces of spilled wine. Her knees protested each movement, the long day taking its toll. But the sooner she finished, the sooner she could return to Priscilla.

A shuffle of boots against stone made her pause. Kurg’s distinctive gait echoed down the hallway, accompanied by lighter footsteps. Mila pressed herself deeper into the alcove’s shadows.

Soon, Kurg and a council member’s assistant stopped just past her hiding spot, their heads bent close together. Their whispers carried an edge of urgency that made Mila’s skin prickle.

---