Page 5 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
Yet as she tentatively pressed her hands into the soft mass, her fingers began to move with a confidence she didn’t recognize, dividing and shaping with practiced ease.
“Seems your hands remember, even if your mind often wanders.” Morgana’s tone held both relief and suspicion. “Perhaps you’ll be useful after all.”
The morning passed in a blur of activity. Sora’s body worked while her mind observed, cataloging the fascinating medieval kitchen operations. Servants rushed back and forth, carrying ingredients, finished products, and messages from above. Orders were shouted, complaints muttered, gossip exchanged in hushed tones between tasks.
By midday, her arms ached, and sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. When Miranda announced a brief rest for the kitchen staff, Sora gratefully collapsed onto a bench in a quiet corner, nursing a cup of watered wine.
A slender young woman in finer dress than the kitchen staff slipped through a side door, scanning the room until her gaze landed on Sora. She hurried over, her movements graceful despite her haste.
“You’re awake!” The young woman clasped Sora’s hands. “When I heard they’d found you by the lake, I feared the worst.”
Recognition flickered through Sora’s borrowed memories. “Lyra,” she said, the name feeling right on her tongue.
Relief crossed Lyra’s delicate features. “Your mother said you might not remember everything. The cold coupled with a near-death experience can do strange things to the mind, and you were lost to us for over three days.”
Lyra was a handmaiden to Lady Elspeth, a minor noble in Queen Marcille’s court. And, if the warmth in her eyes was any indication, Sora’s closest friend in this world—at least, her body’s best ally.
“I’m still... piecing things together,” Sora admitted, frowning. “But there’s blind spots in my memory… and unexplainable fog.”
Lyra leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
The question sent a chill through Sora that had nothing to do with her recent near-drowning. “I don’t remember what I was seeking.”
Disappointment flickered across Lyra’s face. “Perhaps that’s for the best. The royal library has been... restricted since you were found. Lady Elspeth can barely access her usual texts on herb lore, let alone anything more... sensitive.”
Before Sora could question her cryptic statement, Miranda’s sharp voice cut through the kitchen. “Break’s over! Back to work, all of you!”
Lyra squeezed her hand. “I’ll come find you tonight. There’s something I need to show you.”
As the afternoon wore on, Sora grew increasingly aware of strange changes in her body. Scents assaulted her with unexpected intensity—the yeast in the bread, the cinnamon in the pastries, the sweat of the kitchen workers. When nobles passed through to inspect the preparations, their scents hit her like physical blows—expensive oils, subtle perfumes, and something deeper, more primal. Some smells made her want to step closer, while others repelled her with inexplicable intensity.
Waves of warmth cascaded through her at unexpected moments, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. More troubling still was the strange pull she felt toward the distant mountains visible through the kitchen’s high windows—a tugging sensation in her chest, as though something important waited for her there.
As she worked, she overheard snatches of conversation about the upcoming Midwinter Ball. The event, it seemed, was more than a simple celebration—it was something called a Selection, where unmarked alphas and omegas would manifest their true nature under enchanted moonstone chandeliers.
“Alpha,” she whispered to herself, testing the word. “Omega.” The terms held meaning she couldn’t quite grasp, like a language half-remembered from childhood.
What type of kingdom-wide new age Greek Life cult was I forced to join?
By evening, exhaustion pulled at her limbs. As the kitchen staff cleaned up from the day’s labor, Morgana approached, wiping flour from her hands.
“You did well today,” she said, surprising Sora with the compliment. “Though you still seem... distracted.”
“Just tired,” Sora assured her. “And trying not to mess up.”
Morgana studied her face. “One of the nobles stopped me in the corridor. Asked about you.”
“About me? Why?”
“He said he caught your scent as he passed through.” Morgana’s expression darkened. “Said it was... unusually appealing.”
Something in her tone raised Sora’s hackles. “Is that bad?”
“Kitchen maids don’t attract noble attention unless they’re looking for trouble.” Morgana’s voice dropped. “Especially not with the Selection approaching. Be careful, sister. Something isn’t right about you since the lake.”
Before Sora could respond, Miranda appeared to usher them toward the servants’ quarters for the night. As they walked through the torch-lit corridors, Sora caught her reflection in a polished silver serving tray—and froze. For just a moment, as the torchlight played across her skin, she could have sworn she saw a faint shimmer, like silver scales, tracing the curve of her cheek.
She blinked, and it was gone.
