Page 24 of Feral Guardian
“I think every girl has a princess in them,” I say in Seterian.
She huffs and rolls her eyes playfully. “Such a princess thing to say.”
Maybe she’s older than six and malnourishment has stunted her body—certainly not her brain, though.
“We are travelers,” Alastair says, his Seterian rough and slow.
“Where are you going?” the little boy asks.
“Home,” I say.
An older woman emerges from a door beyond the little kitchen. Her blond hair is mostly white, and she wears a patched blue apron over her graying dress. “Enough from you. Leave our guests be,” she snaps at the children.
The little ones run toward the woman, and she hands each of them a bucket. “Fetch some water for breakfast.”
“Yes, Grandmama,” they say together and run to the dilapidated door. It takes the girl a hard tug to get it open and the wood scrapes against the floor.
My heart aches for them, for their situation.
“My deepest thanks,” I say as I climb stiffly to my feet.
I give a big stretch and look down at my clothes. This is not my dress. These people with nothing, risking everything to hide us. Do they know what danger they’re in?
The older woman chuckles and waves away my comment. “Who are we to deny a princess a place to bed down for the night?”
“I will pay,” Alastair says as he stands beside me, just as stiff and achy-looking. His head nearly brushes the ceiling, and he stoops a little to avoid the center support beam in the roof. The house looks like a plaything with him inside it.
He stalks toward the door, then looks back at me. “Stay with Maria inside.”
I nod, then walk to the kitchen. “You’re Maria?”
“Smart girl,” she says. “You are Lilianna Hilden.”
The sound of my name has a band of anxiety tightening around my gut. I want nothing more than to slip away and hide the spines sticking out from between my legs.
From a shelf, Maria pulls a cast iron pan that has a thick coating of white, solidified fat at one end. She scrapes a bit of it off with a spoon and drops the fat into an empty pot with a blackened handle.
“Is there anything I can do to help? Collect firewood? Forage something?” I ask.
She barks a laugh. “Did he not tell you to stay with me?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I was never very good at listening to him or sitting still.”
Maria pulls up a fat roll of stale bread and sets it on the table with a knife. “Cut six slices.”
I cut the bread in silence, looking over the front door as I do. The hinges are bent and appear to have been hammered back into place. An easy fix for me.
I drop the bread slices next to Maria. “What now?”
“Peel six of these and cut the leaves very small,” she says, dropping a basket of beets on the table.
I set to work, my stomach groaning loudly at the earthy smell of the beets.
Maria laughs. “Not long now, princess.”
Alastair pushes open the door with a heavy scrape, cutting a new furrow in the wood of the floor. Now, that just won’t do for this family who has given us shelter in our time of need.
I set the beets down beside Maria and walk to the door.
