to be told by another. Besides, by helping the Marshes, he’d technically help Kayda and all the faces in this room, too.
By the looks of it, it used to be some kind of prayer hall with alcoves that still held statues—some missing limbs. The altar at the head of it acted as a serving spot for the food, and he had to wonder what the dead thought of the stone braziers being used for cooking meals instead of praying.
He grabbed a battered bowl from a stack and shuffled in the quickly moving line. He didn’t really want any of the gruel. Every single child in this room needed it more than him, but how would it look if he walked out now? As if he disdained their hospitality?
He held out the bowl for his scoop of gruel, not bothered by the contents of it. When surviving, a person ate what they could find. He’d learned that when he and Casey first escaped and had to live off the land. Raw. Bloody. Crunchy. Often times foul. The soup smelled better than many of the things he’d ingested in the past. Although his pampered palate from palace living did grumble at the smell. He told it to shut up. Food was fuel.
He chose a fork over a spoon and then found himself standing, looking around for a place to sit. It was more daunting than it sounded. So many tables to choose from. Many of them empty. Others with small groups, the young faces turned to watch him, lips moving in whispers
I’m a fucking curiosity. More than ever the realization made him want to leave. He didn’t like being the center of attention. Wished he had his sister’s ability to hide in plain sight. Casey just needed a sliver of shadow and she could disappear.
He sometimes provided that darkness because, with his bulk, he could never hope to hide. And he wouldn’t start now. He would find his balls and sit at a table. Maybe one with a familiar face, except the only person he knew had ditched him.
Kayda hadn’t sat down yet but stood conversing with a fellow he’d never met. A handsome guy. Soft looking, though. Their conversation seemed pretty intent and none of his business, so why did he want to scowl?
Cam plopped his ass down on a short bench at an empty table—which was being generous, given it appeared to be a plank of wood over some kind of stone pedestal. The spot gave him a wall for his back and a view of the only door. Great for defense if anyone came at him, but pure shit if they were smoked out or overrun. Who the fuck put everyone in a room with a single exit?
Did his brain never stop looking for possible points of danger? Why couldn’t he ever see happy things?
His gaze strayed to Kayda, who stood in line for her bowl of gruel. With all she’d endured, did she still believe in happiness?
Casey had found it with a king. Even his friends were settling down. They all seemed happy. So why wasn’t he? What would it take for him to feel as if getting up every day was worth the bother?
Kayda held her filled bowl in one hand, her spoon in the other. She never once glanced his way, which had to be deliberate given everyone else stared. She chose a table far from him. With that guy.
The fork in his hand bent.
“Isn’t your soup any good?” a high-pitched voice asked.
While not exactly startled—he’d seen the girl approaching from the corner of his eye—he was surprised she chose to speak to him. Turning his gaze, he noticed the freckles across her nose, the gap between her teeth. No more than twelve or thirteen, he’d wager, her expression half thrilled, half terrified.
He could have said nothing and ignored her. Could have told her to fuck off, he wasn’t some kind of curiosity. But in this child, he saw his sister, and knowing he would have knocked the teeth out of anyone who was rude to her for no reason, he kept his grumpiness to himself.
“Soup’s fine.”
She sat down. Why was she sitting down? Maybe he should have ignored her.
“Is it true you’re from outside Diamond?”
“Ayuh,” he grunted. Lifting the bowl to his lips, he took a sip, hoping she’d take a hint and go away.
“You know the way out, then.” The hope in her voice tore at him.
He couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save any of