CHAPTER SIX Awamutu“The fork.” I held out my hand and swallowed, still unused to my new voice. I almost regretted its return. The air had seemed cleaner without the pollution of my spoken thoughts. “Please,” I added in haste.
The guard appeared confused for a moment, his brows drawing closed into a wavering line. Then his hand strayed to his waistcoat and he nodded. The seam stretched at the armpit as fork and napkin popped free. He held it up and winced. “I can do better than this, Melanis. The armoury is still open.” He waved it in the air and I saw the futility of possessing it. I had wanted the knife. A fragment of brown flesh hit the rug at his feet and I dropped into an armchair and drew up my legs so my slippers hung in the air. “Sorry,” he said. Using the napkin, he cleared up the
