The woman’s house is only a single room a quarter of the size of mine in the palace. There is a small stove in one corner, four threadbare mattresses on the floor, and next to nothing else. Somehow, though, there are six other people crammed into the space, three men and three women, all with shorn or braided hair and ragged clothes. Not one of them is wearing shoes, even though the ground is barely cleaner than it was outside.
The woman who led us in motions to me.
“Queen Theodosia of Astrea, come to be our savior,” she says, her Astrean passable but heavily accented.
There are some chuckles from the others, but I try not to let them bother me. I can’t blame them for seeing me as a naive, overambitious child, can I? It might not even be that far from the truth.
“King Etristo has invit
