CELESTE
My hands were no longer hands. They were claws made of raw meat and fire.
I had been scrubbing for three days.
The mountain of pots never seemed to get smaller. Every time I finished one stack, Olara would dump another load of greasy, blackened cauldrons onto the washing table.
"Faster, Princess," Olara would bark, banging her wooden spoon against the counter. "The hunters are back. They’ll be hungry."
I didn't argue. I didn't complain. I just dipped my scouring pad into the freezing, gray water and scrubbed until my shoulders screamed and the blisters on my palms burst, weeping clear fluid that stung like acid.
My emerald dress was long gone, burned in the fire pit. I wore the rough gray trousers and flannel shirt Kaelen had given me. They were three
