78
Jara froze inside the mouth of the tent.
Sevron stared back at her, a dark and dangerous look in his eyes.
His tent smelled of vomit and blood. His clothes smelled worse.
Astolpho was supposed to gather all the soiled clothes and leave them for Jara to boil.
Either he had forgotten Sevron, or Sevron had soiled himself again.
Either way, the stench of him was overpowering.
He grabbed the chunk of bread from Jara’s hand. He shoved it into his mouth.
Jara didn’t look at him. She searched for the bowl she assumed was there. All of the men kept them in their tents now.
“Where were you?” Sevron demanded. He grabbed for the iron pot. Jara let it go.
Sevron dug his filthy hand inside the pot and scooped handfuls of broth into his mouth.
Jara cringed at what she was seeing. She would
