Marika’s new life was nothing like her old one. Up before dawn, she worked like the rest of the sisters at whatever she was ordered to do, dressed in scratchy robes rather than the sumptuous fabrics she was used to. She’d asked just one thing of them—to send payment for the shawl she’d stolen to the trader. Then the sisters had quickly put her to work. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out she had no skills whatsoever, so she’d been put to work cleaning and now peeling potatoes. Endless potatoes.
She didn’t mind, even though her hands were wrinkled and sore from the water. One potato looked very much like the next, so she just kept going, the mindless motion stopping her thinking and allowing her to retreat into the numbness that had become her sanctuary. She wasn’t sure how long she’d
