Laurel
The first scream came from the dormitory. It came loud and clear, ringing through the kitchen where I stood with my arms elbow-deep in soapy water.
“Curses,” I muttered, grabbing a cloth to dry my hands. Who was awake and shouting at this late hour? Which one of the orphans had cried out? We all knew to stay quiet, even when being punished.
Sage rushed in from the back hall. She was my age, but small and frail, and much too thin.
“What is it? What is happening?” I asked.
“Somebody cried out,” she said. “One of the girls must be having a nightmare.”
That couldn’t be it. No orphan would dare. Sage’s creased forehead told me she shared my thoughts.
Footsteps stomped up the hall—the friar coming to investigate. He would be angry at being disturbed. I’d drugged his draught that ni
