LITMIR.BIZ

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shoulder. He jerked away, glaring at her. “Where are the knives? Unless you want us to gnaw the peels off.”

      Telemachus yanked open a drawer and held out several knives in his huge fist. “Thank you,” Rae said coolly.

      She handed one to Jesse, and he started in on a big, lumpy potato. He was used to these kinds of chores from his days back at his uncle’s inn.

      Parvel, apparently, was not. He held the knife clumsily, scraping off a few small sections at a time. “So,” he said to Telemachus, “how long have you been here?”

      “I don’t like questions,” Telemachus growled.

      That didn’t surprise Jesse.

      After that, they sat in silence. Once, Telemachus lumbered over to inspect Jesse’s work. Now that he was closer, Jesse could see that he had eyes the color of dirty dishwater, barely sticking out under his sandy blond hair, cut raggedly across his forehead.

      Apparently, he approved of Jesse’s technique, because he lumbered back to his stool with nothing more than a grunt. Somehow, he managed to keep his eyes roving around while keeping up a quick, steady pace with his knife.

      “Stupid girl,” he muttered, glancing over at Rae. “Cut away from yourself.”

      Rae stared at him and made a deliberate stroke down the potato, stopping just short of her hand. “I’ll do this as I wish, thank you.” Rae didn’t take orders very well.

      “Ain’t my fault you don’t know how t’ use a knife,” Telemachus said, shrugging his huge shoulders. “Like as not, yer folks are still alive—they just got rid of ya ’cause you couldn’t pull yer weight.”

      “Take care,” Parvel warned, setting his knife down and looking Telemachus in the eye, a clear warning in his voice.

      Parvel didn’t take insults very well, especially insults to Rae, who he called “the lady of the squad,” even though she could probably fight as well or better than any of them.

      Jesse tooled a face onto the potato, scraping off two eyes, a gaping mouth, and a nose. He held it out and studied it. The nose was a little misshapen, but overall, not bad. He hated it when his squad members picked fights. Which was often.

      It seemed, however, as though Telemachus was too lazy to start a fight. He just scowled at Parvel and went back to his potato. Then his red face contorted with something like a grin.

      “You, girl,” he said. “Go out to the well and haul me some water.” He pointed to a large bucket with a finger covered in grime from the potatoes. “You’re gonna wash these here roots.”

      “You want me to wash the peels…before we take the peels off?” Rae pointed out, mouth twisted up in scorn.

      “Do what I tell you, girl,” Telemachus said.

      Rae, hands on her hips, was about to protest, but Silas cut her off. “That bucket is too heavy for her.”

      Jesse nodded. He had hauled a lot of water in his days, but he had never seen a bucket so large. It reached Rae’s knees.

      Telemachus tossed a dirty potato skin in his mouth, chewing it with his mouth wide open. “Yeah? So?”

      “I’ll get the water,” Silas said, taking the bucket. “She can wash the potatoes.”

      Telemachus didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue. “Hurry it up.”

      By the time Silas got back, straining under the weight of the full bucket, there was only one sack of potatoes to wash. Silas poured the water into a basin and dumped the potatoes in.

      “Are you sure I should bother—” Rae began.

      “Just do it, Rae,” Parvel said wearily. Telemachus grunted in agreement.

      Still muttering under her breath, Rae rolled her sleeves up so they wouldn’t drag in the water. Jesse froze, staring. She had moved her right sleeve up too far, uncovering her shoulder. The bottom of her Youth Guard tattoo—an A inside a broken circle—showed from underneath the hem.

      Apparently Rae had noticed too, because she quickly jerked the sleeve down, covering the tattoo.

      Jesse’s eyes darted to Telemachus, who was poking through the sack. He came out with a potato clenched in his fist. “Rotten,” he explained, tossing it into the fire with a smirk.

      The burnt potato smell that filled the kitchen was so bad Jesse was glad there was very little food in his stomach. It probably would have all come up anyway.

      Telemachus sniffed the air and grinned widely. “Smells like dinner to me.”

      He didn’t see the tatoo, Jesse told himself. He wouldn’t even know what it was if he did. He’s too stupid to recognize his own name tattooed onto someone’s arm.

      In spite of his relief, Jesse couldn’t keep from gagging at the smell of the burning potato. Telemachus glanced over at him. His eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?” he demanded.

      He thinks I was making the face at him. “No,” Jesse tried to protest. “I just—”

      “Careful,” Telemachus warned, squinting at him. “You watch yerself, cripple.”

      Jesse felt his face turning red, and he gripped his staff until his knuckles were white, wanting to strike Telemachus across the forehead with it.

      “Be warned,” Parvel said, turning to face Telemachus, “you threaten him, you threaten all of us. We stand together.”

      For a moment, the two faced each other, neither looking away.

      “I’ll remember that,” Telemachus said at last. “Just have to get you when you’re on your own.”

      That threat echoed in Jesse’s head the rest of the night, keeping him from enjoying his meal. As it turned out, the only food the house of refuge seemed to keep on hand was potatoes, which explained why they had peeled so many. Telemachus had made them into three different dishes, but the dozen or so orphans still grumbled as they ate.

      They had been glad to see the newcomers though. Jesse had laughed quietly as three little girls crowded around Rae, asking her questions and running their hands through her silky black hair. She looked about ready to throw her bowl of potato soup at them.

      As soon as the meal was over, she bolted up the stairs to their room. Jesse, Silas, and Parvel followed. “I don’t like this place,” she said, shutting the door behind them. “Or those priests, and especially not that ruffian in the kitchen. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

      “We will,” Silas said, “as soon as we know what we’re doing next.”

      “And how long will that be?” Rae demanded. “I say we strike out on our own and do something!”

      “Yes, very good,” Silas said sarcastically, staring her down. “And what exactly would that be?”

      Jesse could tell from the brief confused look on her face that Rae hadn’t thought of it, but she blurted, “Form a raiding party. Take from the king whatever we can.”

      “Like the Rebellion, I suppose?” Silas demanded, turning away from her.

      “Listen,” Jesse said, stepping in between them. “Parvel was right—we stand together. Or we should. Right now, all we can do is argue with each other. What we need is a good night’s sleep and time to get our thoughts together.”

      “Hear, hear!” Parvel cheered, yawning loudly. “And with that, I suggest we retire for the night. I, for one, haven’t slept on a real mattress for days.”

      Silas laughed and kicked one. “You won’t now either. This isn’t your father’s mansion, Parvel.” Sometimes Jesse forgot that Parvel had grown up as the son of a noble, a very different life than any of the others.

      “It will do,” Parvel said. “It’s

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