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clothes hardly a match for the biting wind. Yet despite the chill that seeped deep into my bones, I slowed to see more, but the two girls entered the building on the far end of the courtyard and I dared not lag too far behind.
    At least ten Maiden Halls would have fitted inside Warrior Hall, with room left over. The place stank like rotten kukuyu. I breathed short, shallow breaths. “Do all the warriors stay here?”
    “Of course not,” the taller of the two girls, the willowy redhead, spat the words at me, her green eyes narrowing with displeasure. “Only the young ones who have no concubines.” She marched ahead to throw open the wood shutters.
    Light flooded the room, revealing row upon row of pallets, larger than ours and with more space between them. Most had wooden trunks either at the foot or at the head. Weapons and various articles of clothing covered the floor, some stacked neatly, some carelessly scattered.
    “I am Lenya.” The younger girl, who still had the plump, chubby look of childhood, walked across the room toward the door in the back. “Do not mind Igril. She thinks we were sent here because of you. She hates servant work.”
    I followed her. The breeze finally thinned the foul air enough so I could fill my lungs. “Are we not servants?”
    “We are slaves, but we are maidens. The rest of the slaves are servants.”
    “But you still work every day?”
    “Of course.” She reached the door and pushed it open. “But we handle nicer chores than this.”
    The smell of Warrior Hall was but a weak warning compared to what waited for us outside. The stench smacked my nose like a branch in the face. Behind Warrior Hall stood the warriors’ latrines. Kumra had sent us to clean those . I could not blame Igril if she hated me forever. 
    A sudden gust of wind raced around the buildings and slammed into us, making us bend at the waist as we moved forward. I envied Igril’s and Lenya’s thick wool dresses that covered them from wrist to ankle, coveted the wide strips of leather bound around their feet.
    “Count yourself lucky Kumra did not have you beaten.” Igril picked up a bucket and handed me another. “She does that sometimes to new slaves right at the beginning to make sure they know what to expect if they disobey.”
    She probably meant the words to scare me, but I was relieved that at least she was talking to me. I did not wish to make any enemies. “Do they ever?”
    She looked at me for a long moment, her face changing from annoyance to some deeper emotion. “Lord Tahar had my brother beaten to death.”
    I felt the blood leave my head first, then the rest of my body, until even my heart felt empty.
    Lenya squeezed my arm. “That will not be your fate. I heard the servants when they first brought you in. You are a healer, too valuable. They did not even beat you.” She cocked her head. “You are a healer, are you not?”
    I knew I had to say yes—what would await me if anyone found out the truth—but my tongue refused to say the lie. 
    “Of course you are. Your forehead.” She pointed. “It is already healed.”
    I reached up and brushed away what little of the beetles still clung to my skin. I always healed fast. My mother’s blood worked strong within me.
    Lenya smiled. “Kumra will gain even more favor with our Lord if she has you heal the wounded upon their return.”
    I had no mind to wait for Tahar’s return or for Kumra to discover my lack of healing powers. She would send me to be resold on the block in a heartbeat.
    I had but one thought in my troubled mind: escape.
    * * *
    Life without freedom runs on its own time. My childhood at home had flowed without effort, measured by landmarks of one happy event after the other, or the dread of waiting for things I disliked, like cleaning the foul-smelling kukuyu weeds my mother used for sprains.
    At Maiden Hall where Kumra worked me hard from dawn to well into the night, things to look forward to disappeared. As had hope; I