The sound of Claire’s voice drew in the other girls. They poured into my room, pooling around me.

  “Jo! What happened to your beautiful hair? There’s dirt caked into it.” Miona fussed over me, combing her long fingers through my hair. I didn’t mention that what she was touching wasn’t dirt.

  “This outfit is a mess too!” Nellin scrunched her nose as she circled around me. She drew back the strands of black hair from her face as her eyes roamed over my leather jacket. “Why are you wearing something like this? It’s not right for you at all.”

  Claire’s arms were still draped around me. “We were told you were getting tutoring, but why would this happen?” She tugged at frayed leather that must have gotten scuffed during my fall.

  All of them leaned in, closing a circle around me. “Jo, like I said before, if you need to get away… we are here.” Nellin whispered softly into my ear.

  My words caught in my throat as their warmth suffused me.

  I am an imposter.

  Memories of the orb and the lich flashed in my mind. I was a minion of evil. Then came the sensation of his words being engraved in me. Worse, I was nothing but a tool.

  An even colder realization sank in. The sword is the real me. All I am is a shell, a sheath.

  “Jo?” A warm hand took hold of mine. “Don’t worry about it. We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine.” I squeezed her hand in return. “It’s hard to explain…”

  Claire nodded. “There’s no need to. Just let us know if you need help.”

  “What are you girls doing?” Beatrice’s voice cracked like a whip from the doorway. Her eyes caught sight of me. She wavered, steadying herself against the frame. “My lady! When did you get back? How?”

  “I was just sweeping the room, when light started raining down, and then she just appeared in the midst of it, like some angel.” Claire gushed dreamily.

  This is just a short visit. I wanted to say, but Beatrice was already barreling down at me. She wrapped me in a deep embrace.

  I let her warmth sink in. Imposter or not, I needed this.

  —

  “Is it...?” A breathless voice drifted from the hallway, cutting through the chatter.

  The knot of girls parted. Beatrice loosened her grip, stepping back to reveal Mama standing in the doorframe.

  She was clutching a book to her chest, her knuckles white against the leather binding. Her hair was slightly askew, as if she’d been running her hands through it in frustration—or worry.

  Her dark eyes swept over me, cataloging every inch. They lingered on the tattered leather, the wild hair, and my dirt-smeared hands.

  “I’m back, for a little bit,” I whispered, my voice small.

  She nodded, gliding into the room with restrained, proper steps. “Girls, please prepare a bath and a change of clothes for My Lady.” Her hand circled to Beatrice as she set her book down at the table. “Please, get a warm drink and some snacks for her.”

  Once the girls vacated the room, she settled into her chair and gestured to my usual seat beside hers. “So, how was it?” she asked, gently with a patient voice.

  Instead of walking over to my seat, I set myself down upon her lap, resting my head against the crook of her neck. She didn’t say anything and instead wrapped her arm around my waist, pulling me in tight.

  “You were right Mama, it did change me.” I closed my eyes. “I found out things...”

  I thought about telling her the truth, but even thinking about the words made my mind go numb. I’m still compelled to hide.

  I decided to try a roundabout way. “My first birthday, at my mother’s grave do you remember what I said?”

  Mama pressed her fingers to my lips. “You’re my child. That’s all I need.”

  I nodded and curled up against her warmth. Her scent surrounded me: old paper, dry lavender, and the distinct smell that was hers alone. Her pulse drummed a comforting beat against my ear. But I sensed something else, the brightness of her soul. I had tried to ignore it with the maids, but I couldn't with her; my [Demon Sense] was very much active.

  “I’m a little tired, Mama.”

  —

  Beatrice pulled up my undershirt and immediately yanked it back down.

  The warmth that was on her face previously drained.

  All activity ceased in the porcelain room: Miona stopped combing my hair, Nellin’s hand paused half-submerged in the steaming bathwater, and Claire dropped the decanter of perfumed oils onto a tray with a clatter.

  Miona peeked from around my hair. “Beatrice, is something the matter?”

  Just a moment before, the room was alive with the lively chorus of their voices. They were giving me a run down of all the coming and going in the House, mostly in preparation for the upcoming birth—surprisingly, a lot could happen in the two days that I was gone.

  I was content to nod and smile, letting my mind be lulled by the gentle pitch of their words.

  “Can… everyone give us some privacy. I can handle her bathing.” Beatrice’s lips were pulled tight, her voice strained, lacking the warmth from before.

  “But we’ve so much left to talk about, and I have special oils prepared…” Claire trailed off when Nellin hurried her out of the room, both with lingering gazes back at Beatrice and me standing together.

  Beatrice pulled my shirt back up, revealing the jagged, angry lines running all across my stomach to my chest. I had forgotten that even though my wounds had closed, the scabs and ridges remained.

  I tried to cover the more egregious ones with my hands. “I’m alright Beatrice. They will heal soon enough. Just like before.”

  “I thought… I thought that Lumus… that his Paladin would protect you.” Bitterness lined her voice. I remembered that she was one of Lumus’s faithful.

  “She tried… things just got messy down there.”

  Beatrice guided me by my hand down into the tub. Mist swirled around me as my body sank into the hot water. It felt soothing, but my wounds burned as the water cut like razors into them.

  “Little Josephine…” Beatrice winced for me as I let myself slip lower past the steaming water.

  “You haven’t called me that in a long time,” I reminded her as she sponged water into my hair.

  “You’re still shorter, so I can still call you that for a while longer… But you shouldn’t go back down there. I don’t care if it’s a quest from Lumus, or anyone!”

  I rested the back of my neck against the smooth, round lip of the tub. The confrontation with Zadina surfaced in my mind as the surface of the water met my chin. “Beatrice, I might be… disappointing to Lumus… there could come a time when his priests denounce me.”

  Heretic… A cry from the crowd, followed by rotten food thrown my way… and the flames.

  “Then they’re wrong. I don’t care what they preach in the temple.” She pulled my wet hand to her chest. “I believe in Lumus because of what I feel in here. And I feel that same light in you, Little Josephine.”

  —

  After the bath, I asked for some lighter, more utilitarian clothing. The girls were hesitant but finally relented. We took our time, reveling in banter and jokes while they plied make-up and accessories on me. They overdid it as usual, and my look was far from utilitarian by the time they were done.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Beatrice then accompanied me to the kitchen. I hadn’t run out of supplies, but I realized after cooking at camp that it would be nice to have fresh meats rather than dried ones and more fresh vegetables as well. I still had over eighty slots free so there was no need to hold back.

  Chef Borin welcomed us into a chaotic symphony of clanging pots, chopping knives, and the roaring of flames over skillets. He was a blocky man with a slight belly. His brown curly hair bounced out of his chef's hat as he assaulted a pile of onions with a massive chef's knife.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  The rhythm didn't even pause as he looked up.

  “I’m sorry for the mess, My Lady, but what brings you to the kitchen today?” he asked, huffing heavily. He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, where the intense heat of the ovens had already soaked sweat right through the yellowed brim of his white hat.

  “That’s alright, Chef. It’s my fault for barging in unannounced. I was looking for a few ingredients, but I can help myself…” A few kitchen hands nearly plowed into me, their buckets of tubers sloshing water onto the floor as they swerved at the last second.

  “Hey, watch it! Our Lady is here!” Chef Borin growled, causing a few of the boys to recoil.

  “What’s going on?” The kitchen hands hurried away, lugging their buckets, and a set of maids rushed by carrying pots of boiling water.

  It usually isn’t this busy.

  “It’s recruitment day for the guards. And the Duke wants to have meals prepared for everyone who showed up.” He slammed a large hand upon his greasy apron and laughed, winking at me. “The best draw is a full stomach, you know?”

  “Hands needed for the dough station!” A cloud of white flour billowed from the corner as a panicked voice hollered from the other side of the kitchen, joining a cacophony of others.

  “I believe I can lend a hand.” Pushing past Beatrice’s protest, I grabbed an apron and headscarf from a rack.

  The hustle and bustle would be a nice change of pace from the constant vigilance and fighting of the dungeon.

  Chef Borin wiped more at his forehead. “My Lady! I can’t let you work in the kitchen. The Duke would have my head.”

  “I doubt he would even care,” I glanced across the kitchen and familiar faces met my gaze. A few smiles popped up. “Besides, who would give me up?”

  “You’d be a great help.” The large man grumbled. “No one here would dare, but…” He arched a bushy eyebrow at Beatrice.

  “Come on, Bea. I promise to bring you and the girls some cookies.”

  Beatrice’s frown deepened. She was about to say no, but then she caught something in my eyes. Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head. “Fine, I didn’t see this.”

  The chef smacked his hands together, wiping them against each other. “Perfect! We've set a station for cookies to draw in the younger recruits. You can lead that, yes? I know those were your favorite, little helper mouse.” He winked at me.

  —

  There was a profound peace in the resistance of dough.

  My hands gripped the large wooden spoon, driving it through the dense mixture of butter and flour.

  Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn.

  It was a simple, repetitive rhythm that pushed back the jarring clang of clashing metal, the shrieks of the dying, and that squelch as the shadow spike stabbed through Polly.

  Unlike that cold emptiness deep within me, the dough was soft and alive as I pushed my fingers in to test.

  I sprinkled a handful of sugar over the mixture, watching the white crystals cascade like snow, followed by a dash of cinnamon and vanilla extract.

  Unlike Joan, and perhaps Steve, I possessed focus, speed, and accuracy. My hands moved in a blur, shaping perfectly round spheres of dough and laying them out in neat, military rows on the baking trays.

  "My Lady, you're going to bury us in cookies at this rate!" a young kitchen hand laughed as he whisked a full tray away toward the pastry ovens, sliding it in to bake.

  I wiped a smudge of flour from my cheek, feeling a genuine smile tug at my lips. "Better to have too many than too few."

  As I poured in the flour for a new mixture, the chatter of two maids packing bread baskets nearby drifted over the clatter of pans.

  "Did you see the young master out there?" one of them whispered, her cheeks flushed. "Lord Ben looks so gallant out there leading the new recruits!"

  "He really does take after the Duke," the other agreed, stacking loaves with a rhythmic thud. "Standing tall in front of all those men. He’s trying so hard to be like his father."

  My hand paused mid stir. Ben is leading the training?

  When we last parted he had declared how he was training hard, just to protect me.

  But he’s only ten, and he’s now leading grown men? Did I push him into this because I’m actually older? Am I doing this to Tomas as well?

  An overwhelming sense of guilt surged in me.

  The kitchen hand pulled a tray of cookies from the oven. They were neatly lined up, perfectly shaped and expanded, edges a crisp golden-brown. The scent of melted butter and sugar wafted up, warm and inviting. Ben and I used to enjoy these while playing pretend under the tablecloth.

  I resumed mixing. “I think we are done after this batch. After that, I’d like to help bring them out to the men.”

  —

  The evening sun cast a wide swathe of light over the groups of men crowding the Estate’s dirt training field. A nostalgic sight of new raw recruits, hopeful faces, barely outfitted in leather scraps, still carrying that naive exuberance as they ran through their drills.

  Winthrop rode horseback, swinging his black steed around as he led a group of mounted men with lances. They charged down marked lanes toward their targets, shaking the ground with thundering hooves.

  Captain Soren led a larger group of men in loose formation as they jogged, heaving and gasping for air around the perimeter, sunlight highlighting the sweat beading off their faces.

  Is this a larger recruitment drive than normal?

  It certainly felt like it given how busy the kitchen was. I had passed on Tomas’s warning to Mama, but this would be too soon to be the result of that. There were other factors in play.

  I need to be more aware of my own surroundings. Pieces are being moved without me knowing.

  “Line up, everyone!” A familiar, boyish high-pitch voice cut through the din of commotion frothing over the field.

  I shifted my tray stacked full of cookies toward Ben. He had his back to me, drilling a smaller group of ragtag boys gathered at the near corner. Relief washed over me when I saw that none of them were much older than him.

  Despite how seriously Ben seemed to be taking it, they looked more like children playing soldier against the backdrop of the adults’ focused faces.

  The innocence is still there.

  Two pairs of eyes shot over to me, and the light of recognition sparkled within them. I was startled in turn at the sight of their faces. It was Hans and Forn, the two boys who were caught fishing with me. They looked a little bit older, like proper teenagers now, and their clothes weren’t as patchwork, but it was definitely them.

  Hans threw back his mop of blonde hair and flashed me a crooked grin filled with yellowed teeth. Forn waved hesitantly at me with his head lowered, his black hair half covering his eyes.

  My hands were stuck holding the tray, so the only thing I could do was smile back at them.

  Ben rushed over, feet kicking up dust as he marched. “What are the two of you doing?! Pay attention! Stand up straight! Who are you waving at?”

  Sensing something, he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes lit up as well. “Sister! When did you get back?”

  He ran to me, taking the large tray from my hands and placing it on a serving table near the edge of the field.

  “I said I’d be back soon enough. But should a commander abandon his post like that?” I teased, looking him over. “The uniform looks good on you.” I reached over and wiped the dust from the shoulder of his fitted coat and straightened his collar. He stiffened, but didn’t protest.

  We were standing eye-to-eye. He might be tall for his age, but I was still an anomaly.

  “Would your boys… well, would your men want some fresh cookies? They are better warm.” I handed him one of the larger cookies. “You remember these right? What did you pretend they were again? Super…”

  Ben’s ears turned bright pink, and he quickly turned his face away from me. “Squad, get over here!” he shouted, waving his arm frantically.

  His exaggerated motions nearly drew laughter out of me, but I covered my lips with the back of my hand. This bit of fun at his expense was fine, but I best not embarrass him in front of his men.

  The boys, commoners, mostly farmer kids by the look of their roughspun tunics and worn boots, broke ranks and scrambled over. They skidded to a halt a few steps away, eyes darting hesitantly between me and the cookies, unsure of how to behave in front of me.

  I reached for the tray, but Ben intercepted me, handing the cookies out to the boys in my place. “You all better enjoy these! They’re from my sister.”

  Hans grabbed a cookie with his dust-covered hand, and bit off a large chunk. “Demon’s breath…” he muttered, then clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes going wide with panic as he looked at me. “Uh, pardon, My Lady. I mean… it tastes like magic!”

  “You’re welcome, Hans. It’s mostly the butter at work, and some sugar.”

  “Mmph-mmph…” Forn mumbled through the cookie that he had stuffed whole in his mouth.

  “You’re welcome as well, Forn.”

  “Hey! Mind your manners in front of my sister!” Ben snapped.

  I placed my hand on Ben’s shoulder. “It’s alright, they’re friends. They taught me how to fish.”

  “When did you do that?!”

  “A year ago. I ran into them at the pond.” I shrugged.

  “You weren’t supposed to be out there alone! Why didn’t you come to me? You were only four then!”

  Ben’s lips trembled. He struggled to hide the bitter disappointment on his face, as if he had missed something big. I tried to appease him with another cookie.

  “She was?” Hans gasped. “Does that mean… she’s five now?”

  The change was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but I caught it—a shift in the way he looked at me.

  I wasn’t normal anymore.

  The warmth slipped from my expression. Back then, when we fished and they told me of their life in the village, it was just pretend. That was all it ever could be.

  “Yes, I’m strange,” I said simply. “Please distribute the cookies to the others. I made sure there is enough for everyone, even if they’d like seconds.”

  As I turned to leave, I caught sight of a familiar, imposing figure with a rapier leading another group of better-outfitted men near the barracks.

  I glanced back at Ben. “If our Lord Father would like some, please give them to him for me. There’s no need to tell him who made them.”

  “Wait! You made these?!” Ben cried out from behind me.

  —

  Back at the kitchen, I gathered a small plate of cookies for the girls and covered it with cloth. When I finished putting away the fresh ingredients into a large sack, my hand paused over a stack of bones, white and freshly stripped of meat.

  “Oh, those are for the house hounds,” Chef Borin said from over my shoulder. “You can grab some if you’d like. Don’t tell me you went and got a puppy?”

  I pulled my hand back. “No, it just reminded me of someone…”