Insurrection [On Hold]

28 One of the Benefits of Being Shunned

I want to dedicate this chapter to LookingLight (LookingLight) who has enjoyed this story enough to read it multiple times. Thank you so much! It brings me so much joy to hear that!

            I touch my face and trace my finger down one of the two faint scars. I swallow. I look like myself again. What am I supposed to feel? Joy or fear? I haven't a clue. Turning away from the mirror, I'm met with Madame Harper's outstretched arms. In them is a folded, silver dress.

"Your uniform," she says simply. She and the doctors don't know it's me even after seeing my healed face. I've never been so grateful for being shunned while growing up. I've never been as recognizable as my siblings.

I accept the dress and let the ends fall toward the floor. I slide the fabric over my head. The ends of the dress fall to my ankles, and the only sleeves are two think straps. In the middle of the skirt, blue fabric runs from the waist down. I'm wearing Quill's colors. I'd prefer to be in the tan and maroon of Lumiere.

The doctors power off the machines as we leave. Madame Harper takes me to the kitchen where tan stone and marble cover the cookery. I've never seen such a beautiful kitchen, let alone a staff kitchen. Quill has a focus on natural beauty. Things that are more aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Whereas Lumiere aims for sleek and cutting edge. Personally, I prefer Quill's idea of style. I always have. There's something serene to it. It's not sharp enough to cut you.

There are roughly thirty servants cooking, baking, or cleaning dishes and loading them into a washer.

Madame Harper places her hands on my shoulders and steers me through the kitchen. "You'll be on bread duty. I need thirty rolls for breakfast in the morning." Maybe it is night and not morning like I thought. She stops us behind a teen boy, kneading dough. "Creelle."

His black hands are colored white in flour. He swipes his hands along one another, powder floating like snow to the floor and counter.

"This is Sana," Madame Harper says. "She'll be your partner."

He nods to me, and I smile. Bread. I've never made bread before.

After she leaves, Creelle returns to kneading. "Wash your hands in that sink."

I do so and return to his side.

He points to a pile of powder between us. "Powder."

I pat some on my hand and begin to knead the dough he passes me. Cooking raw meat on a campfire, I can do. Baking bread in an oven, that's something I don't know anything about.

Creelle snatches my dough away. "Like this." His hands massage it out into a long flat strip. "You act like you've never done this before."

"I'm not a baker." I inch my hands toward the dough, wanting to prove myself.

"Are you even a cook?"

I can cook a raw fish over a fire in the woods. "Not really."

He mumbles something and drives the heel of his hand into the dough. "Why wouldn't they make you into a maid?

"Every specifically wanted me to—"

Creelle drops a blob of dough in front of me. "Prince."

I stiffen, my eyes moving side to side to see if anyone noticed my slip up. I nod slightly in a silent thank you to him. "The prince thought it would teach me prudence." I knead out the dough. My father would say this is the perfect opportunity to poison the food, even though I probably wouldn't succeed. Typically, all food is scanned before being presented to royalty. That's how it was back home. However, we still had tasters, like Nate's father, because my own father found it to be entertaining watching them risk their lives over food. He also figured people may not poison him if it could possibly kill someone else. If it was my father doing the poisoning, it wouldn't matter to him who got killed.

I remove my hands from the dough. I was contemplating poisoning them—killing them. That's not me. That's never been me.

"Everyone's attention."

I look up at the sound of Madame Harper's voice.

She commands the gaze of the kitchen, staff and prisoners alike. "In three days the palace will be having guests. This means you must increase your quota. I don't want any shortages. The food must be beyond compare. Understand?"

We all bow and nod. I find the bowing part difficult, but I shove away my pride in order to keep my life.

Once she leaves, I ask Creelle, "Who is coming?"

He shrugs, focusing on lining up the rolls on a tray to place them in an oven. "I think I heard something about generals from some of the maids."

A war meeting. It would be a potential chance to learn about their plans. An invisible hand punches my stomach, a silent yell that it's a foolish idea. After all, these generals are much more likely to recognize me than a palace servant.

They're much more violent too.