The heavy iron triangle outside the kitchen door rang out—three sharp strikes. This was the signal for the morning prayer. Immediately, the house felt different. The soft chatter of the children stopped, and everyone began to move toward the main hall.
Manya put the lid on the large soup pot and wiped her hands on her apron. "Come, Mary Ann. No one can be late for this. It is the heart of our day."
We walked into the great hall. It was a large, drafty room with high ceilings and walls made of dark wood. At the front, the Eldress stood tall, her silver hair shining in the dim light of the candles. The children lined up perfectly—the older ones in the back, and the little ones like Dasha and Vanya in the front.
I felt a presence behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Mikhail. I could feel the cold air he brought in from the outside and the intensity of his gaze on the back of my head. I stood as straight as I could, my shoulders aching from the wood I had stacked.
The Eldress raised her hands. Her voice was strong and clear, filling every corner of the room.
"We thank the Earth for the wood that keeps us warm," she began. "We thank the rain for the food in our bowls. And we thank each other for the strength to survive another night."
"We are the forgotten," the children whispered in unison, their voices sounding like the rustle of dry leaves. "But we are not lost."
The prayer was simple, but there was a weight to it that made my heart ache. In my world, I never thought about where my heat came from or if I would have enough to eat. Here, every breath was a gift they had to fight for.
Once the prayer ended, the silence broke into the quiet clatter of wooden bowls. We moved to the long tables. Manya and I carried the large pot of cabbage soup from the kitchen, the steam rising in thick clouds that smelled of salt and earth.
I began to ladle the soup into the children's bowls. When I reached Mikhail, I felt my hands tighten on the wooden handle. He sat at the end of the table, his face unreadable. I poured his soup carefully, making sure not to spill a drop.
As I placed a thick slice of the rye bread I had cut myself next to his bowl, I looked him right in the eye. I wanted him to see that my hands were dirty from work, not soft from rest.
Mikhail looked at the bread, then looked at my hands. For a split second, his eyes flickered with something—not a smile, but a quiet acknowledgment. He picked up the bread and took a large bite without saying "thank you," but he didn't look away from me either.
I sat down between Manya and Dasha. Dasha was already happily blowing on her hot soup.
"Is it good today, Sestra?" Dasha asked, looking up at me with a smudge of flour on her nose.
"It's the best soup I've ever had," I whispered, and I realized I wasn't lying. Hunger and hard work had made the simple meal taste like a feast.
Manya nudged me with her elbow. "Look," she whispered, nodding toward the head of the table.
I looked up. The Eldress was watching the room, but her eyes eventually landed on me. She gave a single, slow nod of approval. She had seen me in the garden, she had seen me in the cellar, and she saw me now, serving the others.
Breakfast ended as quickly as it had begun. The children moved like a well-oiled machine, picking up their wooden bowls and wiping down the long tables. In this house, no one stayed idle.
As I was helping Dasha stack the last of the spoons, the Eldress stood up. The room went silent.
"Manya. Mary Ann. Come with me," she commanded, her voice calm but firm.
We followed her to the heavy front door where our thick wool cloaks were hanging. My heart started to race. Was I being sent away?
"The winter will be long," the Eldress said, looking out at the frost-covered path. "Mikhail's hunting helps, and the garden provides what it can, but we need coin. We need salt, flour, and medicine. Manya, you will take Mary Ann to the village. It is time she earns her keep."
Manya's eyes brightened. "Are we going to Old Agnes's place, Eldress?"
The Eldress nodded. "Agnes owes me a favor from many years ago. She needs extra hands in the kitchen of her tavern. It is hard work, but it is safe. Go now, before the sun climbs too high."
The walk to the town was long and freezing. Manya led the way, pointing out different landmarks.
"That tavern is called The Silver Hearth," Manya explained as we reached a cluster of small stone buildings. "Agnes is a bit loud, but she has a good heart. I work there three days a week. Mikhail brings the meat he hunts in the woods there, too. That's how we pay for most of our supplies."
"Does Mikhail go there often?" I asked, pulling my cloak tighter.
"Every few days," Manya replied. "He's the best hunter in the valley. Agnes trusts his kills more than anyone else's."
We pushed open the heavy oak door of the tavern. The air inside was thick with the smell of roasted meat, spilled ale, and woodsmoke. A woman with bright red cheeks and a massive white apron was shouting orders to a young boy.
"Agnes!" Manya called out.
The woman turned around, a big grin breaking across her face. "Manya! You're early. And who is this? The mystery girl the Eldress sent word about?"
Agnes walked over, wiping her hands on her apron. She circled me like she was inspecting a horse. "She looks a bit thin, Manya. Can she handle a cast-iron pot? Or will she break like a dry twig?"
"She's stronger than she looks, Agnes," Manya defended me quickly. "She helped Mikhail with the oak logs this morning."
I stepped forward, trying to look confident. "I can work. I'm a fast learner, and I'm not afraid of the heat."
Agnes let out a loud, booming laugh. "I like her spirit! Alright, Manya. The Eldress says she's a hard worker, and that's enough for me. But listen here, girl—my kitchen is a battlefield. If you can't keep up with the lunch rush, I'll send you back to the orphanage with empty pockets. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said firmly.
"Good. Manya, show her where the aprons are. We have twenty pounds of potatoes that need peeling before the hunters arrive at noon."
As Manya and I moved toward the back of the kitchen, I saw a familiar sight near the back entrance. Mikhail was there, dropping two large deer carcasses onto the heavy wooden butchering block. He looked up and froze when he saw me standing there in an apron.
"What is she doing here?" Mikhail asked, his voice low as he looked at Agnes.
"She's working, Mikhail," Agnes barked back, not looking up from her stove. "The Eldress sent her. Now stop hovering and go get me those rabbits you promised."
Mikhail didn't move. He looked at me, then at the heavy knife in my hand, then back at Agnes. "She's not ready for the village. It's too crowded. Too many eyes."
"I can take care of myself, Mikhail," I said, stepping closer. "The Eldress trusts me. Why can't you?"
Mikhail's jaw tightened. He didn't answer me. He just grabbed his empty hunting sack and looked at Manya. "Keep an eye on her. If she makes a scene, the Watch will start asking questions we don't want to answer."
He turned on his heel and walked out the back door into the cold.
Manya sighed and handed me a peeler. "Don't mind him. He just worries about the house. Now, let's get to work. These potatoes aren't going to peel themselves."
I looked at the mountain of potatoes and then at the door where Mikhail had left. I had a job. I had a way to help the children. And most importantly, I had another chance to prove to everyone—especially Mikhail—that I wasn't going anywhere.
The kitchen was a nightmare of steam, clanging metal, and shouting. Agnes moved like a storm, tossing heavy iron pans onto the stove and screaming for more butter or clean plates. Manya was a blur of motion next to me, her hands moving so fast I could barely see them as she plated food.
"Mary Ann! Two bowls of stew and a plate of roasted pork for table four! Move!" Agnes barked, slamming a heavy wooden tray onto the counter.
I grabbed the tray, but it was much heavier than I expected. The wooden bowls were thick, and the ceramic plates weighed a ton. I tried to walk quickly toward the dining area, but my long wool skirt kept getting caught under my feet. In my world, I wore sneakers or heels; here, these heavy boots made me feel like I was walking through mud.
"Excuse me! Coming through!" I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the loud laughter and shouting of the hunters and travelers in the room.
The tavern was packed. Men in thick furs were banging their mugs on the tables, and the air was thick with the smell of ale and sweat. I felt everyone's eyes on me—the "new girl" who didn't know the layout of the room.
I reached table four, but a large man suddenly stood up to cheer, his elbow catching my shoulder.
"Whoa!" I gasped, the tray tilting dangerously.
I managed to save the pork, but a good amount of the hot brown stew splashed over the side of the bowl, landing right on the man's leather boot.
"Hey! Watch it, girl!" the man growled, looking down at his messy shoe. "Are you blind or just clumsy?"
"I'm so sorry, sir! Let me—" I reached for a cloth, but I realized I didn't even have one tucked into my apron yet.
"Forget it," he grumbled, waving me away. "Just give me the food and get out of the way. You're slower than a turtle."
I felt my face burn with shame. I quickly set the plates down, but I was so flustered that I forgot which bowl went to whom. By the time I turned back to the kitchen, I saw the other serving girl, a local named Katya, zip past me with two trays at once, weaving through the crowd like a bird. She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
I stumbled back into the kitchen, my hands shaking.
"What took you so long?" Agnes shouted over the sizzle of the fire. "Table six has been waiting for their ale for ten minutes! Manya is doing the work of three people because you're standing in the middle of the floor like a statue!"
"I'm sorry, Agnes, it's just... there are so many people, and the tray is—"
"The tray is heavy? The people are loud?" Agnes interrupted, pointing a wooden spoon at me. "This is a tavern, not a library! If you move that slow during the lunch rush, the food gets cold and the customers get angry. And angry customers don't pay!"
Manya hurried past me, grabbing a stack of clean bowls. "Mary Ann, don't think about the people," she whispered quickly. "Just look at the table numbers. Step, set, move. Don't stop to talk. Just move!"
I tried to listen, but everything felt like it was in fast-forward. I grabbed another order, but my movements were hesitant and stiff. I was thinking too much about my feet and the weight of the tray. Every time I tried to go faster, I almost tripped or bumped into someone.
I looked toward the back door and saw Mikhail standing there. He hadn't left yet. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching me struggle. He didn't say a word, but his arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were full of that "I told you so" look. He watched me fumble with a cup, and I could practically hear him thinking about how weak and out of place I was.
I gripped the tray harder, my knuckles white. The heat of the kitchen was making my hair stick to my forehead, and my back was screaming in pain.
"Get moving, Mary Ann!" Agnes yelled again.
I took a deep breath and stepped back out into the crowd. I was the slowest person in the room, and I had already made a mess, but I wasn't going to quit. Even if Mikhail was watching me fail, I was going to keep moving until the last plate was served.