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Are the Trials starting?” The girl claps her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I—”“It’s all right.” I don’t smile at her. It will only scare her. For a female slave, a smile from a Mask is not usually a good thing. “I’m actually wondering the same thing. What’s your name?”“S-slave-Girl.” Of course. My mother would already have scourged her name out of existence.“Right. You work for the Commandant?” I want her to say no. I want her to say that my mother roped her into this. I want her to say she’s assigned to the kitchens or infirmary, where slaves aren’t scarred or missing body p
