For those who’ve read Sackcloth and Sky, a scene from Zain’s point of view…

The boy put the bowl on Zain’s desk, yet another time-wasting exercise from the kitchen. He had more important business than eating unappetising little snacks.

He breathed in, a memory rose. One of the gruel Lyra would bring him during those long, dark days in the Citadel. He inhaled again. It was the same scent, warm, comforting, satisfying. And it was coming from the bowl.

He pulled it closer, picking up the spoon beside it. Surely it was his imagination. 

One taste and he was back there. Scared for his sight, but in every other way the happiest he’d ever been. Another spoonful, then another and the bowl was nearly empty. Too soon. He needed more, but this was the last bit.

He scraped the bottom of the bowl, scooping up the last of the food. Wait, there was something else, among the mess of grains. Something hard and round. He pulled it out and rinsed it in a nearby mug of water. An old silver ring, the carvings on its surface as familiar to his fingertips as the gruel to his tongue. 

He rang for the attendant. “Fetch me the person who prepared this meal.”

His heart beat too fast, it climbed into his throat, thudding as he waited for the sound of her footsteps in the corridor outside. Please, please let it be her.