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what’s going on?” Snow shouldn’t have been surprised. Her mother was the queen of secrets. “I’m in this awful place because of you , and you aren’t even going to tell me why?” Snow wouldn’t let herself cry. Not in front of her mother. She stood up and paced over to the wall with the window.
    Her mother shifted behind her. “It’s for your own good—” She didn’t finish the sentence, because she cried out in pain.
    Snow turned around. Her mother had one foot under her hips as if she was going to stand. She froze in that position, pressing hard into the ground and breathing deeply.
    “They ripped open your feet,” Snow said in a hard voice. “And you won’t even tell me why.”
    Her mother set her lips into a thin line and shook her head, and Snow felt like shaking her until she told her the truth. My feet could be next! Shouldn’t she know what was going on before the guards came for her?
    Her mother’s fingers trembled as she unwrapped the makeshift bandages. She stared in silence at the angry wounded flesh, her hand hovering over the stripes along one sole. Then, she took the damp cloths and matter-of-factly rewrapped her feet. She looked up at the window, her gaze marking the corners where the walls met the ceiling, and finally took in the entirety of the cell’s interior in a swift searching glance.
    “Ten paces square,” Snow said. “I’ve checked. Several times.” She helped her mother take a few steps over to the far wall. “It gets better. Look at this.” The words on the wall were layered, etched in the endless hours belonging to the prisoners who had once shared this cell. In the midst of all the nonsensical words, one simple phrase was carved over and over: Let this be but a dream. Her mother reached out to touch her, and Snow flinched. In one smooth movement, her mother withdrew her hand, instead running her fingers along one of the deepest, most desperate-looking etchings.
    The silence was broken by the sound of a faint scuffling in the opposite corner, the one spot in the small space Snow had tried to avoid. The smell alone told her about the chamber pot’s contents.
    “It could be rats,” her mother said. The noises grew louder.
    “Big rats,” Snow said.
    Her mother limped to the corner and with some effort pushed aside the filthy pot. Its contents sloshed onto the floor.
    “Gross!” Snow stepped back.
    “Get over here and help.” Her mother’s fingers scrabbled against the stones. Dirt from the mortar fell with the pressure from the opposite side. “Someone’s coming through.”
    Snow snatched up the water dipper as she crossed the room. She took the handle and began prying at the loose stone. “What if it’s the guards?”
    “Coming in to surprise us?” her mother said with a small smile. “I’m guessing they’d use the door.”
    Snow wedged the handle of the ladle in a crack and pushed down hard. Was someone about to rescue them? She dropped her tool and tore at the chunks of breaking stone. Soon, the muffled rhythm from the other side of the wall was accompanied by singing, although she couldn’t make out the words.
    “Hello?” Snow tried to keep her tone low. Please don’t let the guards come back now . She licked her lips and called again, louder. The stone in front of them wiggled.
    “Hallo?” a man’s voice answered back.
    “Can you push on the stone?” Snow’s mother asked. “We’re right on the other side.”
    “Move away,” the man called. Crumbling dirt cascaded down one edge. The biggest part of the stone inched forward. Then with one last jolt, it plopped out onto the floor and promptly split in two. A head of matted black hair followed it, and a man pulled his thin form into their cell.
    “What, ho! That’s not right,” he said. “This isn’t outside. This is my old cell.” He peered into the hole, then back at their cell, and he seemed to notice them for the first time. He bowed and swept one hand out to the side. “My