part0004

“When you didn’t come back,” Naiba went on, “I sat by the window, waiting. I saw Ash come back through the gate. I saw the guard . . . touching her. Zura came into the back gardens. She would have seen them. I managed to distract her long enough for your mother to get away.”

“Why—why would you help us?” Cinder asked. She didn’t think any of the other servants would risk so much, and they’d known each other their entire lives.

“Because your mother would have suffered a lot more than just a beating.” Naiba pulled up her robe. “I don’t know what you two are doing, but I’ve seen slaves killed for less.”

Cinder winced. All this time, she’d thought of this girl as an irritating child. But there was steel beneath the surface. “Thank you, Naiba.”

Cinder placed her hand over her heart. “You have to keep your true name in here, where they can never take it from you.” She wouldn’t even dare think of the girl as Yula, in case it slipped out.

Cinder stared at her retreating form. Naiba had saved her mother’s life, and possibly Cinder’s as well. She swore that from now on, she would do everything in her power to make sure Naiba survived this.

When it was time to take the food into the mansion, Cinder was so tired she wasn’t sure how she would finish all her cleaning and the dress. Her eyes felt gritty and her head heavy as she carried the trays to the rooms. Before she pushed into her mother’s room, she paused to collect herself.

As always, Ash was sitting at the table, her lip stain faded and cracked from her escapades the night before. Unable to meet her gaze, Cinder lifted the tea pot and asked, “Do you believe I’m good enough to become the seamstress for the House of Night?”

As Cinder poured the tea, she said softly, “Then why did you risk everything I’m working for to visit the Sand Snake?”

Ash’s hand shot out, gripping Cinder’s arm hard enough to leave a mark. The teapot slipped from her grasp and shattered on the tiles. Hot water sprayed on Cinder’s legs and soaked the bottoms of her sandaled feet. Hissing in pain, she jumped back. Ash dropped to her knees and soaked up the liquid with a tea towel before it could escape along the six grout lines. She didn’t shy away from the heat as she brushed the fragments into the center.

Cinder tried to stop her brain from calculating the cost of the china. “I saw you with the guard at the gate,” she whispered, the tears she refused to shed making her head throb. “And I wasn’t the only one.”

Ash’s eyes slipped closed. “It isn’t anything I haven’t done before—a thousand times before. What’s once more, especially when that once more serves me instead of her?” Still on her knees, she looked up at Cinder. “You have to trust me.”

Cinder knelt on the floor, which still felt hot from the water. “You have to get the earring back,” she whispered. “When Zura finds it missing, she’ll come after you.” Her mother didn’t answer. “Do you know what you’re risking?”

Ash leaned forward. “I have survived as a slave longer than you have been alive—and I did it because I understand people in a way you never will. Now, you will keep silent. Do you understand?”

Cinder felt the heat swelling up to her head. “I’m going to be a seamstress in a few days. Then I can buy all of your freedom. You just have to trust me.”

Ash laughed, but there was no humor in it. “There are pockets of darkness and cruelty in the world, Daughter. And Zura revels in those shadows. Do not mistake her kindness for anything other than the mask it is.”

The main door swung open. There stood Magian, watching Cinder and Ash with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on here?” she barked.

Did Magian know they had snuck out last night? Cinder gathered six fragments into her hand and transferred them onto the tray without looking up.

Ash inclined her head in submission. Cinder let out a breath—Magian and Zura didn’t know about last night. “Cinder, the broken pot will come out of your wages,” Magian went on. “This whispering stops or Ash will be sent to live with Rugur for a time. He’s been requesting it.”

“Cinder, this arrived for you.” Magian nodded to a small wooden chest on the floor by her feet. She must have set it there before knocking.

Eyes downcast, Cinder took the chest and opened it. Inside were hundreds of glass jewels, all of them faceted. Fighting the urge to sort and count them, she closed the lid. She could do this. She could save herself and her family. If she could just manage to keep her mother from dooming them first.

Magian started away. After casting a pleading look at her mother, Cinder hurried to catch up with Zura’s daughter and asked, “Might I work on the dress today?”

“You went without sleep for months while searching for a job and sewing your own clothing. You can go without sleep now.”

Gradually, Cinder became aware of a low murmur of conversation. It suddenly occurred to her that she was asleep, and that the auction was tonight and the dress still wasn’t ready. She bolted up in her chair to find the dress on the form, the glass already sewn onto the fabric. In the muted evening light, it glittered like light sparking off the tops of waves. Cinder glanced around the room to see Ash sitting beside Naiba on the bench, containers of colored powders and brushes littering the makeup dresser beside her. Cinder’s mother leaned forward, her expert hands applying the powders to the girl’s face.

Feeling a rush of affection for the girl, Cinder walked to the dress and lifted one of the panels. She was shocked at how beautiful and unique it was—even more so than the other robes she had made.

Cinder looked up, her vision stained crimson from the dress. A light powder dusted Naiba’s face. Kohl lined her eyes, and a pale pink stained her mouth. She looked like a scared little girl. Cinder’s heart nearly broke as she thought of everything that had been taken from Naiba. Everything that would continue to be taken from her. “She looks lovely,” Cinder said softly.

Ash rested her hands on the girl’s. “There will be music and fine food—the best you’ve ever tasted, and unlike me, you’re skinny enough that Zura will let you have all you want. You will serve the men and then sing for them.”

“I can’t,” Naiba squeaked. “I can’t talk to them. I can’t sing in front of them, knowing what they mean to do to me.”

Cinder came to kneel beside her. “I promise you, all you have to do is sing for them. You’re too young for the rest.”

The door swept open, startling all four of them. Farush stepped into the room, followed by his brother, who bore a large chest. Zura and Magian entered last. Zura’s eyes swept over Naiba, and a small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Are you ready to prove that you belong in the House of Night and not in some back alley?” demanded the mistress.

Zura circled the girl while Magian sifted through the chest Farood had set next to the bed. Magian laid out the jewelry for the night, marking everything on her scrolls. Cinder wondered how long before they noticed an earring was missing.

Having finished her circuit of Naiba, Zura paused before Cinder and gestured to Magian. When her daughter didn’t see her, Zura snapped her fingers. Magian removed a few trays of jewelry and pulled out one of the robes Cinder had made—this one in deepest purple. It had been her mother’s robe long ago. Cinder remembered gathering fistfuls of the gauzy fabric in her fevering hands as her mother had held her.

Zura waved away her words with a lazy flick of her wrist. “The color is all wrong and the texture too heavy for her. You should have waited until you met the girl before picking the fabric. You always sew lacing into the back, so it should fit you. Perhaps a little tight, but the men won’t mind.”

Zura turned on her heel. “Do her hair and makeup, Ash,” she ordered before signaling Magian and the thugs to follow her from the room.

Once the door was shut, Cinder shot a helpless look at her mother, but Ash said quietly, “The walls are always listening.”

Somehow, Cinder knew they were listening now. In a daze, she sat on the chair and felt the tickle of the makeup brushes, smelled the powders on her own skin. Ash piled Cinder’s hair on her head to show off the freeborn tattoos. Cinder dropped her plain, worn robes to the floor. She pulled the dress off the form and slipped it over her head, marveling at how heavy it was. Still, the material was soft, the gown surprisingly comfortable. Her mother tightened the corset laces on the back until the bodice fit snugly across Cinder’s breasts.

Cinder bowed down under the weight of the gown and tied on the two gold sandals encrusted with bits of clear, faceted glass. Magian had left her some jewelry too—ruby-and-gold anklets and a beautifully worked belt that was a mockery of the clannish belts.

Cinder straightened, then looked at herself in the mirror. What she saw took her breath away. The dark kohl made her silver eyes smolder. Her hair was intricately braided in the manner of the clanswomen. She looked like her mother and grandmother, only the crimson dress emphasized her curves more than any robe or overdress ever could. The glass Cinder had stitched with such care caught the light with each movement of her body, making even the slightest shift look like a dazzling display.

Her mother turned and strode to the door, then paused with her back to Cinder and Naiba. “Approach any man not already linked with a companion,” she instructed. “Feed them, converse with them, dance with them. Try to be charming. But do not let them lead you to a private room. That is only for patrons and with Zura’s approval.”

Cinder and Naiba trailed after Ash. Once they left the clanswoman sector, Cinder could smell the food and hear the music. Ash, Naiba, and Cinder stepped into the lamplight. The mansion’s great room already teemed with men. Companions mingled, bringing their patrons wines and dainty treats. Some of the men had gathered around low tables surrounded by velvet cushions. Others had sidled up to their companions or pulled them into private sitting rooms. Some couples were dancing.

A man perhaps in his late twenties came straight to Ash and pressed a passionate kiss to her mouth. Cinder turned away, hot with embarrassment, and tapped her fingers to her thumb.

He made a sound low in his throat. “Terribly. Blasted smugglers have stolen nearly half of my dried mangos!” Then he noticed Cinder and asked in a stunned voice, “Is she your daughter?”

Cinder squared herself in front of him. “I am not a companion. I am freeborn. I am here to train the House of Night’s newest companion.” Cinder started to gesture to Naiba, but found her hiding behind one of the columns. She gave the girl a desperate look and motioned her toward them, taking hold of her arm so she couldn’t try to escape. “Naiba is our newest companion. She has a beautiful voice, as you will see later.”

Kaveh looked the girl over but was clearly unimpressed. “Well, on to the wine then.” He followed Ash, who was all sugary smiles. Yet Cinder could read the lines of fury in her stiff movements.

Trying not to squirm under the intense gazes of the dozens of men, Cinder locked her arm around Naiba’s. “Smile at them,” she whispered. The girl managed a terrified smile. Cinder let out a long sigh. She needed more sleep. But she might survive the night if she could taste some of the food. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

She pulled Naiba toward the banquet tables, which were crowded with every kind of food imaginable, divided into sections from each nation. There was whale soup from the highmen, leopard skewers from Luatha, and even a stew of vegetables and lamb from the clanlands. Unable to resist, Cinder filled a plate and nearly fainted at the smoky taste of the meat. Naiba was just as bad, drinking a bowl of soup without pause.

“Choose the men with the kindest eyes and the richest clothes,” her mother replied, then loaded a plate with food and hurried back to Kaveh’s side.

Cinder took a bowl of soup, Naiba a plate of skewers. Counting the men who watched them like a hawk watching a duckling, she noticed many of their eyes settling on her. She took a deep breath and steered Naiba away from the men who stared at the young girl with a sick kind of fascination. “The more you impress them, the more money you’ll bring and the better you’ll be endowed,” Cinder told her.

Naiba squared herself and glanced around the room. With Cinder trailing her, the girl walked over to an older man with a bushy beard and dark eyes. Naiba placed the bowl in his hands and did a little bow before turning away.

Cinder grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her back to the man. “This is Naiba. She’s to be our newest companion. She’s brilliant with Luathan songs.”

The man stroked his beard one, two, three times. “I have a meeting coming up with a possible buyer from the Adrack. If she’s as good as you say, well, her youth might leave him a touch softened for the deal.”

He looked over Naiba again. “Of course, it would also be nice to hear of the rustic ways of the Luathan—and you know how tribesmen are with their stories. Does she know any?”

Cinder turned an expectant gaze toward Naiba, who was staring at the man’s chest. Cinder squeezed her arm, and Naiba said, “I used to tell stories to my sisters. Stories of the three virgin goddesses and their three horses—thunder, lightning, and wind.”

Cinder gave a little bow and began steering Naiba away. “If you will please excuse us.” When they were out of earshot of the man, Cinder said, “Now was that so bad?”

Cinder was giddy with hope. “We’re going to pull this off. You will wear the finest clothes and eat the finest foods and travel the city telling stories and singing songs.”

Naiba smiled weakly and gathered up another plate of food. Cinder scanned the room, searching for another kind-looking man with an honest expression. A portly man with a piggish nose and red skin caught her eye. There was a sort of jolliness about him—he was the type of man who liked his wine and laughter. He lifted his glass to Cinder and Naiba and made a little bow.

Cinder took a deep breath, tapping her fingers and trying to remain patient. “Be kind, Naiba. It’s who you are. And maybe he came here looking for a little kindness.”

Naiba bit her lip and stepped toward the man. Cinder watched as the girl asked him a hesitant question. He clapped his hand on her shoulder and laughed uproariously. She rewarded him with a timid smile.

At that moment, Cinder noticed Zura tracking Naiba. Her eyes never leaving the other girl’s progress, the mistress came to stand beside Cinder and said, “You will circulate food to the men as well.”

“I already told you, more men came tonight than I expected, all of them potential clients. Two men in particular with more money than all the others combined—they’re both on the north side. I want them to return. So you will mingle. You will feed them. And you will shine like my companions. Am I clear?”

The woman slipped away. Cinder went to the table and filled a plate. In three steps, she had brought it to the first man she saw—an older gentleman with a dizzying amount of tattoos on his head. “You look hungry,” she said with a smile.

An image of the man on top of her flashed in her mind. I’m trapped, I’m trapped, I’m trapped! Reeling, she returned to the table and steadied herself against it. I’m not supposed to seduce the men, simply serve them, she reminded herself. She brought each of them a plate of food with a little bow, not bothering to say a word anymore. To and from the table she counted her steps, making sure she always landed on an even number.

A little shriek of dismay broke her counting, and the numbers fell to pieces all around her. She whirled around. One of the men had pulled Naiba into his lap. Cinder shoved a plate of food into a man’s unsuspecting hands. “Farush! Farood!” she called.

Seven steps later, she hauled a cowering Naiba out of the man’s grasp. “Show some respect. She’s training to be a companion, not a common whore. And she’s only twelve years old!”

She held up a hand to silence him. “Perhaps you are new to companion houses, but there is no touching of the companions—in training or otherwise—by anyone other than their assigned patrons. Granted, many men succumb to the temptation on their first visits. Perhaps a distraction is in order. Would you like to come with me to one of the private rooms? I have some Luathan berry wine I’d like you to sample. Or perhaps you’re more of a spirits man? I have some fine rye whiskey all the way from the clanlands.” Zura expertly steered the man away.

Cinder turned to a cowering Naiba, who folded her arms across herself. “Are those the kind of men who will be my patrons?” the girl asked, her bottom lip quivering.

Cinder reached out with a shaking hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Naiba’s ear. “I promise you won’t have to worry about any men like that. The House of Night is the finest and most respected companion house in the city.”

Naiba approached five more men, with Cinder by her side. Twice she had to steer the girl away when the conversation turned lewd after only a few words. How had the sods even been let inside? Cinder gestured to Farush and Farood, who came over to take the men to the tasting room with Zura. After two more, Naiba had just started to gain a little confidence, so Cinder let her try on her own again, staying close the whole time.

Most of the men at the gathering appeared to be over forty years old, but now Cinder and Naiba approached a cluster of young men. In the center, his eyes never leaving Cinder’s face, was Darsam. Laughing loudly at a joke, he seemed much different than the quiet, steady man she’d encountered last night. Instead of dark, plain robes and swords, he wore fine linen with an embroidered vest that spoke of money. His face was shaved after the manner of the tribesmen.

Tapping her fingers to her thigh, Cinder felt a flush of shame. He would never believe she was not a companion now that he had seen her serving. Reminding herself that it didn’t matter what Darsam thought, she turned to look for Naiba, only to find her headed toward them. When the girl offered him a bowl of soup, Darsam laughed and waved her off. Naiba’s eyes fell and she hurried away.

She had thought him different from the rest. A spoiled man playing at criminal, yes, but maybe a decent criminal. Apparently, that was only a front. So he was just like every other man she knew. Anger tingled along Cinder’s scalp, lifting her hair. “Why did you humiliate her?”

He tugged the plate from Cinder’s reluctant hands, then picked up a skewer and took a bite. “I wanted to talk to you, not her.”

Cinder narrowed her eyes. Despite his careless manner, there was something different about this man and the others with him. Some kind of quiet readiness instead of insatiable hunger. Were they here about the earring Ash had given to Darsam’s cohort? About whatever deal Cinder’s mother had made with them? Cinder studied this man and then said softly, “Give it back. Before it costs her something she can’t afford to lose.”

Cinder opened her mouth to ask what that meant when he caught her arm, his fingers gentle but firm. “I must speak with you privately,” he whispered. The flippant manner was gone again, the serious man back, like he’d slipped off a mask. She wondered which mask was really Darsam, or if neither of them was.

Not certain she should trust him, Cinder almost didn’t follow. But he hadn’t grabbed her or demanded; he had said please. As if she had a choice. Worry over her mother cinched her resolve, and she trailed after him into the soft shadows of the colonnade that led to the kitchens. The hot air throbbed against her skin. The monsoon would start any moment.

Darsam glanced back at the kitchen, where a couple of lanterns highlighted his face, then at the shadows as if to make sure he and Cinder were truly alone. He looked at her and said softly, “You have a good heart and an innocence about you. I never would have expected that. But you need to trust your mother and no one else.”

He must not know about that part. “I made a deal with Zura. If I could make the next girl into a companion worthy of the House, I would be the next seamstress. If not, I go to the debtors’ mines.” Despite the heat pricking her skin, Cinder shivered.

Cinder squared herself in front of him. “What kind of deal did you make with my mother? It was to help me escape the mine, wasn’t it? They’ll kill her for it, you know. Kill her for taking that earring. I won’t trade two years in the mines for my mother’s life. So you may as well give it back now.”

Cinder could feel him staring at her, though it was too dark to see his expression. Suddenly, the heavens opened, the rain coming down in sheets. Despite the protection of the colonnade, she could feel the spray against her skin. “I will face this alone,” she said loudly enough to be heard over the storm.

Darsam leaned in, so close her skin prickled with his nearness. “You’ve never had a chance, Cinder. Not from the start.”

The trembling started deep inside her, working its way out of her body until she was shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from coming apart from the inside out. “What do you mean?”

She felt the weight of his fingers, felt his closeness. And the way he was looking at her—almost like he admired her. Then his gaze strayed to her mouth. Heat prickled in her lower belly, and she found herself wanting to be closer, to touch his skin.

With a start, she realized the faint music from the other room had stopped altogether. She’d left Naiba alone for far too long. She backpedaled. “I must go.” She turned and ran for the mansion.

“Cinder!” Darsam called after her. She heard him following. She pushed open one of the pivot doors and slipped inside the building. The dress was damp, and she knew the fabric clung to her and revealed every curve and angle. Her head swung back and forth as she searched the room.

Suddenly, the man whom her mother had met with at the Sand Snake was beside him, pulling him back. “You’re attracting too much attention.”

She scanned the crowd and saw Naiba standing with Zura on the platform. Holding an intricately carved box, the mistress smiled and said, “We are pleased to announce that thirty-four new patrons have been added to the House of Night.”

Thirty-four? Cinder would have been shocked to hear of more than ten. In a daze, she wove through the crowd toward the platform.

“Magian and I will bring your contracts in the next few days. We are so very pleased to add you to Naiba’s roster.” Magian handed out peaches to Naiba’s new patrons. There was the pig-faced man, grinning and holding the peach like a prize. Then the man who had pulled Naiba into his lap. The man who’d shown interest in the girl’s stories. And then the three men who’d made obscene comments.

Naiba was visibly trembling, her face ashen as Zura led her through the crowd, box in hand, toward someone in front of Cinder—the highest bidder. Cinder forced her way past the pig-faced man and saw the man they were heading toward. Durux. Naiba realized it at the same time and balked, her head shaking frantically.

Before Cinder knew what she was doing, she had rushed over and inserted herself between Zura and Durux, one hand raised to the older woman. “You can’t do this.”

Instead of slapping her or calling for her guards, Zura lifted a single eyebrow and spoke loudly. “My dearest new patrons, take a moment to meet Naiba.” After motioning for her guards to stay behind, Zura took hold of Cinder’s arm and led her toward her office. “Naiba earned enough to become a companion—Durux paid very highly for her debut—and you, my dear Cinder, will become a seamstress. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“The House of Night specializes in performers. Naiba is twelve years old!” Cinder seethed. “That’s what I was preparing her for. She’s too young to be a prostitute!”

Inside the office, Magian was already hard at work. She barely looked up at Zura and Cinder before continuing to write out contracts. Zura shut the door and moved to slowly pace before her table. “Things are changing—Idara is changing,” she told Cinder. “If my house is to survive, so must we.”

“All thanks to you. You managed to train her, dress her in these beautiful garments. Everyone is talking about them, by the way. You already have orders.” Zura tapped her own index finger. “You’ve done it. Proven yourself worthy to become my seamstress and trainer for all future girls who come into my house.” She paused and smiled cruelly. “From slave’s daughter to slave driver—who would have thought you would so easily turn on your own?”

Zura stepped past her and opened the door, giving Cinder a full view of Durux—his big ears pink with excitement and his close-set gaze fixated on Naiba in a way that made Cinder shudder.

“Now, I don’t want to hear another word about it. This is a day to celebrate.” Zura started out, but Cinder reached out and grabbed her forearm.

Zura lifted her eyebrows at Cinder’s hand on her arm. But she didn’t slap her and jerk away like Cinder expected. She simply shrugged. “There is a very strict loss-of-life clause in the contract. I will be more than compensated for any damage or death.”

Over the older woman’s shoulder, Cinder shot Naiba a desperate glance, but the girl was trapped in Durux’s gaze. He moved to pry the box from the girl’s clenched fists, not bothering to open it. Then he reached out and caught one of the tears streaming down Naiba’s cheek and brought it to his lips to taste it.

Cinder remembered being sick with a fever one night as a young girl. She’d wanted her mother, not Holla. So, in the dead of night, she had snuck away to her mother’s room. There, Cinder had seen for herself what went on between the companions and the patrons. The thought of strange men touching her, possessing her, made her sick. That’s how she felt now. Sick and fevered and desperate. “I will never be a companion,” she told the mistress.

Zura raised a single eyebrow. “Even if I allow you to purchase Naiba to sweeten the deal?” she asked in a low tone. “In fact, I’ve been holding an auction for you tonight, as well as for Naiba. Because you are a freewoman, we would split your commission 70/30. Within your first year, you could pay off your purchase of Naiba outright. Return her to her poor father. You already have enough potential clients to pay your debts and purchase your whole family in just a few short years.”

Cinder had watched the light die from the new companions’ eyes. Watched them cover their hard, broken edges with masks of makeup and fine robes. She’d watched her grandmother and mother be caned for failing to please their clients. “I can’t,” she choked out.

“All because you detest the idea of men touching you?” Zura scoffed. “Because that will happen one day anyway. Might as well be paid for it.”

“You did this on purpose,” Cinder exclaimed. “Chose a young girl, fully planning to auction her off as a prostitute. Hoping I’d want to help her.”

Zura snorted. “I’ve done much more than that. I spread the word far and wide that I had two possible companions up for auction tonight. The one with the highest bid would become a companion. It was a marketing tactic. I had to do something to save my business from Jatar. And it worked even better than I expected. Do you want to guess which girl had the higher bids?”

“That’s why you had me circulating food to the men. Why you had me wear this dress.” Dazed, Cinder looked around. She had wondered where her mother was, but now she realized Zura had made sure she was occupied somewhere else and unable to intervene.

Cinder had to choose between saving herself and saving Naiba. But hadn’t she already sworn she would do whatever it took to protect the girl? Her eyes slipped closed and when she opened them again, her gaze locked with Darsam’s. His expression was hard, fury sparking in his eyes, and she realized he’d known this would happen. Had tried to warn her. He nodded to her once. She blinked in surprise, remembering how he’d asked her to trust him. She counted to ten and then back down again before she turned to Zura.

“There are other ways to make you comply, Cinder,” the older woman said. “I don’t want to have to use them, but I will.”

Cinder’s mother, her grandmother. Darsam had been right—Cinder had never had a choice. “I would have a freewoman’s terms, which means I have a choice in my patrons?”

Cinder felt everything slipping away. Her bright future. Her chance to finally make it in this world. Magian brought out a rolled scroll and held her a quill with a flourish. “I cannot read it,” Cinder said, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

Then Darsam was in the office with them, taking the vellum gently from her fingers. His eyes scanned it, his jaw growing harder with each word. Finally, he nodded to Cinder. “It’s a fair contract.”

She stared into his dark eyes and willed him to give her some sort of hope. He managed a crooked, pained smile, his eyes begging her to trust him. “I’m just trying to help you.”

Not the first time he’d said that—and yet, some part of her actually believed him this time. She took a deep breath, let it out, and made her mark on the line.

Zura rolled up the parchment with a flourish and strode toward the platform. She held both her hands in the air, calling for quiet. When the room finally went still, she proclaimed, “And the winning companion for the night is Cinder!”

With those words, Cinder’s knees buckled. She knelt on the floor, bracing herself with her hand to keep from falling over. Her eyes shut against the dizziness assaulting her. I can’t breathe . . . I can’t breathe . . . I can’t breathe.

A cheer rose up around her and she heard men slapping each other on the back. Their words washed over her without meaning, pinning her down. She wasn’t sure how long she was there before Zura’s feet appeared before her. “Get up.”

Cinder pushed one leg under her and then the other. A hand under her arm guided her to her feet. She didn’t even have the wherewithal to see who was holding her. She stood swaying, unable to process what had just happened to her.

“Then you should have opened your purse a little wider,” Zura replied. When he continued to look unhappy, she patted his shoulder. “This bidding war has been such a success, we’ll be sure to do it again soon.”

Again. Bidding war. Cinder wavered on her feet, their enthusiasm breaking across her like a tsunami. There was a brief, hard pressure on her arm. She followed the pressure to find Darsam staring down at her. For a moment, he looked deep into her eyes, his gaze full of promises. Then he was gone.

Zura raised her hands, calling for quiet. “In light of recent events, we will have a short break where you may make a new bid or update your existing one with Magian, who is in my office.”

They mean to do this tonight? I will face my first patron tonight? Cinder’s knees buckled again—the thug’s hard grip the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

Her searching gaze found Naiba, who rushed toward her through the crowd, tears streaming down her face. “Cinder!” Naiba wrapped her up in both arms, her grip crushing.

Zura rolled her eyes and called for Farush. “Take her back to the servants’ house. If she won’t stay, lock her in the cellar.”

He jerked the wailing Naiba away, and Cinder watched as he flung her over his shoulder and hauled her toward the servants’ house. The men in the room simply parted to let him pass, clearly not at all worried about the sobbing child.

“You used to love to dance as a child,” Zura told Cinder as if the memories were pleasant ones. “You will dance those same clannish dances tonight, and you will sing. Because the more money you make, the sooner your time will be done. Am I clear?”

I swear, I will kill you someday. I will put a knife through your black heart and watch the light fade from your eyes, Cinder thought. But she forced herself to say, “Yes, Mother.”

Zura turned on her heel and gestured to the open stage. Cinder’s face tingled, a thousand needles pricking her at once. She forced herself to walk, one step in front of the other, but it was as if she moved upstream against a great current. Men’s deep voices mingled with the merry, tinkling tones of the women., the sound flowing around her, and then continuing on without pause.

All voices fell silent as Cinder passed. She lifted her chin, meeting no one’s gaze. Yet she couldn’t help but notice Durux waiting beside the platform, a knowing smile on his lips—like she was his already. A trembling started deep inside Cinder, and she faltered a little. A nudge from Farush got her moving again.

Slowly, the men who came to bid peeled away from the others and followed Cinder toward the platform. She climbed the stairs and walked to the center of the dais, the flickering lamplight making the dress flash with her every move. The crimson of the gown deepened to a heart’s blood-red.

Everyone was strangely silent, staring at her, just as they had stared at Naiba. Cinder tried to count the men in the room, but there were too many and there wasn’t enough time. All of them Idarans. All of them her enemy. Men who would use her for her body while pretending they weren’t. And she would be used, while pretending she wasn’t. It was a sick madness—one she was drowning in—but there was no escape.

She turned toward the musicians; all the women took turns providing the music. Cinder’s dress felt too tight across her chest, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She closed her eyes. The music rang out bright and hot, like a midsummer day—the sun beating down on fields of ripe grasses. With the dress shifting against her legs, Cinder began to sway like wind spinning through a village. Women sat at their spindles, men worked the teams, and children’s laughter bubbled over the breeze. There were pigs and horses and sheep and dogs. It made a brilliant cacophony of color and texture.

The wind left the village and shot past the crystal-clear waters of a river banked with mossy stones, then bounced over steep hills. Light reflected off the bits of glass in Cinder’s dress like sunlight catching the top of a stream. She reached up and took hold of the wind. A heaviness had pushed her limbs down, trapping her in the dark cold, but now the weight lifted. She was the wind, and wind could never be caged.

Cinder surged forward, free to dance as she used to as a child. Now the wind labored over a great mountain, the proud, strong trees causing it to lose its strength. It faltered as it broke upon the glacier, a dirty gray having robbed the snow of its brightness. The wind wandered, lost. But the cold of the place also gave it strength. Soon, it was cutting through deep crevasses, plunging down past a brilliant waterfall, carrying along the mist with it. It rolled over a surface of a pool and rippled it like the bottom of a sandy lake. Then there was no life. Only bare rock and barren emptiness.

Now the wind howled, demanding to be free. It surged over the mountain peak and spilled into the world. Free at last. Free to surge into the never-ending sky. The music faded away.

Cinder had come to a stop in the center of the floor. She could still feel the wind inside her, still see the place her mother had described to her every night before she’d gone to sleep. Cinder tasted the bite of a winter wind on her tongue. She sang of this place, a place of summer’s heat and winter’s kiss. A place of mighty beauty. When the song ended, she came back into her body slowly and with great reluctance.

Chest heaving with exertion, she looked down at the men, meeting their gazes for the first time. They stared at her, enraptured. She would survive, because they could not own her heart. That was now and would forever be her own.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Cinder knew it would smear her makeup, leaving a plunging drop of black down her powdered cheek, but she didn’t care. Let them know what they were taking from her. Even if only for a moment.

Zura came onto the stage, her razor-sharp stare telling Cinder that her little display had better pay off. She turned to face the men, her smile perfectly fixed in place. “Three generations of clannish women. The newest one is yours for the taking. Any remaining bids will be collected as my men circulate the room. Place your best offer in the chest.”

As the men wrote down their final bids, Farush and Farood wove through the crowd to gather the folded bits of fibrous paper. Magian appeared, toting a small table. She stood before it and smartly sorted the bids from highest to lowest as companions wove through the room, bringing drinks to all the men. Cinder ignored them, concentrated on the feeling that she was looking down from somewhere far above.

Magian finished and brought Zura a piece of paper. The older woman’s hand trembled a little. When she had finished reading, she lifted her head and visually searched the crowd. Then she turned to Magian, who handed her a small gold box with a ruby in the center of the lid. Zura placed the chest in Cinder’s hands. It was just like the box Naiba had held earlier.

Cinder counted down as they descended the stairs. She counted as she and Zura wove through the men, who parted as she passed, their gazes disappointed when Cinder didn’t stop. Five. She recognized some of the men from the last few days. Four. But she knew where they were headed. Three. She struggled to remain above the thought of any man touching her. Two. But when she paused before a man and blinked up at him, suddenly she could breathe again.

Cinder stared at his hard expression. His unwavering gaze. Her mother had said to find a man with kind eyes and deep pockets. Darsam’s kind eyes might be a lie, but he was better than Durux. Better than any other man here.

Cinder stretched out her arms and offered the chest to Darsam. He took it from her, his hands never touching hers. He pulled back the lid to reveal a wine-red pomegranate. He removed it from the chest, broke it in half, and popped a handful of seeds into his mouth. The rest of the men filed away.

Once in the hallway, Cinder took the lead, steering Darsam to the only empty room in the clannish sector. She wasn’t surprised to find it had been freshened up for her. It had false plaster walls, and beams of wood covering a false ceiling, as if she was some sort of exotic bird and this was her cage. Cinder hated it immediately.

She counted to ten, watching as Darsam gently set the gold box on the table. He was back to being quiet and gentle again. “What do you want from me?” she whispered softly so the walls wouldn’t hear.

In answer, he stood close and pressed something into her grasp. She opened her fingers enough to catch a glimpse of the object—the ruby earring! Cinder quickly closed her fist again, relief coursing through her. “I’ll find a way to take care of this.”

“No,” he said in a low whisper. “That’s not what I meant.” He took the ruby earring from Cinder and slipped it into his pocket. Then he stepped closer still, so close there was only the barest slip of air between them. “I promised I would help you. I’ve paid for your first few nights.”

Darsam shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Because I won’t take anything from you.” He cradled her cheek in his hand. “Except maybe a kiss. Because I know as well as you do that she is watching us right now.”

Did he really mean it? Would he truly grant Cinder this reprieve? She glanced at the walls, certain Zura was watching. Then Cinder tipped forward and kissed Darsam. It was her first real kiss. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she’d seen enough in the House of Night to figure out the basics.

His mouth was soft and sweet, his arms pulling her close. She could feel the hard planes of his body against hers, the stubble of his face scratching at her chin. He released her long enough to blow out the lamps and close the drapes, immersing them in darkness. And then his arms were around her again.

“If she’s looking for a show, we have to give it to her,” Darsam said quietly. “But I swear I won’t take advantage of you.”

“Fire and burning, Cinder, I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” He led her to the bed and pulled her under the silken sheets, then wrapped his strong arms around her and held her tight.

Cinder curled into a ball and cried silently, her body shuddering with the pain of losing all her of dreams, knowing Darsam couldn’t shield her from her fate forever.

Cinder lay in the bed beside Darsam, with his arms wrapped around her, his breath tickling the back of her neck. She counted four seconds for each inhalation and exhalation, steady and even. His arm felt heavy on her side. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but she had—deeply and uninterrupted for the first time in days. From the bright light seeping through the drapes, she knew it was morning. She felt lighter somehow. She wasn’t free, but her burden didn’t seem as heavy as before.

Still wearing the red gown she’d made, she eased from the bed, wincing as the dress tinkled and rustled. Once in the privy, she struggled with the six clasps. She let out a breath of relief when the gown released her. Cinder dropped it to the floor and kicked it into the corner, swearing she’d never wear it again. Then she looked down at her body and traced the lines left by the fitted fabric. Sighing, she pulled on a fine robe and trousers. She tiptoed into the anteroom. She hadn’t taken the time to inspect it, but it wasn’t so different from her mother’s and grandmother’s rooms.

Cinder went to the cabinet and opened the drawers, but she couldn’t seem to find the pack of wedlock weed. She wasn’t even sure why she was looking—it wasn’t as if she needed it yet. But that was always the first thing her mother had done whenever she had a patron in her bedroom.

The door slipped open behind Cinder, and she turned to see her grandmother carrying a tray of food. Storm took one look at her, set the tray down, dipped the corner of her apron in a bowl of warm water in the washroom, and hurried over. She wiped under her granddaughter’s eyes—Cinder had forgotten about the makeup. “There are things no one can ever take from you,” Cinder’s grandmother told her firmly. “Memories and emotions are yours, and yours alone. Return to them when you have nowhere else to go.”

Cinder gave a tremulous smile. “He was kind to me.” She dare not tell Storm anything more, in case Zura or one of her spies was listening.

“If he wasn’t, I would kill him,” Storm growled. “Not like I have many more years in this world anyway. Might as well use the last of them up all at once.”

Storm cast the walls a challenging smile. “Let her come for me. Let her do her worst.” Cinder grabbed her arm, her eyes begging her grandmother to be careful.

“Well then, clean yourself up before you wake him. We’re always supposed to be beautiful, after all,” her grandmother said bitterly.

Cinder went back to the makeup table and cleaned her face. She counted the strokes as she combed through her hair with a beautiful silver comb, while Storm arranged the food—fruit, and flatbread topped with goat cheese and preserves—on the small table.

“She spent the night with us in the servants’ house and rose to clean and bring around the trays. As far as I can tell, she’ll be taking your place.”

“And I’ll be taking hers.” Cinder closed her eyes as the reality of her new life tore through her. “I’m not sorry, though.”

Grimacing, Storm leaned against the table. “I made the brave choice once, the selfless choice. My brother, my people—they all survived because of it. But none of them ever came for me. Now my daughter and granddaughter are paying for my selflessness.” She met Cinder’s gaze. “No more. Do you understand? You will not suffer anymore because of my decisions.”

Breathing hard, Cinder stared at the walls. “Please stop. You’ll be punished.” Seeing the mulish look her on grandmother’s face, Cinder knew she wouldn’t. She rooted around for something to distract Storm. “What about the wedlock weed? I can’t find any.”

Storm wouldn’t look at her. Cinder suddenly realized she didn’t need to hear the answer. She already knew. “Zura wants me to get pregnant,” she gasped. The child of a lord’s son would have value in and of itself. “So soon?”

“You’ll still be able to perform up to delivery and then a couple days after. Having a baby will only put you out of bedroom work for three, maybe four months. And only for a select number of clients. Many won’t care.”

If she behaved. Zura used the children of her companions to keep them in line. Tears slipped from Cinder’s eyes as fast as she could wipe them. She determined to find a way into the city to secure her own supply of wedlock weed.

The door behind them flew open. Farush and Farood marched inside and took hold of Storm’s arms. Obviously, a spy had reported her. As they dragged her out, she held her up head defiantly, but she didn’t fight them.

Zura stood in the doorway, giving Cinder a you’d-better-behave look. Then the mistress left the room and shut the door. Knowing her grandmother would be viciously caned, Cinder counted doubles to distract herself. When she heard sounds coming from the other room, she steeled herself and went into the bedroom. Darsam was pulling on his boots.

Cinder winced; she hadn’t realized she’d been doing doubles out loud. She felt ashamed. “Numbers never lie. They are . . . always the same. Always right.”

He froze in the act of tugging on his vest. “Good thing that won’t be a possibility.” He followed Cinder into the anteroom, then bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve paid enough money to have you to myself for two days. Before that is over, I’ll get you out of here. I swear it.”

Ash’s bedroom smelled like a mixture of medicine and makeup as Cinder entered with a tray bearing a bowl of warm water infused with witch hazel. Her grandmother lay on the bed. Her mother sat before the makeup dresser.

Cinder nodded as she set down the tray and replaced the dried-out rags on her grandmother’s back with fresh ones. She counted the welts again. Fifty of them. She handed her grandmother a cup of willow-bark-and-arnica tea. Storm quickly drank the bitter concoction and then collapsed back against the bed. “Did you manage to get anything stronger?”

Cinder placed the bowl of witch hazel on the nightstand so her grandmother could reach it. “No. Zura has everything locked down tight.”

Cinder pulled out the simple carving, which was dark brown from being touched for so many years. It was a beaver, something Cinder had never seen in real life, cut perfectly in half. Holla had carried it with her everywhere. Cinder remembered the story—how Storm and Holla’s brother, Otec, had carved it for her aunt. Holla had taken it with her from the clanlands when she was kidnapped. Taunting her slurred speech, one of her captors had cut the carving in half.

Storm tucked the little carving into the palm of her hand. “I don’t know.” Her gaze was distant. “Otec had a chance to save us. He had chased us halfway across the clanlands. But he had to make a choice—save the captives or save the clanlands. Trying to be brave, I told him to save the clanlands. He listened to me. Why did he listen to me?”

Storm broke down in sobs. Cinder had rarely seen her grandmother cry. “I would tell him that I will never forgive him,” Storm said, answering her own question. “That he should have built an army himself and come to free us. But he never did. He left us here to rot.”

Knowing how much her grandmother hated for anyone to see her cry, Cinder squeezed her grandmother’s hand and followed her mother into her rooms.

Ash scooted over so Cinder could sit by her on the bench. Her mother taught her how to apply the makeup. Before they finished, Zura made the rounds with the jewelry. Magian chose a sapphire headdress and bangles that attached to a ring by a slim chain to go with Cinder’s royal-blue dress, which lacked the faceted glass of the last dress, though it was made after the same fashion. She wore the gold sandals she’d made, covered in sparkling bits of cut glass.

Then it was time to perform the dances. On the stage with the other eleven clannish women, under the golden lights of the lamps, Cinder felt her anger rising. She didn’t want to be here, on display for these men. Then her gaze caught on Darsam’s face. He gave her a solemn nod and she realized maybe she could dance for him.

So she danced with the other companions, counting out the beats of the music. It was an Idaran dance, with movement in the wrists, hips, and shoulders. It was playful and light, meant to wash the men’s cares away. When Cinder finished, she and Darsam went back to her small dining room. He settled on the large cushions while she brought them a tray filled with all the foods she’d always longed to try, but never been allowed to. They ate for a time, while he told her about his day—mindless things to bore anyone who might be listening.

When Cinder had eaten until she thought her stomach might burst, Darsam leaned in and asked. “Is there somewhere safe to talk?”

He followed her to her pivot door, and they slipped outside. She led him to Holla’s flowers, where she knelt carefully and began to pull at the weeds that had managed to spring up. “My aunt is buried here. Her name was Holla. She came over with my grandmother from the clanlands. She was the one who raised me. She never learned to speak Idaran very well. But she could clean and she worked hard.” Here, with the moonlight and the smell of the soil all around her, Cinder almost felt like her aunt might be here, watching over them.

Cinder sighed. “In her sleep. She was . . . different. Things that are easy for other people were hard for her, but that just meant she worked harder than anyone else I knew. Some things that were hard for other people were easy for her—things like happiness and kindness.”

Cinder tipped her head to the side and touched his thick hair. “I’ve never known men who didn’t shave their scalps.” His hair was thick and soft, with a slight wave. Then she touched his clean-shaven cheek and gave a little smile. “And you shave your face."

Whenever he was on display, he was loud and cocky. But with her . . . “I don’t think I like the Darsam who cares more about his chariot team and his reputation.”

She pressed her hand over his heart, which thrummed steadily beneath her hand. “That man, I think I could respect.” It was the most she could give.

Darsam reached out to run his fingers down her hair and then along her cheek. “Skin is skin,” he murmured. He placed his hand over hers, which still rested on his chest. “Your heart beats the same as mine.”

“My father is trying to change that law. Has been for years. We’ve managed to put most of the slavers and brothels out of business. Zura is one of the last holding out, but she’s badly in debt to Jatar. The little game she played last night was her last-ditch attempt to get out of it.”

“While we wait for his legal maneuvers to pay off, my men and I get as many people out as we can in . . . less legal ways. I play the cad, when I’m really gathering information to help shut down a brothel. If everything is perfectly legal, my tribesmen and I smuggle as many girls out as we can. The ones who don’t have a home to return to we find a place in the Adrack.”

“I broke into her records during the night,” Darsam said. Cinder hadn’t known that—hadn’t even known he had left her. “She’s meticulous to a fault,” he continued.

For a moment, Darsam looked tired. “We don’t know that yet. We’ve been following Jatar and Durux for months, hoping to catch one of them breaking a law so we could send them to a prison mine and shut their businesses down. Therefore, we took note when Durux started following you—I took note. I watched you, Cinder, moving from one business to the next, day after day, week after week. I’d never seen such dogged determination.

“So when one of my spies overheard Durux plotting to kill you, I rushed to the glass-maker’s shop to make sure you were safe.” Darsam gave a bitter laugh. “Imagine my surprise when Sadira pushed you in front of my own chariot.”

Durux had hired Sadira to try to kill Cinder? But why? How would her death benefit the smuggler? Cinder could feel Darsam’s heart pounding beneath her palm. “You knew me before I ever met you,” she said.

He smiled. “I had to play the spoiled lord’s son when I wanted nothing more than to haul you into my chariot and take you to safety. I should have—fire and burning, I should have. But Durux was sending me a message. He knew we were watching him. And somehow he knew I was interested in you.”

Darsam reached out to touch her hair. “Silver and gold—that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw you. So smart. So determined. I wanted to know you.”

“Too many women back out at the last minute if they don’t have something at stake. It weeds out the ones who aren’t determined. Running a smuggling operation is expensive. I already squandered my inheritance. But there are still people to pay off, supplies to purchase, men who have to eat and need a place to sleep. None of it can be linked back to my father.”

Cinder rose to her feet and circled the garden. There were tall trees and benches and dozens and dozens of flowers and bushes of vibrant colors, all of them come to life since the rains the night before. She paused beside each one, trailing her fingers along the soft petals.

“This is Havesh’s flower.” Cinder crossed the paving stones and stood before another flower. “This is Marva’s.” She continued on, pointing out each plant and naming the woman beneath it.

She paused before a desert rose. A single bud had opened, bright coral with a yellow center. Cinder knelt next to it, not caring about her robes, and breathed in the fresh, citrusy scent as she remembered the woman beneath it.

Cinder huffed. “No. She plants the flowers over their corpses to remind us what happens when we step out of line.” She looked up at him. “I don’t want to join them.”

He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Determination will only get you so far. You have to have plans. And more than a little luck. I have both.”

He leaned forward, his mouth inches from her ear, but then there was the sound of someone pushing through the brush and laughing. They both stiffened as a man and woman appeared. One of the Luathan women nodded to Cinder as she passed. Then the couple disappeared into the darkness. Soon, the sounds of passion floated back to Cinder’s ears.

Cinder didn’t mean to fall asleep again, but suddenly someone was shaking her shoulder. A shadowed, cloaked face hovered above her. She gasped and started to scramble back, but a hand gripped her.

It was her grandmother. Behind Storm stood another figure—Cinder’s mother. Ash pushed Cinder’s cloak, headscarf, and veil into her hands. As she followed her matriarchs out the pivot door, Cinder asked, “What’s going on?”

“There are worse things than dying,” Storm said in a voice heavy with emotion. “Will you too watch your daughter be forced to play the harlot?”

Cinder planted her feet. “What about Naiba? If I leave, she will be forced to take my place.” The thought filled Cinder with horror.

Cinder spun on her heel and ran for the servants’ house before her mother or grandmother could stop her. She counted her steps up to the attic, slipped down the row of beds, and shook Naiba’s arm. When the girl sat up, Cinder held a finger to her lips. Naiba followed her to the kitchen, where Storm waited.

“You cannot stay behind,” Storm said, her shoulders set in the moonlight. “They’ll kill you for not informing them.”

The four of them crossed the deserted courtyard, heading for the back gate. Ash pushed the gate open and they hurried out. Gathering herself to go after them, Cinder looked back and saw the guard’s boots sticking out from beneath the rose bushes. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel sorry for him.

Loaded with large clay pots, a wagon waited in the shadows of a building. A hooded figure sat in the driver’s seat, while Darsam flipped open a trapdoor near the back of the wagon. Beneath the wagon bed and running the length of it was a secret compartment. Cinder swallowed hard as she stared at the confined space.

“Have you been planning this since you met my grandmother at the Sand Snake?” Cinder asked, knowing a part of her was delaying the inevitable.

“That was Ashar, not me.” Darsam gestured to the driver, who was keeping a lookout. It was the man Cinder had seen in the House of Night. “Get inside,” urged Darsam

Cinder stared into the dark, cramped space. Her breaths came too fast, her heart racing. “I . . . I’m not sure I can.”

Cinder glanced at him, wishing it were light out so she could read his expression. She positioned herself between her mother and Naiba, then closed her eyes and slid into the cramped space, which smelled of sour wine. Cinder rolled onto her stomach and heard Darsam latch the door behind them. She whimpered as the wagon creaked forward, shuddering over the flagstones.

Her mother took one of Cinder’s hands, Naiba the other. Cinder closed her eyes and counted 1,802 seconds before the wagon came to a halt. There was a little sliver missing from the wood, big enough for her to see an abandoned building, moonlight reflecting off the windows like dead eyes. On the other side was the Sand Snake.

The trapdoor opened and fresh air rushed inside the compartment. Cinder gasped, fighting the urge to haul herself out of the small space. Suddenly, she realized she would probably never see Naiba again. Her friend seemed to come to the same conclusion, for they reached for each other at the same time. As they embraced each other, silent sobs racked Naiba.

Then she let go and hauled herself out of the small compartment. Cinder had time to see the basement door open before Darsam shut the trapdoor again. She tried to start doubles, but the slippery numbers fell out of her grasp before she could put them in order. There was a hasty conversation outside, and then they were moving once more.

There was more room now—almost enough to breathe. “Are they the only ones helping us?” Cinder asked Ash, desperate to distract herself. She had hoped the stolen earring would be enough to hire a dozen men.

“The rest are waiting outside the city with horses,” Ash answered as she rose up on her elbows to peer outside. A stray bit of light streaming from the taverns revealed scratches on her mother’s arms. “Is he dead? The guard?” Cinder asked.

Ash glanced at the welts. “He got what he deserved.” Cinder felt a sharp pain in her belly. There was no going back for them, not now. “Once we reach the edge of the desert, we’ll trade the horses for camels,” her mother explained.

Her mother took Cinder’s hand and pushed it into her pocket. Feeling the hard, smooth stones with metal prongs, Cinder jerked her hand back. “I took the whole set,” Ash told her. “It will buy us passage through the Adrack Desert and a ship to take us to the clanlands.”

Thinking of the key always dangling from a chain around Zura’s neck, Cinder asked her mother, “How did you get the jewels in the first place?”

“We’re going to make it,” Cinder said. She’d never ventured beyond the city walls. Never seen the fields and orchards up close. Never known life beyond the never-ending heat and the taste of sand on her tongue. She was not sorry to leave. The wagon lumbered to a stop, and she imagined the city’s tall wall, lamplight casting a flickering glow over the city.

“Wife won’t like me not showing up—she already thinks me a drunkard and a fool.” Ashar’s words were slurred. “Not that it isn’t true, mind you, but I cannot abide the nagging. What say we bypass the rules and let an old man home to his bed, eh?”

Cinder hardly dared to breathe as footsteps sounded around the wagon. Above her, she could hear the empty pots shift as someone moved them around. “The bed of this wagon seems far too high,” commented one of the watchmen. Cinder longed to peek out the sliver, but she dared not even move as the lamplight swung around, filling the tight space with enough light that she could see her body for the first time in over an hour. She heard the brush of flesh on wood and then a catch gave. The trapdoor swung open to reveal the hard face of the watchman holding the lamp.

Darsam jumped down in front of the women, driving the watchman back with a great black sword. “Run!” Darsam cried. From the front of the wagon came the sounds of clanging swords. One of the watchmen shouted for help.

Cinder grabbed hold of the ledge above her and pulled herself out of the wagon. A breeze touched her clammy clothes, and suddenly she could breathe again. She reached back into the darkness to help her grandmother to her feet, but Ash slapped a knife into Cinder’s hand and shoved her. “Go!”

They sprinted into the empty space between the city wall and the buildings. The watchman’s shouts had brought out people along the walkway. Three men pounded down the stone stairs, swords in hand. Two of the men went to help the pair fighting Darsam and Ashar. The third sprinted after the women. Cinder heard his steps coming closer, felt the skin between her shoulder blades prickle with his presence. A hand grabbed the back of her cloak. She ducked out of it and kept running. Only a second later, the man’s hand caught her hair.

She screamed as he jerked her around and pinned her against and the wall, then placed his curved sword against her throat. He blinked in surprise when he saw her face. “You’re one of Darsam’s girls?”

Could he possibly be among the men Darsam had paid to look the other way? Breathing shallowly through her nose to keep her exposed throat as small as possible, Cinder breathed out, “Yes.”

Before he could respond, a hand wrapped around him from behind, a knife point pressed to his neck. “Kill her and you die too,” Ash hissed. Cinder had never seen her mother so furious. Storm was there, too.

For a breathless moment, they all stood like that, knives and swords and death only a twitch away. “I have no desire to kill any of you,” said the man, withdrawing his sword a little. Ash backed away as he did.

For a split second, Cinder met the watchman’s eyes. She was still in range of his sword, while he was relatively safe from the knife. He could have swung his blade at her—could have ended her life. Instead, he growled in frustration and pointed. “Run!”

Barely able to believe he’d let them go, Cinder pivoted and ran without looking back. They would have to find a place to hide. Tomorrow, perhaps, they could try to find Darsam or one of his tribesmen smugglers at the Sand Snake and sneak out of the city. But just as the three women turned up a street, they found themselves facing two hulking shapes holding cudgels. The door to a building on their right flew open, the light outlining a figure that pointed at them.

Cinder, Storm, and Ash whirled around to run. But the other guard had caught up to them and now trapped them between himself and Zura’s thugs. Heart pounding, Cinder shot the first guard a pleading look—after all, he’d let them go once—but he glanced at Zura and her thugs and reluctantly lifted his sword. Cinder whirled in a circle, searching for a side door or an alley. Something.

“I don’t mind killing you, Ash,” Zura said. “But then, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just kill your mother. Her usefulness is about at an end anyway.”

Refusing to give up so quickly, Cinder looked for Darsam. But from this distance, and with more shadows than light, she couldn’t tell which of the two smugglers was which. One of the guard’s swords connected, and a smuggler grunted and went down on one knee. Cinder clenched her twenty-eight teeth so hard she thought they might shatter. Reluctantly, the smuggler dropped his sword. One watchman stood guard over him, while the other went to join the two men fighting the second smuggler.

“Fine.” Cinder recognized Darsam’s voice. He sounded almost bored. He was all right! Her jaw relaxed. “It’s not like I won’t be out in the morning,” he drawled. The watchmen forced him to the ground.

“I told you, Captain Hazev,” Zura called to one of the men tying up Darsam, “that some of my slaves were planning an escape. I told you Darsam was paying off watchmen to look the other way.”

“She wasn’t with them in the wagon,” Hazev said as he came toward them. He was the man who had opened the hidden door in the wagon.

“She’s freeborn,” Ash said before the watchman could respond. Her searching hand found Cinder’s upper arm and pulled her in front of him, tipping the side of her head toward the light for proof. “Let her go.”

Zura’s shadowed gaze fixed on Cinder. “Freeborn she may be, but she consorted with criminals to steal my property—jewels and slaves alike. One of my men is dead.”

“This girl stole nothing. I took them.” Cinder’s grandmother removed the jewels from Ash’s pockets and threw them on the ground at Zura’s feet in disgust. “As payment for the years you kept me against my will.”

“You don’t have any will,” Zura hissed as she crouched to scoop up the jewels. “Tie them all up and take them to the cellar.” Another watchman joined the group, and the two men came forward, along with Farush and Farood, to tie the captives’ hands behind their backs.

Laz pulled Cinder out of Farush’s grasp. “You can take your property, but the girl is under arrest. She’s a prisoner of the city watch now.”

Storm wrenched free of Farood’s grasp and came to rest her forehead against Cinder’s. The firelight caught the shadows in her panicked eyes, twisting them into grotesque shapes. “Listen to me, Cinder. You survive the mine. Survive in any way you can. And when you get out, leave this province—leave Idara. Don’t look back. Never come back. Promise me. Swear it.”

Then Storm was wrenched away. Cinder stumbled after her, but the watchmen held her tight. She stared helplessly as her grandmother and mother were dragged away and pushed to the floor of the chariot.