The plain, black carriage bounced along the uneven cobblestones. That’s how I knew we’d entered Croft’s Cross.

Sitting across from me, Ezra frowned over her shoulder at the driver’s seat where Lady Marisol Faber sat, cloaked and unrecognizable. I imagined she must be suffocating in the godsforsaken heat.

Waving a hand in front of my face, I knew I was. I wanted to unhook the lightweight, hooded cape and throw it aside. Tendrils of hair had plastered themselves to the back of my neck.

I had no idea how long Marisol had been assisting Ezra in her many endeavors to aid those most endangered in Carsodonia. They had been friends since Ezra’s father married my mother, and she came to live here. But I hadn’t become involved in what they were doing until three years ago. I’d only discovered what Ezra was doing when I saw her at the old fortress while leaving behind a bushel of potatoes Orlano had left out for me to do with as I pleased. When we spotted one another, we pretended as if we had no idea who the other was. Later that night, I’d waited for Ezra to return from her walk in the gardens. It was then that I learned why she spent so much time beyond Wayfair grounds.

I looked over at my stepsister, studying her. There wasn’t even a sheen of sweat on her features. Unreal.

“How are you not hot?” I asked.

She pulled her attention from the window. “I think it’s comfortable,” she said, her brows pinching as her gaze dropped. “Your gown is…well, it should do the job.”

I didn’t need to look down to know that she was staring at the delicate, white lace of the low and very, very tight bodice of the sage-colored gown. If my chest managed to remain in my gown throughout this adventure, it would be no small miracle. “I think this used to belong to Lady Kala.” Which also explained why my boots were clearly visible since the hem only reached my calves. “There weren’t many options.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose there aren’t.” The skin puckered between her brows as she looked back out the window. A moment passed. “Do you need gowns?” she asked, looking back at me. “I have some that would surely be of more comfort to wear.”

I stiffened, feeling my cheeks start to burn. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure?” She leaned forward. “My gowns will not put you at risk of bursting the seams across the chest.”

“I have other gowns—nicer ones than this,” I told her, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “This was the only one I thought would be enticing.”

Ezra sat back. “I think the enticing part is the limited amount of time you have before your breasts break free.”

I snorted.

Her smile was brief. The look that settled on her face made me more uncomfortable than her offer of the gowns. It wasn’t one of pity but of sadness, and she looked as if she were about to speak but couldn’t find the words. Ezra always had words, a plethora of them, but she never spoke of the curse. The question rose to the tip of my tongue. I wanted to ask if she still believed that the Primal of Death would come for me, but I stopped myself. Her answer wouldn’t soothe me when I knew the truth.

Instead, I asked, “How did you sneak away without any Royal Guards following?”

One side of her lips curled up. “I have my ways.”

I started to ask about said ways when the carriage slowed. I glanced out the window. A mass of people hurried along the crowded street, heading toward the small shops and into dark, winding alleys under rickety metal staircases attached to narrow buildings that rose several stories. Many of them, faded to a dull yellow and drab brown, were packed side by side. Somehow, the proprietors managed to cram twenty or more rooms into those buildings without electricity, and in some instances, plumbing. It was irresponsible to allow anyone to live in these so-called apartments, but the people and their families would be on the streets without them. However, it wasn’t like there were no other options.

“The land that has been ruined by the Rot… It can still be built upon, can it not?” I asked. Ezra nodded. “I don’t understand why new homes aren’t being built on those farms. Small ones, but at least places where you

don’t have to risk your life climbing stairs that could give out from under you at any moment.”

“But what of the farmers once the Rot is dealt with?” she countered.

Well, I had asked my answer, hadn’t I? If she believed the Rot would vanish, then she must be holding onto some kernel of hope that I would be able to fulfill my duty. “What if it doesn’t?” I asked.

Ezra knew what I meant. “Mari’s father is determined to discover the cause. You and I both know he won’t, but his mind is brilliant. If anyone can figure out a natural way to end this, it will be Lord Faber.”

I hoped she was right, and not just to alleviate some of the guilt I felt. “Could the farmers not become proprietors then? Gaining their income from leasing the homes?”

“They could.” Her nose wrinkled. “But there is the question of where the materials to build the homes would come from.”

And there was the flaw in my idea. The rock deposits in the Elysium Peaks used to build much of the buildings were mined and paid for by business owners or landowners. The stone had a cost, as did the labor it took to build the homes. The Crown should pay for it, but the Crown’s coffers were not as abundant as they once were since they paid for more and more food and goods from other kingdoms.

And yet, there was somehow still enough for a new gown for the Queen. “The home Nor is in has red shutters over the windows. I believe it’s to our right,” Ezra said as the carriage jerked to a halt. “He is on the first floor

—the entirety of the first floor. His offices are right inside.”

I nodded, reaching for the carriage door. “Do you know the son’s name?”

Ezra looked down as she pulled the rolled letter from the sleeve of her coat, unfurling it. “His name is…Nate.” Her gaze met mine. “Far less confusing than Nor.”

“Agreed.” I lifted the hood of the cape. While it was unlikely there would be much involved in this event, the paleness of my hair was noticeable, and I would rather not take the chance of someone recognizing me in case things, well, ended poorly. “Stay here.”

“Of course.” She paused. “Be careful.”

“Always,” I murmured, cracking the door open wide enough for the noise of the street to seep in and for me to slip through. Refusing to think about whatever liquid I stepped in since it couldn’t be what fell from the

sky, I walked to the front of the carriage. “Marisol?” I whispered. The hooded head turned in my direction. The Lady knew exactly who I was, but like Ezra, her treatment of me whenever I saw her was the same as it had been before the curse. We weren’t close by any means, but she wasn’t cruel, and she didn’t behave as if she were afraid of me. “Make sure she stays in this carriage.”

She glanced up at the already-full streets. “I will drive around to prevent her from doing something idiotic.”

“Perfect.” I turned, stepping onto the cracked stone sidewalk and into the throng of people.

Knowing better than to breathe too deeply or to linger in any one spot, I waited only until the carriage pulled away from the curb before heading right, giving the pigeons having a party in the filth a wide berth. I moved among men and women returning from work or heading to it. Some wore capes like mine to shield their faces from the sun or to keep from being recognized. They were the ones I kept an eye on. Others stumbled out of pubs, their blouses and tunics stained with beer and who knew what else. Vendors shouted from nearly every building, selling questionable oysters, flat muffins, and cherries on sticks. I kept my arms to my sides, ignoring the lingering stares and the lewd, drunken comments from males leaning against the front of buildings.

Croft’s Cross was one of the only places in all of Carsodonia where neither the Sun Temple—sometimes referred to as the Temple of Life—nor the Shadow Temple was visible. It was almost as if the district were outside their reach of authority, where life and death couldn’t be managed by any Primal.

“The Crown doesn’t care that we’re losing our jobs, homes, families, and futures!” A woman’s voice rose above the noise of the crowd. “They go to sleep with full bellies while we starve! We’re dying, and they’re doing nothing about the Rot!”

I searched out the source of the words. Up ahead, where Ezra’s carriage had disappeared into the sea of similar transports and wagons, the road split into a vee. In the center was one of the smaller places of worship in Carsodonia. The Temple of Keella, the Goddess of Rebirth, was a squat, round structure of white limestone and granite. Children raced barefoot around the colonnade, darting in and out of columns. I moved closer, able to see that the woman was dressed in white, standing in the middle of the wide

Temple steps as she shouted to the small cluster of people gathered before her.

“The age of the Golden King has passed, and the end of rebirth is near,” she yelled. Nods and shouts of agreement answered her. “We know that. The Crown knows that!” She scanned the crowd and lifted her head, looking past them—looking beyond the street to me. I stopped, my breath hitching in my throat. “No Mierel sits upon that throne,” she said. Chills broke out over my skin as I stared at the dark-haired woman. “Not now. Not ever again.”

Someone bumped into my shoulder, startling me. I tore my gaze from the woman as the person muttered under their breath. Blinking, I forced myself to start walking. I looked over at the Temple. The woman was focused on the group in front of her, speaking now about the gods and how they would not continue to ignore the people’s struggle. There was no way she could’ve even seen me on the sidewalk or knew who I was—not even without the hood.

Still, unease tiptoed through me, and it was a struggle to push thoughts of the woman aside as I passed an alley where several women hung clothing on lines strung between two buildings. A block down from the Temple of Keella, I spotted a tall building that’d once been a shade of ivory but was now stained to a dusty gray color. Red shutters covered the windows. Then, I was able to set aside the woman on the Temple steps.

I picked up my pace, edging around an elderly man whose lopsided gait wasn’t improved by the wooden cane he heavily leaned upon. And my steps slowed. A man stood under the arched stoop of the apartments. Instinctually, I knew it was Nor. It could’ve been the way he leaned against the stained stone, one side of his mouth curled in a smirk as he eyed those on the sidewalk. It might’ve been the tankard he held in a large hand, his knuckles split open and an angry shade of crimson. Perhaps it was the untucked, vivid blue shirt that he’d left open at the neck to form a deep vee that revealed the hair on his chest.

Or it could’ve been the fair-haired woman who stood beside him. It wasn’t the low-cut gown or the black corset cinched impossibly tight beneath her breasts, nor was it the slits in the skirt of the gown that exposed the garter that encircled her upper thigh like a ring of blood. It was the swollen bottom lip and the blackened eye poorly concealed with paint.

The woman’s gaze flicked to me. Her eyes were empty, but she stiffened as I neared.

“Excuse me?” I called out.

Nor’s head slowly swung in my direction as he lifted the tankard to his mouth, his dark hair slicked back from a face that could’ve been handsome at one time. His complexion now looked ruddy, his features too sharp. His bloodshot gaze crawled over me, even though he couldn’t see much under the cape and hood. “Yeah?”

“I’m here to see a man named Nor.” I kept my voice low and soft, unsure as I slipped into the role of someone else.

He took another swig from his cup. Liquid glistened on his lips and the several days’ worth of stubble under his chin. “Why ya lookin’ to see the man?” He chuckled smugly as if he’d said something clever.

I spared the woman a glance. She twitched nervously beside him as she stared at the street. “I…I was told that he could help me find employment.”

“Were ya, now?” Nor lowered his cup, eyes narrowing. “Who told ya that, girlie?”

“The man at the pub, just down the street.” I glanced over my shoulder and then stepped onto the stoop. I reached up, lifting the hood. “When I asked if he was hiring or knew of anyone, he said you might be.”

Nor let out a low whistle as he eyed my features. “I’m always hirin’, girlie, but I ain’t lookin’ for pretty things like you to sweep floors and serve drinks. Am I, Molly-girl?”

The woman beside him shook her head. “No.” His head shot in her direction. “No, what?”

Molly’s already pale skin lightened even further. “No, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s a good girlie.” Nor reached over, pinching her. He laughed when she squeaked, and the anger in my blood grew to a song.

“I know,” I said, reaching up to toy with the button on my cape. The movement parted the folds, exposing the upper part of my gown. “I know what kind of work.” I moved my fingers to the laces. “I was hoping we could speak in private and reach an agreement.”

“An agreement?” Nor’s interest returned to me, his dark eyes lit. “Gods be good to ya, girlie.” His gaze followed my fingers over the swells above the lace as if they were leading him to his next full tankard. “Like I said, I’m always hirin’, but I don’t hire just any girlie.”

I seriously doubted that.

He pushed off the wall hips-first, dragging a hand through his oily hair. “I got to make sure ya be worth hirin’.”

“Of course.” I smiled at him.

“Gods be good to me, then,” he murmured, licking his lower lip. Coins jangled from the pouch secured to his hip as he turned. “Then step into my private office so we can reach an agreement.”

Molly turned, her misshapen lips opening as if she wished to speak. Those flat eyes met mine, and she gave a slight shake of her head. All I could do was smile at her as I stepped into the alcove. She clamped her mouth shut, wincing, and then refocused on the street as Nor pushed the door open with one meaty hand.

A hand I had no doubt had left those bruises on Molly’s face.

Nor held the door open for me, bowing and extending an arm. Liquid sloshed over the rim of his tankard, splashing onto the already sticky wood floors. I stepped inside. The smell of sweat and the heavy, sweet smell of White Horse smoke lingered in the air of the candlelit chamber. I looked around quickly, gaze slipping over settees draped with dark cloth. Several pipes lay atop a coffee table cluttered with empty cups. White powder dusted nearly the entire surface. Surprisingly, there was a desk. Flames flickered weakly from the gas lamp sitting on the corner, a spark or two from slips of parchment…and more cups.

The door closed behind me. The turn of the lock was a soft click. My eyes lifted from the desk.

“Boy,” Nor barked. “I know ya in here.”

The child rose from behind the desk like one of the spirits in the Dark Elms, silent and pale. He was young. Couldn’t be more than five or six. His dark hair fell against sunken cheeks. The only color there was the purplish- blue bruise along the curve of his soft jaw. His wide, round eyes were nearly as empty as Molly’s had been.

My fingers dug into the lace, tearing it.

“There ya are.” Nor staggered past me, placing his cup on the parchment. “Get ya self busy somewhere else,” he ordered. “I got business to deal in.”

The little boy scurried around the desk, heading for the door without looking once in my direction. If he went outside—

“Not there, boy. Ya know better.” Nor snapped his fingers and pointed to a narrow, dark hall. “Get to bed while there’s one empty, and don’t go

runnin’ off like ya did last time.”

The child wheeled around with surprising speed, disappearing into the hall. A door clapped shut. I truly hoped the child stayed there, but I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Which meant, I didn’t have a lot of time to get to him.

“Godsdamn kids,” Nor muttered. “Ya got any?” “No.”

“Didn’t think so. I got two of ‘em. Or did.” He laughed as he dragged what sounded like a chair across the floor.

“Did?” I questioned.

“Yeah, my girlie went and got herself into some trouble, I imagine. Probably that damn mouth of hers. She never learned how to use it right. Just like her mother didn’t know.” Another laugh, thick and wet. “How old are ya?”

I turned to Nor, brushing the cape so the halves rested over my shoulders. “Does it matter?”

His eyes fixed on the only enticing part about the gown. “Nah, girlie. It don’t.” Nor sat down in the chair, spreading his legs. “Ya lookin’ fresh. I bettin’ you were some Lord’s fancy little plaything. He get tired of ya?”

“I was.” Ducking my chin, I smiled coyly. “But his wife…”

He snickered. “Ya ain’t gotta worry about no wives ‘round here.” Eyeing me, his hand slid below his waist. “Ya sure are a pretty girlie.”

I stood still, no longer acting like someone else but becoming nothing. No one. Not something beautiful and powerful. It was like donning that veil as he spewed vulgarity and decay. I wasn’t me. I became this thing that had been groomed into a submissive, moldable creature. One that could be shaped into whatever the Primal of Death desired, what he might fall in love with. A servant. A wife. A warm, soft body. A killer. And this disgusting excuse for a man looked at me as if he could sculpt me into one of his girlies.

“Don’t be nervous.” Nor patted his knee. “I work out the best agreements when I got a pretty girlie in my lap.”

“I’m not nervous.” I wasn’t. I felt absolutely nothing but disgust and anger, and those feelings didn’t even run deep enough to speed up my heart rate or pulse. I think I only felt them because I believed I should feel something when I knew how this would end.

I went to him, making a mental note to scrub the soles of my boots as I climbed onto his lap, slowly lowering myself onto him.

“Damn.” His hand clasped my hip and squeezed hard. I twitched, not at the discomfort but at the contact. It was nothing like those long nights when I sought to chase away the loneliness. It was nothing like when that god had touched me. “Ya ain’t nervous.”

“No.”

“I think I’ll like ya, girlie.” Nor lifted his other hand, leaning his head back against the chair. Those broken knuckles grazed my cheek before reaching around to grasp the braid I had twisted into a bun. A fiery sting traveled across my scalp as he jerked my head back. I closed my eyes, not fighting his hold. “Now, girlie…”

If he called me girlie one more time…

“Ya got to show me why I should let ya give it to me,” he said, his breath hot against the length of my neck. “Instead of just takin’ it from ya and keepin’ ya all for myself until I get tired of ya. Then I’ll let ya make some coin off that pretty face. Maybe I’ll just do that anyway, so you better be impressin’ me.”

My eyes opened as I placed my hand on his shoulder. Fighting the burn of hair pulled too tight, I lowered my chin until his dark, rheumy eyes met mine. His face was even more flushed, with lust or maybe anger. I didn’t think this man could tell the difference between the two. “I will impress you.”

“Confident, are ya?” He licked his lips again. “I like that, girlie.” I smiled.

Stretching so that enticing area was all he could focus on, I shifted my hips forward, drawing my right leg up. I didn’t think about the sound he made, what I felt under me, or how he smelled as I reached into the shaft of my boot with my free hand. All I needed to do was knock him out, which wouldn’t be difficult. I fully recognized I’d allowed it to get to this point. I could’ve incapacitated him the moment I knew where the child was, but I hadn’t, and I supposed that was very telling. I also supposed that I should be worried about that as my fingers curled around the hilt of the slender iron blade, and it pressed against my unmarked palm. But this male was a user and an abuser. I was willing to bet he was worse, and that Lady Sunders’ impressions were spot on about his wife. I knew this man reaching for the

flap of his breeches was like the gods who’d killed those mortals. I slid the blade from my boot.

“Ya gonna get down to business?” Nor asked, and I felt a wet tongue slide against the skin of my throat—something I would absolutely never think of again. “Or am I gonna have to show ya how to do it?”

On second thought, I doubted I would worry about my actions.

I leaned back, and he let go of my hair. “I’m ready to get down to business.”

His beady gaze was still fixated on the swells of my breasts. “Then get to it.”

I got to it.

Sweeping my arm in a wide arc, I watched his eyes go wide with shock. The sharpened edge of the blade sliced deep across his throat as I jumped away from the spray of hot blood. I was fast, but I still felt it mist my chest.

Dammit.

Nor lurched to his feet, stumbling and clasping his ruined throat. Red spilled over his hands and between his fingers. His mouth opened, but nothing but a gurgle came out. Those cold, panicked eyes latched onto mine as he staggered forward, reaching out with a blood-smeared hand. I carefully stepped to the side. A heartbeat later, his body hit the dirtied floor with a fleshy thud and a jangle.

Mindful of the spreading pool of blood, I gathered my skirts and crouched. Spasms ran through him. I wiped my blade clean upon his shirt and then resheathed it in my boot. “May the Primal of Death take no mercy upon your soul.” I started to rise and then stopped. I reached to his left hip, gripping the bag of coins. I snapped the pouch free. “Thank you for this.”

Standing, I stared down at him for a few seconds as I wished away the warmth gathering in my hands, the instinctive reaction to death. I stared at his still form, ignoring the unwanted knowledge that I could undo this.

I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t even if I could allow myself to.

Turning away, I walked around the desk and entered the hall. There were only two chambers. One door had been left ajar. It was packed wall- to-wall with cots covered by dirtied linens. I turned to the other door. “Nate?” I called out quietly. “Are you in there?”

There was no answer but I did hear the soft smack of feet against the floor.

“I’m here to take you to your sister.” I buttoned my cape. “Ellie’s at the Cliffs with a lovely lady who has been taking care of her.”

A beat of silence passed, and then a small voice stated, “Ellie ain’t her full name. It’s short for her given name. What’s her given name?”

Hell.

I shook my head, partly relieved that the child wasn’t all that trusting. Ellie. What could Ellie be short for? Elizabeth? Ethel? Elena? “Eleanor?” I guessed, squeezing my eyes closed.

There was a long gap of silence and then, “Is Ellie really okay?”

I opened one eye. Maybe the gods were good to me. “Yes. She is. And I want to take you to her, but we have to leave.”

“What…what about Papa?”

Biting my lip, I looked over my shoulder to the room his papa currently bled out in. I turned back to the door. “Your papa had to…take a nap.” A nap? I cringed.

“He’ll be mad when he wakes and can’t find me,” Nate whispered through the door. “He’ll give me another shiner or worse.”

Yeah, well, he wasn’t going to be giving anyone a shiner ever again. “He won’t come after you. I promise. The Ladies of Mercy will keep you safe from him. Just like they’re keeping your sister safe.”

I heard nothing from the other side of the door, and there was a good chance I would have to kick it in. I didn’t want to traumatize the child any further, but… I stepped back.

The door cracked open, and a waifish face appeared. “I wanna see my sister.”

Relief swept through me. I smiled down at the child—a real smile, not one I’d been taught. I offered him a hand. “Then let’s go see your sister.”

Nibbling on his lip, his gaze darted back and forth between my hand and face. He came to some sort of decision and placed his hand in mine. The contact of his warm skin jarred me, but I forced myself to get over it and curled my hand around his.

I led him out of the hall and walked straight past the front chamber, not allowing him to look toward the desk. I unlocked the door and ushered him out onto the stoop.

Molly was still there, fidgeting with the laces of her corset. She turned, raising her eyebrows as she glanced between the young boy and me. Her sunken eyes lifted to mine.

I pressed the bag of coins into her hand. “I wouldn’t linger outside this door for very long,” I whispered as Nate tugged on my arm. “You understand?”

Molly’s eyes darted to the closed door behind me. “I…I understand.” Her slim fingers curled around the pouch.

“Good.” I stepped out from under the alcove into the too-bright sunlight and didn’t look back.

Not once as I led the boy away.

“I see I was correct.” Ezra noted the moment I sat across from her in the carriage after depositing the boy beside Marisol.

“About what?”

Ezra flicked a finger toward my chest. I looked down, seeing dark spots sprinkled across the freckles there. I sighed.

“Did you kill that man?”

Smoothing out the skirts of the gown, I crossed my ankles. “I believe he slipped and fell upon my blade.”

“Was it his throat that fell upon your blade?” “Odd, right?”

“Odd, indeed.” Ezra tilted her head to the side as she stared blankly at me. “That happens quite often around you.”

“Unfortunately.” I arched a brow at my stepsister. “Men with careless fists should be more mindful of where they step.”

A faint smile appeared on Ezra’s face. “You know, you do frighten me a little.”

I turned to the carriage window as we rolled down the sunny street. “I know.”