Page 19

“You dare interfere with the King’s Guard?”

A strong hand fists my hair and rips my head back, pulling me out of Arlo’s arms, and I’m forced to meet the man’s hateful gaze.

Arlo’s entire body stiffens as he suppresses the urge to fight back. His arms tighten as I slip from his grip.

“I should kill you!” The guard’s demonic black eyes peer back at me, and his canines slip out as his face turns more beast than man.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, take me with her,” I beg. I can’t do this without her.

Mr. Crawly finally jumps in to defuse the situation. “It was a moment of panic, sir. The girl didn’t mean it. She is one of my best workers. The king’s ledger said nine servants today. I need every hand I have left.”

Nine servants?

The guard sneers and shoves my face away. Arlo pulls me back against him.

“Wait, sir, please . . .” I push back on Arlo’s chest and point at Sable’s cage again. “Look . . . The little one right there. She’s so sick and small. No one will buy her contract.”

The guard is looking Angie over for the first time.

“Let me go instead. You need nine servants. I’ll go.”

Arlo looks sick as he pulls me into his chest tighter, but he doesn’t argue.

“Please, sir. She’s going to die in those cages. The king won’t see a single coin for the trouble. I’m strong. I can work. My contract will sell. Please . . .”

Across the lawn, Sable’s covering Angie’s ears, silent tears streaming down her face.

“The king doesn’t decide who stays and who goes.” The guard’s hard stare lifts from me to Crawly. “You want to trade the girls out?” he asks.

I turn toward the old man just in time to catch the slight shake of his head, and my stomach drops.

“So be it.” The guard turns his back on me, heading toward the convoy of trucks. “The king has given you two weeks to come up with the other half of your taxes and rations, or we’ll be back to foreclose on your land,” the guard snaps at Mr. Crawly.

“Thank you, thank you!” Mr. Crawly grovels. “This winter has been harsh, but you see our land is fertile again. The tomatoes we gave you were perfect.”

The guard growls and turns away.

Arlo’s grip around my trembling body doesn’t ease until the last truck leaves, and as he lets me go, he turns his glare toward Mr. Crawly.

I wipe the blood trickling steadily down my face, some of it my own, some of it from Arlo’s head wound. All around me, servants are sobbing, having lost loved ones as well. A few just stare blankly down the drive where the trucks left.

Arlo takes a few steps toward Crawly, the rage in his expression like nothing I’ve seen before. The old man shakes his head and reaches for the field knife holstered to his belt.

“You gonna kill me, Crawly?” Arlo takes another step forward, and Crawly’s hand flinches toward the buckle on his holster. “What happened to needing all the hands you can get?” Arlo spins and takes off in the direction of his family’s cabin, and the old man’s bravado drains from his body.

Mr. Crawly hasn’t been cruel to us, for the most part, as long as we did our chores and didn’t break the rules. I know he isn’t to blame for the unusually harsh weather. We’ve barely had enough to survive, let alone sell at the market or put toward the king’s rations. The crates of tomatoes he gave the king didn’t even scratch the surface of what’s owed, but his choice to let Angie die in that cage rather than allow me to go with Sable was unforgivable.

“Alessia!” Mr. Crawly shouts.

I’m already storming off toward the front gates to head to the flesh markets. Surely I can reason with someone or find the money to buy their contracts. There aren’t many ways to make money here besides farming, selling your body, or becoming a feeder. My sister and I were lucky never to have to rely on the other options, but I’m not above them.

As I reach the gate, tires crunch behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. Arlo is in Mr. Taylor’s run-down truck that Crawly borrowed. He pulls up beside me, reaching over to shove the passenger door open.

“Get in!” he snaps, so I climb into the passenger seat and slam the door shut. The trip into town is silent and quick. Arlo’s eyes are glazed over and fixed on the road as he white-knuckles the steering wheel.

“Please tell me you didn’t steal this from the neighbor?” I whine.

He doesn’t look at me. “It’s not stealing if I return it. Besides, I will deal with the consequences later. First we get our sisters back.”