It’s two hours before dawn when I finally bring myself to walk away, judging by the lightening sky and dewy smell of the air. I walk fast as the sun’s light bleeds into the sky from the east. It’s colder than it was yesterday, and the raw wind makes me shiver. The smell of decayed earth rises through the snow. Soon, the village of Crofton looms before me, its lump of thatched roofs like lopsided mushrooms in the dawn. The only signs of life are a few beggars sleeping in doorways. As I watch, a thin hand lights a candle in a window above the bakery. I’m not afraid—the Gerlings keep us safe from external threats, if not starvation. But it’s eerie.

A few blocks from the marketplace, I hear a murmur of voices. Turning the corner, I see the largest gathering of girls I’ve ever encountered in one place. There must be more than fifty of us crowding the open square, all clean-scrubbed and dressed in our finest clothes. Some of them I know—there’s Amma with her little sister, Alia, tiny and solemn at twelve; and Nora, a seamstress, for whom I used to do some mending before she could no longer pay me. Many girls I don’t recognize. Perhaps they’ve come from the farms that stretch for miles outside the borders of our village, drawn here by the opportunity to work at Everless.

Moving through the crowd are men with badges bearing the Gerling insignia. They’re shouting, herding the girls into one long line. My stomach drops when I recognize one—Ivan Tenburn, the son of the captain of the Everless guard, now on his own horse and wearing his own badge. He was vicious as a child, and constantly at Liam’s heels; all the servant children were terrified of him. Once, while his father was away, he made the stableboys stand in a line, and struck their knees with a riding crop in turn. If one cried out, he’d give the boy next to him five strikes in a row. He called it a game—snaps. I remember the dark bruise across my friend Tam’s shins. It remained for weeks.

I also remember Roan’s voice, demanding that Ivan stop.

Fear courses through me, sharp as the blade Ivan wears at his side. Ten years have passed, but by the way Ivan barks at the girls to move, I know that nothing has changed.

I head toward where Amma and Alia are huddled on the other side of the square. Amma looks uncertain. Her own knapsack is slung over her back, and she’s wearing a traveling cloak. When she sees me, a relieved smile breaks out across her face.

“I don’t believe it!” She grips my arms and draws me in for a quick hug. “Convinced your father to let you come after all?”

“Just for a month or two,” I fib. “If they even choose me.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be pleased enough when you come home with two years of blood-iron.”

I try to take comfort in Amma’s words as she tugs me toward the line. I feel her pulse, quick and light, against my palm. “I’m glad you’re here. It’ll be marvelous, us all together.” Next to her, Alia smiles up at me.

As we take our places, Ivan and the other Gerling men hold conference, talking in low voices before turning to face the line of girls. Behind them, two large open-topped hay carts, driven by skinny, bucktoothed boys who can’t be older than twelve, roll into the square and halt. Meanwhile, Ivan and his men walk down the line, examining chins and eyes and arms, spinning the girls like tops.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Amma. She just shakes her head.

Uneasiness pools in my stomach. I’ve heard Lord Gerling likes his servants young and pretty, but I never expected to be treated this way, to be herded like cattle and checked like a horse for good teeth and legs. I’m tempted to run, but I can’t make my feet move.

Down the line, a man examines a round-faced, frizzy-haired girl I don’t recognize. He frowns and shakes his head. The girl’s lip trembles. She starts to speak, but the man ignores her and moves on to the next girl in line, a willowy woman in her early twenties. He smiles greedily at her and speaks a few low words. Her face turns red and she breaks from the line, hurrying toward the hay cart.

The evaluation goes on like this. About a quarter of the girls are directed into the cart, and the rest are rejected. My skin crawls every time one of the Gerling men leers or makes a girl hitch her skirts to better show off her calves, but if I want to win a place at Everless, I don’t dare say anything. Amma has gone as white as the snow still piled in drifts at the edges of the square. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, as much to comfort myself as her.

Five girls away. Three. Then one. I bite the inside of my cheek as the Gerling guard appears in front of me, hoping my disgust doesn’t show on my face. I’m just thankful it’s not Ivan. He’s smiling, close enough that I can smell the stink of his breath. To my dismay, he takes my chin in his hand, dragging my face upward. I flinch—I can’t help it. The man chuckles and goes for my breasts instead.

Reflex takes over, and I see everything happening slowly, as if we’re suspended in honey. It’s happening again—time pausing, even the air unmoving, though no one seems to know it. The man’s grin fixed on his face. Amma’s horrified expression, a gasp caught halfway from her throat. I reach for my knife in my belt and bring it in front of me, meaning only to stop him.

But then the buzzing in my ears abruptly fades, and the world catches up again.

The guard and I both look down in shock at the hair-thin red line that crosses his overhanging gut, the drop of blood gathering at its end, staining his uniform. I’ve barely nicked him, but still. My stomach plummets as I realize what I’ve done.

There’s a beat of dead silence as he glares at me, and then the other men break into laughter. The man’s face colors a deep, angry red.

“Little bitch,” he spits, stuffing a handkerchief to the scratch. “I’ll bleed you ten years . . .”

I lower my knife, tears pricking at my eyes, and begin to back away. Stupid, so stupid. One moment of impulse, and I’ve thrown away any chance I had of getting to Everless.

But then—

“Hang on, now, Bosley.” Ivan, his velvet cloak whipping behind him, saunters over to us. His mouth is twitching, and I brace myself—what if he recognizes me?

But then I realize that the sound coming from his throat is laughter, not rage. His smile is thick—oblivious. “I like this one,” he chortles. “Quick thinker. Knows how to handle herself, too. It’s a wonder she didn’t stick you like a pig.” Some of the other men laugh, and the man who tried to grope me casts me a hate-filled gaze, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he turns his attention to Amma. “Not with that scar,” he says nastily.

Amma blinks in disbelief. “I’ll work hard,” she says. “I swear it.” She glances helplessly at me.

“We’ve no shortage of hard workers, girl,” the man snarls. “Just pretty faces. Home with you.”

Tears spring to Amma’s eyes. “Please, sir . . .” But her plea is ignored, the man already moving on to Alia, who stands trembling beside her older sister.

Belatedly, I realize Ivan is still staring at me. But he’s no longer smiling. My legs tense, prepared to run. “Well? Into the cart with you.”

I glance at Amma, panicked. I hadn’t even considered the possibility I might have to go without her. “Sir,” I plead. “She’s my best friend. Please, let her come.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other man give Alia a little shove toward the cart, as she glances over her shoulder.

“I don’t care if she’s your bleeding mother,” Ivan says lightly. “She’s staying here. Do you want to stay with her?”