“Take a guess,” he pushed. Enne had heard enough condescension in her life to recognize it in his voice.
Harvey cleared his throat, saving her from answering. “Don’t mind us. We’re only anxious, as I’m sure you can imagine—plus it’s thanks to you that this war was called. And it’s thanks to this war that eight of our associates are dead.”
Harvey rested a hand on Enne’s shoulder. Even when his words were harsh, his tone was still warm. She had no reason to trust him, yet suddenly, she wanted to.
“Not that you’re the one to blame, of course,” he said, flashing her a gap-toothed grin.
Enne was about to respond with apologies, or explanations, or whatever else Harvey wanted to hear, but even as transfixed as she was, she didn’t miss the dark look exchanged between Harvey and the Guildmaster. Harvey immediately wrenched his hand off her and leaned away, and the spell was broken.
Enne’s skin prickled, remembering just how dangerous Harvey’s talent was. With only a touch, he could probably convince her to spill her deepest secrets. And if she ever accepted a favor from him, Enne would be forever trapped where he pleased.
Every time she thought she’d decided which of the three intimidated her the most, one of them introduced some new kind of threat.
“Courtesy,” Rebecca snapped at Harvey, clicking her tongue.
“You know he can’t help it,” Bryce told her, as though Harvey weren’t even there.
Rebecca narrowed her eyes at Harvey, then she slid her arm around Bryce possessively. Enne leaned back into her seat to avoid their mutual glares. She realized that their attempts to challenge her weren’t what made her so uncomfortable—rather, she felt trapped in the intimate squabbles of someone else’s dysfunctional home.
She sighed with relief when Lola returned. Four girls followed behind her, most old enough to be called women. Enne examined their yellowed teeth and knotted hair with uncertainty.
“All of them are looking for full-time work,” Bryce said. “A variety of talents. A runner, a wordsmith, a truthseer, and a singer.”
Lola rifled through the papers with confusion. “Why didn’t you include Talia? I thought she wanted something full-time.”
Bryce faltered, and a haunted expression crossed his face. “Talia was injured last night. She’s here.” He looked suddenly young as he spoke. There was something darker than grief in his eyes, something that Enne recognized as guilt. “But she won’t be working.”
“Well?” Rebecca asked Enne sharply. “What do you think?”
Enne snapped her gaze away from the Guildmaster. “Is this really all you have?” Enne might’ve been playing at being a real street lord, but she would’ve preferred someone a little...cleaner, at least.
“You haven’t been very specific in your request,” Harvey said flatly.
“I’ll know her when I see her,” Enne said, which she realized sounded absurd. What sort of decision-making was that? Lola scowled in the corner.
“Fine,” Rebecca sniped. She grabbed a heap of files off the desk and thrust them into Lola’s arms. For the first time since coming here, Enne’s annoyance piqued. Lola wasn’t their servant. “Let’s go find this mystery person, then.”
As the others left the warden’s office, Lola and Enne lingered behind.
“You’ve irritated them,” Lola whispered.
“I’m not sure I could’ve helped that,” Enne said. “I’ve never seen you so...submissive. Are you afraid of them?”
“Aren’t you?” Lola responded pointedly.
Enne was, and it probably showed. But now she was also irritated.
In the courtyard were close to sixty people, soaking in the warm June sunshine, playing games of backgammon or Tropps. Many of them stopped what they were doing to stare at Enne. Shoulders straightened, chests puffed out, knives danced between fingers. They were showing off, she realized. The thought bolstered her confidence.
Enne’s gaze wandered until it settled on a book. It was a romance novel by one of her favorite authors, Sadie Knightley.
The girl holding it, however, made Enne pause. Despite the summer heat, she wore black from head to toe. She had dark hair, dark eyeliner, and dark fishnet gloves. A collection of necklaces hung from her, chains and rusted nails and the largest Creed Enne had ever seen, the bottom of its knot sharpened into a blade. Her skirt was obscenely short, making her stockings more suggestive than functional—she was clearly trying to cover nothing. Unlike the other members of the Orphan Guild, she didn’t bother to vie for Enne’s attention, as her gaze was focused on the book.
“Who isthat?” Enne asked.
“That’s Grace Watson,” Lola answered. “Her blood talent is counting.”
Enne considered this. A counter was exactly the sort of person who could unravel their financial problem.
