Brother Beryll receives a ring of keys from a guard standing beside an open doorway, and I’m led into a tight room crammed full of trestle tables heavy with rocks of sugar, dusted in the fine powder the air is thick with. I cough, fighting the temptation to lift my robe and cover my mouth as we weave between the rows.
Men with shaved heads hunch over pestle and mortars, casting wary glances my way, grinding down chunks of sugar they chip off the blocks. Though a few aren’t grinding sugar at all.
They’re grindingthorns—mixing it with sugar.
Diluting it down.
Shrill crunching sounds pierce me to the core, dragging nails across my eardrums. Violence swells, punching at my ribs, peddling my blood into a fiery rage.
We head toward a door at the far end of the room, and I watch a man sprinkle more of the delicate, crystalline spikes onto a small set of scales from a packed-full jar …
No ears.
I tame the growl threatening to chew through my tone as I ask, “They come already plucked?”
“Of course,” Brother Beryll boasts, slipping a key into the lock and clunking the bolt to the side. “They’re taken straight off living male stock.”
A shiver streaks through me.
Living male stock …
“If any more females exist, they’rewellhidden,” Brother Beryll continues, pushing the door wide. “We’ve done our part, hunted high and low in the name of the stones. Though we got close to finding Shadow’s Hand years ago, we’re yet to fulfill our duty to the Gods and their great creation. But we will,” he says with such stable determination the insides of my cheeks tingle.
I’m certain everybody in the room can hear the erratic thump of my heart. That they can tell I’m an intruder dressed in the skin of a dead man.
That I want to rip the blade from inside my right boot and tear it through their jugulars.
But then who would lead me to Madame Strings?
He gestures for me to move past, and I slip into a darker room lined with rows of wooden shelves. Some are stacked with gray coins, some with gold, some with jars of the Candescence-sugar blend.
My heart grows heavier as I sweep my gaze around the space, hands tightening into fists hidden under my scooped sleeves.
“This is where our stocks are stored.” He picks up a jar and tosses it high, snatching it in such a carefree manner that I picture my hand wrapped around his throat.
Picture his skin turning a sickly shade of blue.
“You’ll pay for one of these, take it, sell it, and return for the next. The funds are then sent to the Glass Palace.”
Interesting.
He reaches out his empty hand, and I clear my throat, digging through my pocket and pulling out a gold drab. I make the trade, skin crawling the moment my fingers wrap around the glass so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
“You have plenty of stock,” I state, pocketing the jar.
“We do, but it goes fast, which is why we dilute it. The city is thirstier than it’s ever been. This month’s shipment came in from the Glass Palace this afternoon.” Brother Beryll drops some plain gray tokens into a leather pouch and hands them to me. “Anyone who is hooked and can’t afford the cost can be given one ofthose.Payment for their trip across the river, where they’ll receive the opportunity to kneel to the stones in exchange for a regular supply.”
I nod, remembering the gaunt, jittery males who joined my crossing. Realizing just how smooth and fucked up this operation is.
“And don’t forget to limit what you give to the children. We don’t want an army of runts. We need them fully mature before they become regular users.”
I swallow bile, nodding, picturing my thumbs gored into his skull, bursting his eyes like puffballs.
“Of course.”
“In exchange for your hard work, you will be given your own room here in the temple—food, clean water, and the blessing of the Elders. You will also be gifted a daily dose of Candescence.”
“Right,” I mutter, scanning the room as my rage simmers into something thick. Potent.
