There was a time when we employed both a maid and a cook, back when my father’s merchant business was doing better. Now any extra money is reserved for the “essentials,” like new gowns for Ada and gambling money for my father to fritter away at his gentleman’s club.
“And what exciting adventures did you get up to at the dress shop today?” a light voice asks from the kitchen doorway.
I turn to beam at Evie, my half sister. At just turned nineteen, she’s only a little younger than Hodges, but much more lovely. She has my father’s dark hair—a world away from the bright red locks my mother gave me—and a soft, round face. I might be biased, but I think she’s just about the prettiest little sister in the world.
“Oh, you know, I stabbed myself with a needle half a dozen times and dropped a bowl of buttons.” I wink at her even as I tug down the sleeve of my dress where I scratched my arm trying to climb out of that crater. Evie knows very well that I didn’t spend today at some dressmaker’s, but I prefer to spare her the gory details of my scavenging. It only takes a bit of makeup and my long, modest dresses to hide any injuries on bad days. Better to protect her from all that. She already thinks I sacrifice too much for her.
“Here,” she says, picking up a peeler. “Hand me those carrots.”
“Don’t let your mother catch you,” I warn, twisting my voice into a semblance of Ada’s. “It’s not proper for ladies to attend to household chores, they might roughen their delicate fingers.” Ada’s much milder with Evie, but even Ada’s version of gentle still comes with plenty of picking and criticisms. It just lacks the crueler edge she usually saves for me.
Evie smiles, but her eyes are already wandering to the recipe book I have propped up on the counter, brightening with interest. “Oh, why don’t you try sage instead of rosemary?” she says, scanning the text. “And the lemons…zest them first. You don’t want to waste all that flavor.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” I say and she gives me an apologetic smile. She and I both know she has to tell me what to do, partly because I’ve never been as culinarily gifted as she has, and partly because Ada keeps trying to ban her from the kitchen.
My stepmother despairs over the fact that Evie would rather be getting her hands dirty in a bowl of batter than practicing the pianoforte like a society lady. Evie is better behaved than I am and mostly tries to obey her mother. But more than once, I’ve caught her staring longingly at the stove as I pull together a meal.
“So what was on the cards today?” I ask her. “Dancing lessons? Tea with some gossipy old lady and her dull-as-dishwater daughters?”
“Something like that,” Evie says with a sigh as she casually carves the carrots into pretty rosettes that would take me hours to achieve.
Her tone instantly sets me on edge. “She’s not been talking about any more suitors, has she?”
“She’salwaystalking about suitors, Leah, you know that.”
“You need to be firmer,” I say, unable to keep the worry creeping into my voice. “Put her off, Eves. As long as you can see this season through without letting her trap you into something…” I lower my voice, wary of being overheard. “Then I’ll have enough saved, and we won’t have to stay.”
“It won’t work,” Evie shakes her head, and there’s a weird flush in her cheeks I don’t like at all. “I’m not like you, Leah, I can’t go toe-to-toe with her the way you did.”
I know what she means. When I turned eighteen, Ada was ecstatic at the idea that she could finally be rid of me and promptly started trying to marry me off to any suitor that would have me. To be fair, after years of being subjected to Ada as a stepmother, the idea of getting out of this house and her reach had its temptations. Just up and leaving wasn’t an option, not without a guild license to keep me off the streets and out of the workhouse, and I had no skills or resources at that time to secure one of those, even if I’d been okay with leaving Evie behind.
The only way out was through marriage…but in the end, I couldn’t face it. Being married off to some stranger Ada picked for me felt too much like leaving one cage just to be locked up in another. I realized the only way to be certain of my liberty would be if I built it with my own hands. Once I’d decided that, Ada’s hopes were doomed. She simply hadn’t reckoned with my sheer stubborn perseverance. I determinedly scared every potential husband off with extreme moodiness, bad manners and, onone visit, a very hot cup of tea poured directly into a handsy gentleman’s lap.
That defiance cost me dearly, of course. I spent more days locked in my room and missed more meals over those few years than I care to count. Small, precious items I’d managed to hold onto over the years disappeared or were destroyed, and she did her best to make sure every little pleasure was taken away. But still, I stayed unmoved. Eventually, Ada gave up. She decided I’d be the family servant instead—to “make use” of me, as she put it to my father—and miraculously, I discovered that this punishment afforded me a sliver of the freedom I craved. I could come and go from the house on errands while avoiding Ada’s constant scrutiny. That’s when I started hatching the plan I’ve been working on for the past three years.
I’m not going to let them take Evie’s future from her, not after they took so much from me. I’m going to get us out of this cursed house. With a guild license—even a fake one—we could start a new life together, safe from my father’s indifference and Ada’s cruelty.
“You don’t have to doexactlywhat I did,” I say, setting down the celery I’m chopping and forcing Evie to meet my eye. “And she’ll tolerate a lot more from you than she would me, so just find some excuse—anything—to stall for time. I can get us out of here, Evie, I promise. You just have to trust me.”
Evie chews her lip and drops her gaze, returning to the carrots. Something is going on with her, I can tell. Is she really so worried Ada will force her into a match before I’ve saved enough? Or is there something else bothering her? I don’t have time to ask, because just then we hear Ada calling Evie from the stairs. My sister has to rush off before my stepmother realizes she was committing the ultimate crime of helping me with chores.
I spend the next few days tackling the spring clean and avoiding Ada in case she asks why I haven’t gone back to the seamstress’s yet. Scavenging is always unpredictable, but my hope is the last battle kicked off what will be another wave of skirmishes.
I don’t lie to myself—scavenging isn’t just a means to an end for me. It has become something of an escape in itself. It might be frightening and dangerous—and I still wake up from nightmares about some of the things I’ve seen and done on the plains—but I also get to be me. Even if I don’t get to use my real name. And that’s such a blessed relief that sometimes I findmyself lingering in the market or with Hodges’s family at his house rather than coming back here.
But I also pray for another battle because I’m increasingly sure there’s something wrong with Evie. Ada keeps dropping loaded hints about eligible bachelors and instead of sticking to our plan—finding excuses to delay the husband hunting—Evie seems to have gottenworseat pushing back. She just turns red and stutters some nothing answer. I love her, but if she keeps doing such a shitty job of deterring Ada, I’m going to need to scavenge a whole battalion of ephilium armor to get a counterfeit license before my stepmother has her walking down the aisle.
Then it hits me.
“I know why you’ve been so off this last week,” I say one afternoon when she comes into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.
Her hand slips, and she nearly drops the glass. It’s only my quick reflexes that steady it in her grasp before it crashes to the floor.
“You do?” she asks, her face draining of color.
“It’s that butcher’s apprentice, isn’t it?” I say. “What’s his name…John?”
“Jeremy,” she replies too fast, and I can’t help but chuckle.
