Chapter 1
Alessia
Sable’s barking cough tears through the barn, loud and ragged, and I jolt upright in bed. The first splash of sunlight filters through the slats, along with the early morning chill, yet I barely feel it over the sinking sensation in my gut.
I turn toward Sable, my little sister, who’s huddled under the tattered blanket we share. She looks impossibly small in the bed of straw and rags, her skin slick with fever sweat, cheeks rosy, lips split and bleeding where the wind blasted every crack.
I press my cold hand against her forehead, and she snuggles deeper beneath our holey blanket. Her skin is a little too warm, but it’s nothing compared to last night when touching her would burn my frozen fingertips. Her eyes open as she peeks out at me, one an icy blue and the other a light seafoam green, and I swipe her golden blonde hair away from her cheek, memorizing her face in case the fever steals her from me. “I’m hungry Lissa,” she murmurs, voice catching on a cough that sounds like it might tear her apart.
Knowing I can’t feed her, shame burns through me and stings my eyes. I’m her sister, I should be able to protect her, but I can’t even keep her fed. Everything has been frozen for months now, and we’ve barely found more than scraps.
“I will see if I can find something,” I whisper, and she nods weakly and rolls over. I rub my arms as I leave the old barn and step outside into the rising sun, not that it offers any warmth.
I peer out at the barren fields and the snow-laden cabins scattered for miles. The servants living in the small cabins have an easier time keeping warm than Sable and me. The barn we live in is cavernous, with cold air sweeping through the janky slats, while the cabins are so small that they warm easily with body heat. At least that’s what I’ve heard. The only upside to living in the barn is the piles of hay, and it’s a much shorter walk to the outhouse than from anywhere else on the farm.
The clouds above look heavy, and I groan as I check the storage room. We could be in for more snow, and the food crates are already empty.
The old floorboards creak under my ratty boots as I look inside of each empty barrel and crate, praying for a crumb, a stray root, anything. There is nothing. The cold sinks through my bones, and hunger gnaws and growls in my stomach. If I don’t find food soon, I’ll lose my sister. And I can’t lose her, not ever.
We haven’t eaten in a week. My stomach may be in knots, but each passing day, Sable fades a little more. The flu claws at what little strength she has, eating her from the inside out. I can go hungry, I always have, but she won’t get better with so little to eat.
Empty handed, I debate if I should risk sneaking over to see if Arlo has managed to rustle anything up for his family. He lives in a servant cabin by the edge of the forest with his mother and little sister.
Claudia has very strict rules about the separation of non-related men and women on the farm. She claims they have enough mouths to feed without worrying about pregnant servants.
Once, she caught Arlo helping me with my chores after finishing his, and he was given five lashes in front of everyone. When it was my turn to stand before the others, shirtless, and take my five lashes, Arlo refused to let them beat me. He stood bravely in my place, jaw locked, body silently shaking, and took my punishment as well. When he was hauled away by the other men, back dripping with blood, Claudia scolded me about how a pregnant servant will find her way back to the flesh markets.
Deciding it’s not worth the risk to visit Arlo, I creep into the main house, dread coiled tight in my chest. My hands shake as I reach for the door. Even though Mr. Crawly and Claudia are kinder than most, there would be hard repercussions for any servant caught stealing from their home. No matter the punishment, it’s worth the risk if it means saving Sable.
I’m one of the more favored servants here since I have a bit of a green thumb, not that it helps us much now. Every farm around is barren in these frigid temperatures, and anything growing here would cause a lot of unwanted questions.
Not that being favored by Mr. Crawly wins me any points with the other servants. Besides Arlo, his little sister Angie, and his mother Marian, most of the others despise me. They see the way Arlo’s eyes always find me in the field, and since the lashings he took on my behalf, they know what trouble I could cause him.
He was born and raised here, like a lot of the others, and he’s their golden boy in every way. I’m a threat to Arlo’s safety on the farm just for catching his eye. My stomach flutters as I let myself think of him for a moment, but I quickly squash those thoughts.
It isn’t that I don’t want him. It’s that wanting Arlo feels like tempting fate.
I have watched him grow the way you watch the seasons change. Slowly, almost without noticing, until one day the boy who used to grin at me from across the fields when I first arrived here was gone. In his place stands a man with rough hands and quiet hazel eyes, a man who carries himself carefully, as if the world has taught him how easily good things are taken away. Sometimes I catch myself wondering when it happened, when my affection had sharpened into something dangerous, something that makes my breath hitch when he stands too close.
It would be so easy to let myself lean into him. To imagine a world where pecked cheeks turn into something more, where his mouth closes the distance instead of pulling away. But that world can’t exist here. On this farm, affection is a liability, and love is a luxury meant for people who aren’t sold like cattle. Arlo has already paid in flesh for looking at me the way he does.
So I have to bury the wanting where it can’t hurt him again.
Where it won’t get him killed or sold to the flesh markets.
As I inch toward the kitchen, I freeze at the sound of low voices. I press myself against the wall, heart hammering, and peer inside.
Mr. Crawly is slumped over the table, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Claudia strokes his back as if she can hold him together with her touch.
“There is nothing. We won’t survive this winter,” he breaks, and my heart stutters.
“You asked for the extension, hopefully, the king will have leniency,” his wife tries to reassure him.
“We didn’t supply our monthly rations, and we are behind on this season’s taxes, Claudia. Any day now, the king’s men will come again, and I have nothing to offer them but the hands that farm this land.”
Claudia turns to the window, eyes hollow, and, in that moment, I know it’s over. When Sable and I first came here, there were just over fifty servants that took care of this place. In the year and a half King Zander has worn the mainland crown, we’ve been whittled down to thirty. The rest were given back to the flesh markets. My hands curl into fists. It’s always the same ones taken first, the ill, the elderly, and the children. They aren’t as valuable to Mr. Crawly. So I know he won’t waste able bodies. He’ll sell the servants who can’t carry their weight or anyone who costs him coin in medicine.
And that thought takes me straight to Angie and Sable. They’re the youngest left. Angie’s heart is fragile, and Sable . . . Sable has been knocking on death’s door for weeks, swallowed by this flu that won’t loosen its grip.
What if he sells Sable? Who will watch her cough herself to death on some stranger’s floor? I promised Mama I’d never let her be alone. The thought of losing her rips me open. I’d rather die than let someone take her.
“I’ll send word to the king. We can send what rations we have. We’ll—”
“That’s just it, Claudia, there are none. We are all going to starve to death. The fields are covered in snow, there is nothing,” Mr. Crawly states. “I have thirty servants to feed as well. There isn’t enough.”
Claudia wipes a stray tear and nods slowly as his words sink in.
“Then we have no choice. We’ll sell off some of the older servants. Perhaps we can offer extra blood this month. I’m sure most here will offer to donate if the alternative is . . .”
