Asher hauls me from the wagon. Bay is secure in the sling, but I instinctively cup the back of her head to keep her from jostling. “Don’t fight them,” he whispers, pulling me close. “Speak only if spoken to, keep your head down, and don’t make a move until you’ve been assigned somewhere. You know where to find me when—”

A foreign set of hands grabs me from Asher and shoves me toward the doorway, where Bain is arguing about payment with a rotund, balding man. I get one final glance at Asher—standing in the market, arms at his sides and gaze rooted on me—before I’m yanked into the shanty and the cloth door falls back in place.

Fingers pinch my cheeks, forcing my mouth open. A woman with deep-set eyes and wrinkled skin examines my teeth. She pushes my jaw up, and I find myself staring at the sagging ceiling. Next, she pokes and prods, checking ears, eyes, combing through my hair. There are two other people being inspected in the hut, a boy and a girl, both around my age.

Heat laces my cheek, and my head snaps sideways. It takes me a minute to realize I’ve been slapped. “Only thing that should interest you is your feet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and stare at the rock floor. I don’t have the energy to fight her. Even now, the room seems to be spinning.

The woman moves on to my neck, shoulders, ribs. When the sling gets in her way, she unfastens it and sets Bay on the floor, where the tiny girl immediately starts crying. I’ve never wanted to coddle her, but I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to scoop her up. The rock floor is hard and likely cold. The sling has fallen open. Bay should be in my arms, nestled against the heat of my body. Her little face wrinkles as she howls, and it takes all my effort to keep my mouth shut as the woman ignores the crying and continues prodding her way down my body. “Take this one to the wagon for Bedrock,” she says to another worker after no part of me has been left untouched.

I risk a glance up, pulse kicking. Asher never mentioned any Bedrock settlement, and the Vulture’s Roost is here, in the Barrel. I was supposed to be assigned somewhere here. The worker stoops near my feet, and I realize the woman was never talking about me.

“Wait!” I shout as he picks up Bay. “We have to stay together.”

“She ain’t yours,” the woman says, “and even if she was, there’s wet nurses and goats.”

“But she’s my niece, my blood.” I move to follow Bay, but the woman yanks me back.

“Go on,” she says, waving the man off.

“You can’t just take her from me!”