They headed back downstairs, avoiding the barroom for a small back parlor with tables and a roaring fire. Two men sat at a table near the small dirty window; an older woman with gray-streaked hair and a wrinkled dried-apple face set out two large plates of pasta before them. She looked up when Nomi and Malachi entered, her lips pursing.

Malachi chose a table near the fire. Nomi was grateful; her dress was too thin to keep her warm in the chilly evening air.

The woman shuffled to their table. “Did Sir not speak with you?” she asked, glancing worriedly at Nomi.

“Supper for two, please,” Malachi requested firmly.

The servant bowed her head and disappeared through a side door.

Nomi stared at the knotted wood of the table. The men in the corner murmured quietly; she couldn’t catch what they said.

Malachi drummed his fingers on the table. After a while, he stood and warmed himself by the fire. The woman returned, her hands empty, a new urgency in her movements. She scurried over to Nomi, just as a burst of laughter exploded in the hallway.

“Please, please,” the woman said, picking at Nomi’s shoulder. “Please go upstairs. Soldiers are here. Please go upstairs.”

The voices outside got louder. Coarser.

“Why?” Nomi whispered, suddenly frightened. “What’s happening?”

The woman urged her to stand. Malachi made his way back to them, annoyance washing across his face.

“The new Superior’s collecting Graces,” the woman said, so fast and quiet the words slurred together. “His soldiers pick up whatever pretty girls they see. Don’t matter if they’re too young, married, don’t matter. They take them to the palazzo. If the Superior doesn’t approve, they’re sent home, but if he likes you…” Her mouth puckered in sorrow. “Please go.” She pointed to a door. “Back staircase.”

Eyes wide, Nomi motioned to Malachi to stay and let the servant sweep her up the stairs. Once alone in the bedroom, Nomi paced. She could hear the raucous laughter and occasional shout of the soldiers, the thudding boots and banging doors. She suspected her room was above the stables, because the sounds of horses whinnying and stomping filtered up to her as well.

She glanced out the small window. Lit the lamp on the bedside table. Tried not to think of what the woman had said.

Asa is collecting his own Graces.

Snatching women off the streets. Unwilling women.

Nomi shook her head, wishing this were a nightmare she could wake from. It was even worse than she’d feared. How many girls—and how many of their mothers and brothers and fathers and sisters—would despise her if they knew she was the reason for all of this? She was the reason Asa had come into power?

The doorknob rattled. She jumped.

But it was Malachi, returning with a tray of food.