“We are beautiful.”

Unbelievably, the outfit has added to Ettie’s beauty. The sheen of her blue dress makes her eyes look even bigger. The flowers in her curls make her look as if she’s tumbled here from some otherworldly realm, like a princess from a story that Orso might have told us. There’s pink in her cheeks, now that the food has filled her up.

I’ve always thought it isn’t fair that she’s so lovely. Her face draws the attention of those who should not see her. It turns her into a thing to possess. I’d cut her face with my own dagger if I thought it would save her. But to scar Ettie would change nothing. It’s not just her features that are beautiful. Something inside her draws people to her. Innocence, a kindness that could swallow the city whole if she let it.

“You always look beautiful, Ettie. You don’t need a dress and a thousand pins in your hair to change that,” I say grumpily.

“You look lovely too,” she adds loyally. I shake my head. Even with my fantastical get-up, I’m all angles, edges, and frowns. A bag of bones, Femi calls me. How he’d laugh at me now, parading around in a giant silk dress like an overstuffed meringue.

“I don’t care what I look like,” I say fiercely, and I mean every word. It’s not what I look like that has earned me my place, or the protection of my Guild. My size, my speed, my mind, and my daring make me who I am. I am the Black Cat of the Thieves Guild.

Moon-Face reappears to shoo us out of the room, whispering garbled instructions as she leads us swiftly through back corridors.

“Remember to curtsy before him, and her, if you should see her. Don’t rise until they tell you to. You can’t speak to them unless they speak to you first. Remember that. Don’t eat with your hands. Don’t take food from the table. Watch him and do what he does. Use your serviettes; no wiping your faces on your sleeves.”

I don’t have time to go wherever it is that we are being taken, I think fretfully. I need to find the kitchen larders.

Ettie casts me a glance of worry. I grin at her with far more reassurance than I feel. Meanwhile, the same thought repeats like a military tattoo in my head.

I must pay the bread price.

I must pay the bread price.

I’ve been in this golden cage for over two hours, and I still don’t know where the kitchens are located. And even when I find them, will there truly be enough bread to pay all of the Lords? We are in a time of famine, after all; perhaps the nobility, too, are suffering from scarcity of grain.

As we’re led down a maze of hallways, we pass a barred door flanked by two armed guards, with three heavy gilt locks hanging on it.

Every nerve in my body is instantly alert. I’m sure I know what is so carefully locked away in a place such as this. And the temptation to get inside is acute.