The most amazing smell she had ever smelled walloped her in the face. Saliva swamped her mouth.

She reached inside, rummaged through, until she found it. Dried leaves wrapped around something glorious, something magical. She peeled them back and drew in breath.

It was dried meat. Nothing more. But it smelled better than any dried meat she’d ever had. She couldn’t help herself. Her hands brought the meat to her mouth of their own accord. She bit down. Flavor exploded on her tongue.

It was venison, still a little tender, smoked and salted, cured with a bit of sugar and something else she couldn’t identify. She could eat this forever. Every day for the rest of her—

A rough hand gripped her shoulder, spun her around. She almost choked on the venison.

“Hello, little thief,” said the Joyan man with the eye patch.

Mula couldn’t say anything back. Her mouth was too full.

He snatched the rest of the meat from her hand. “Come with me,” he said, and he dragged her across the hallway to the other room.

The two women were inside, sitting on their cots, the Invierno standing over them. “Look what I just found,” said the eye-patch man, thrusting the girl forward. She tumbled to her knees, scurried across the floor to the wall, where she huddled as small and tight as she could get. “She was after this.” He held up the packet of meat.

The girl could finally swallow. She said, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to steal! It was a black thought, and I tried to make it go away, but it smelled so—”

The plump woman reached for her, but Mula flinched away, knocking her head against the wall.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” the fine lady said. “Here. Have more.” She grabbed some meat from the pack, tossed it at Mula.

The girl snatched it from the air, shoved it into her mouth quick. The taste made her want to weep.

“Look at me,” the fine lady said, and Mula tried, but it was terrifying, looking into those deep brown eyes that were trying to see inside her. “If you weren’t there to steal, why were you in that room?”

Mula froze.

“Did the innkeeper put you up to it?”

Mula said nothing. The fine lady grabbed another piece of meat and tossed it to her.

The girl snatched it from the air, shoved it into her mouth.

“Mula? Is that your name?”

The girl shrugged, chewing as fast as she could. This was the most food she’d eaten at one time in as long as she could remember.

“Please answer my question. It’s an easy one, yes?”

Mula said, “I wanted to know what merry jam smelled like.” There. A partial truth. Not so bad to say.

Gently, the tall woman said, “But did Orlín put you up to it?”

They weren’t going to let it go. “No. I did it my own self.” But her words were shivery and she couldn’t make herself look the fine lady in the eye, no matter how hard she tried. The lie echoed in the room around her. Shame clogged her throat.