Zaira shrugged. “I like Domenic. I don’t want his geography rearranged.”

Terika giggled, elbowing Zaira in the ribs. Zaira’s return smile was strained.

“It’s not about Ardence,” Marcello said gravely. “It’s about your indenture contract.”

Zaira sank deeper into her chair. Her fingertips fell to Scoundrel’s back, as if the touch of his fur gave her strength. He nosed her hand, though he kept his attention on the bowl.

Marcello eased himself into a seat opposite her. I followed suit, my spine stiff with tension.

“We did some investigation into Orthys, after your escapade in the Tallows. And into your contract in particular.” Marcello took a deep breath. “It’s fake.”

Zaira bared her teeth. “That bastard.”

“Yes.” Marcello’s voice thickened with anger. “Apparently he makes a practice of this. Forging indenture contracts for children without anyone to protect them, all over the Empire so no one notices he has too many. He smuggles his victims off and sells them in Vaskandar. They’re his return cargo, after he unloads his dream poppies.”

“Maggots take his eyes.” Zaira brought her fists up onto the table. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

A thought struck me, and I leaned forward. “You realize what this means.”

“That burning’s too good for him?” Zaira snorted. “Don’t worry. I can make it slow.”

“Your mother didn’t sell you to him.” I made my voice as gentle as I could. “Your family may not have abandoned you at all.”

Zaira winced as if I’d struck her.

“We could find them.” I offered. “Find out what really happened.”

“No.” Zaira’s voice was so low I thought I’d misheard her.

“I know it’s been a long time, but we could at least try. They could be alive and looking for you somewhere.”

Terika tightened her arm around Zaira. “She said no! Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk about it?”

Zaira shook her off, scowling. “I can fight my own battles.”

“We may have to find them,” Marcello said. “Falconer regulations state—”

“Stuff your Falconer regulations.” Zaira half rose, looking ready to go after Marcello. “If you go poking your beak where it isn’t wanted …”

Scoundrel whined, nudging her leg urgently. Zaira threw up her arms and dropped back in her seat. “All right, all right! Here it is!” She set her bowl on the floor, and the vigorous sound of his lapping drained some of the rage from her face.

“I don’t understand,” I said softly. “Why don’t you want to know?”

“Because,” Zaira said through her teeth, “there is no possible happy ending to your little fairy tale.”

“But you could have been stolen from them, or lost, or—”