“For pity’s sake!” called Savine. “Do you need those chains?”

“Can’t take chances,” said Sarlby as they dragged Zuri roughly to her feet at the bottom of the stairs. “Could be an Eater.”

Her hair had come loose, and she gave Savine the briefest look through the black tangle across her face. “Do not worry about me, it—”

“Shut your mouth, you brown bitch.” One of the Burners tore the silver watch from around Zuri’s neck, the chain catching her ear and making her gasp, gave an approving grunt and slipped it into his pocket. Another pulled her head back and started to strap some contraption of buckles and wire over her face. By the Fates, they were muzzling her.

“Are you mad?” shrieked Savine. She regretted it at once. Quite obviously they were all mad. “She’s a lady’s companion, not a sorceress! You know her, Gunnar.”

Broad winced, as if the sound of his first name was painful. “Not up to me,” he grunted, and he lifted a flask and took a little sip. “Up to the court.”

“How many suspected Eaters have you arrested?” asked Savine as they dragged Zuri towards the door, kicking through the children’s bedding.

“Dozens,” said Sarlby.

She clasped her hands, her own chain rattling. “And how many have actually been Eaters?”

“Once they’re chained and muzzled, what difference does it make? She has brothers, does she?”

“But they’re… good people,” whispered Savine. What a pointless thing to say. She stared at the orphans, cringing against the peeling walls. How foolish she had been, to think she could save anyone. She could not even save herself.

Sarlby took her under the arm and walked her towards the door. “It’s a shame, but there’s not so many turning up for the executions any more,” he was saying, as if they were discussing the weather. “Bored of ’em, I guess. If there’s one human ability I’ve always been amazed by, it’s the capacity to get bored. Saw it in Styria. Saw it in Valbeck. Don’t matter how mad, strange or outrageous, folk’ll get bored of anything. Don’t worry, though. Given who your father is… or your fathers were… I’m sure there’ll be no shortage of interest.” He gave her a wink as he brought her through the door of the house where she had dreamed of being queen and out into the chill air. “And we still get a good turnout for the pretty ones.”

The Same Side

Leo had a trick for putting a shirt on. He needed a trick for most things these days. First, he gathered the sleeve and twisted it over his useless hand.

The arm had withered. Thin, soft, pale apart from the scattered pink scars. Sometimes he thought he could feel the metal buried in the meat. Sharp splinters among the dull throb. His left hand looked strange, now. The nails had a purplish tint. Old skin flaking from the numb fingertips. Like the hand of a corpse, and about as useful.