Another sob, more powerful than the last. Poor Magdalena doubles over in agony, her forehead falling into her hands. The letter drifts to the floor. I snatch it up and read it, keeping one hand on Magdalena’s shoulder.

It is written in an unrefined hand, the letters sharp and jagged.

My dear Magdalena, I wish I was writing to you with happier news, but it pains me to tell you that your cousin Juana was found dead last night …

Magdalena keens, low and terrible. “Murdered. Left to rot in the street like a dog—” Her cries overwhelm the rest of her words.

I go still, the note half-read, half-forgotten.

A girl in the streets, left to die. The memory of the unfortunate soul Ana and I encountered near Esmeralda’s returns, as vivid as if she were laid out right in front of me, here at the feet of my bedchamber.

Magdalena hiccups, trying to speak. “She wasn’t—she wasn’t a bad person. She’d just lost her way, she didn’t deserve—”

“What do you mean, lost her way?”

The sharpness of my tone takes Magdalena aback. “What?”

“Juana. Your cousin. How did she lose her way?”

Magdalena blinks at me, her already ruddy cheeks turning redder still.

“She was a God-fearing woman,” Magdalena says. “She just…”

“Was she a prostitute?”

The bluntness of the question makes Magdalena start. “I—”

“I’m not going to judge her or you. That is not my place. Just answer me plainly.”

Magdalena seems to consider my question, brow furrowing. Then, she nods. “Yes. But, mistress, you must understand, life is hard in the city. I’m lucky, so lucky to have a place in this house but—”

She hiccups again, her body catching on a sob. “Poor Juana. I tried to find her work, I swear it. But she was never good at serving others. She just—Who would do such a thing?”

Magdalena looks at me, as if I might have an answer.

I don’t. Not now. Not yet.

I rise, already making to shed my skirts in favor of breeches and steel. Magdalena watches, fresh tears falling from her eyes, as I fetch the sword she’d dutifully tucked away in my wardrobe.

My father was wrong. I do not need a man to be my shield. I am my own. And now, I will be one for the women like Juana. The ones who cannot protect themselves.

“I don’t know. But I promise, I will find out.”

CHAPTER 6

Ana

If there is one thing I’ve learned in my short but illustrious life, it’s that you can’t feel sad if you’re too goddamned drunk to feel anything at all.