“Many times.” To rooms. Not an entire house, let alone a castle. But God knows when—or if—I’d ever get another job offer, not without a debtera license. A little lying was warranted.

“Well, you can take that up with Mr. Rochester. Until then, don’t turn yourself into some great lady and start making your own rules.” She opened a door a few feet from the top of the stairs. “This will be your room. You really should be downstairs with the servants, but Mr. Rochester wanted you down the hall from him. It’s small, but you don’t seem to have much, anyway.”

A woman working for a man whose house was cursed by the Evil Eye didn’t seem like someone who should be judging a poor girl and her lack of possessions … but it wasn’t worth fighting over. I had a room to sleep in. I had food to eat. I didn’t have Jember ordering me to steal drugs for him.

I took a deep breath, shoving the memory back.

Count your blessings, Andi. You’re safe.

“Thank you,” I said, and stepped into the room.

“Dinner will be served in an hour,” she said, looking over my simple, sandy dress. “I trust you have something better to change into?”

I hid my cringe by pretending to adjust my bag. Stupid, frantic merchant.

She let out a short sound, like a scoff, and left me alone without another word.

CHAPTER 2

The barrel of water in the corner of the room must have been recently filled, because I broke the thin layer of ice easily with the bottom of a bucket and filled it, hanging it over the fire to heat. Then I found a rag in the dresser by the bed and scrubbed myself until the water went from scalding to chilled. I hadn’t been clean in so long, I nearly forgot there was skin underneath all the grit. I used some of the tiny bit of butter I’d bartered for last week to moisturize my loose curls and dark, ruddy skin, then braided my hair in two neat French braids down my shoulders. I didn’t have anything better to change into, but I did have a dress that hadn’t been in the sand and sweat. It would have to do.

There was a large full-length mirror, and I hadn’t looked at myself in so long I felt a bit distressed at seeing my reflection. There was no improving my face—my lips seemed too big for my tiny chin, which seemed too round for my thin nose, which would never settle evenly between my not-quite-round-not-quite-high cheekbones. And worst of all, the slightly raised scar on my face, an ugly nick in my top lip that ran all the way up my cheek. Not the purposeful show of beauty from scarification, but the aftermath of a brutal mistake on display.