"That's her—drag her out!" a thug shouted as they shoved a ragged girl into the muddy street.
"Here! On the gate steps!" another yelled.
"Make it quick. House Rowan doesn't waste tilting," someone called from the crowd.
The girl hit the cobbles and tasted iron. She blinked. The sunlight was wrong.
"Look at her dress," a woman hissed. "Who lets a House daughter look like that?"
"She pretends to be noble," a boy laughed. "Let's teach her the price."
A boot landed on Daniella Young's ribs. Pain sharpened, then blurred. She heard the boot on her side. She heard a stick swing. She heard the crowd expectant, hungry.
"Stay still," the biggest thug said. "We do this right. A broken face, a lesson for the others."
"Do it," someone urged. "Don't spare her."
A stick cracked across her cheek. Blood on the ground smelled like salted metal. Daniella tried to gather breath. Her arms twitched. Her fingers found earth.
"What's your name, rag?" a voice asked near her ear.
Daniella tasted the word before she could form it. Her mouth moved dry. She couldn't remember how to sound small.
"Jose!" someone shouted from the street entrance. "Jose Curtis is here!"
A ripple passed through the crowd. Boots stopped. Smirks hardened into eager faces.
Jose Curtis came down the steps wrapped in silver, sunlight on his armor. He wore silk that did not know dust. He wore a smile that used knives.
"So
