“Bring the Crafter-marked vials. With any luck, we’ll be finished ahead of schedule,” said the woman.
The man seemed to start a sentence, then think better. “There’s a girl in the courtyard,” he said. “Small, ginger hair. Thin as a reed. It doesn’t seem like she’s eaten in a good while.”
The woman sighed deeply but not unkindly. “She was fed on the train,” she said. “And she’ll be fed again before she returns to her family.”
“Just seems like one or two of the poorer ones could be spared that life,” the man continued. “It’d be easy enough to swap the vial—”
“Speak wisely,” hissed the woman, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Such thoughts will have you swinging from the gallows, sir. Do you understand me?”
A shuffle. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Only a handful are trusted with this knowledge, and yo
