Hati tended a pot of thin gruel over a brazier for their evening meal. “Oh?”
“There are jobs for young girls, and occasionally young boys, in the city.” Shek dipped his mug into the hot gruel and sat on the ground by Hati. “No one bothers to check their papers.”
“Prostitution.” Hati’s memories understood, and his twelve-year-old self sickened at the knowledge.
“We only pretend, long enough to get into the city.” Shek took the spoon Hati offered him and blew on the porridge. “I’ve made the arrangements.”
Dangerous. Hati took the pot from the brazier to use for his own plate and studied the steaming grey sludge. The dragon seemed only a hair’s breadth from him, restless, hunting. “We have no choice.”
At dusk they met an unsavoury-looking man who led them to a large coach. They climbed o
