‘You better get out of here before I let my sister beat you,’ Blake said.
Lyndal rose. ‘You’re just going to let them go?’
‘As opposed towhat?’ Blake snapped over her shoulder.
The boys took advantage of her distracted state and darted off, leaping over the fence. Eda lowered the log and did not give chase. No one had the energy for that.
‘They pushed our mother into a stone wall,’ Lyndal said.
Blake pressed her eyes shut. ‘And nobody cares except us. There’s no one to tell, no one to protect us from ourselves. What would you have me do? Hang them from the wall?’
Lyndal was silent.
‘This is probably the only living animal in the entire borough,’ Blake said. ‘They’ll come back for it, because that’s what desperate people do.’ She tore the duck from Lyndal’s grasp and walked into the kitchen to fetch one of the knives the defenders had not confiscated.
‘What are you doing?’ Lyndal asked when Blake returned outdoors holding the knife.
The duck flapped in protest as Blake held it down on the paved ground.
‘I’m doing something we should have done a long time ago.’
Lyndal covered her eyes, and her mother looked away. Eda stood motionless as Blake raised the pathetic excuse for a knife above her head. The defender had taken their axe that day—and Harlan had let them. Her hand trembled, and Garlic stilled beneath her grip as if accepting his fate. Killing him would solve two problems: they would have some proper food for once and nothing left worth stealing.
Harlan could not help them anymore.
Blake blinked against the sting in her eyes. Tears escaped, running down her nose and dripping onto the submissive bird. She could feel its heart beating beneath her hand.
A roar climbed up her throat and tore from her mouth. She threw the knife as hard as she could at the fence. It bounced instead of sticking, narrowly missing Eda, who stepped back from it in shock. Blake released the duck and shoved it towards her mother, much too hard judging by the way it tumbled.
Panting, Blake rose and wiped her face. ‘Keep that log by the door. If those boys return, or anyone else for that matter, use it.’
* * *
The ship carrying supplies for the merchants came and went. Prince Oswin bought all the supplies and had them transported into the royal borough to be distributed to the other boroughs.
Harlan watched the whole thing from atop the wall, wondering how one foolish boy had the power to eliminate an entire class of people from the supply chain. His agitation grew with each passing day. He could not even buy food on the black market for Blake and her family because his father had eyes everywhere ensuring orders were followed.
‘The sooner they hit rock bottom, the sooner this ends,’ Shapur had said.
Harlan had stolen food from the mess hall for Blake, then watched from the shadows as it was stolen from her. He had not accounted for thieves in his plan. Seeing her grow thinner and weaker by the day was a special form of torture that kept him awake at night.
Three weeks into the lockdown, Shapur entered the mess hall and sank into the seat beside Harlan. He looked across at Astin, who was eating his morning meal, and cleared his throat. Astin looked between them, then picked up his bowl and rose from his chair, moving to another table.
‘You need to discipline Thornton,’ Shapur said as soon as they were alone.
Harlan dropped his spoon into his bowl and turned to look at his father. ‘For what?’
‘I was passing the port gate this morning, and I saw him throw a handful of mussels through the portcullis to some merchant children.’
Harlan blinked and returned to eating. Even liquid meals stuck in his throat nowadays. He scooped lentils and vegetables into his mouth before responding. ‘The children wait at the gate, arms so thin they can fit through the gaps when they beg.’
Shapur let out a heavy breath. ‘You think I do not see them? That I do not feel pity?’
Harlan slurped on his soup. ‘I know you walk straight past.’
‘Weallmust walk straight past. Those are our orders, as difficult as they might be.’
Harlan nodded and set his spoon down. ‘Tell me, what’s the punishment for throwing mussels to malnourished children these days?’
