Chapter One
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” said my four-year-old sister, Sable. Her eyes were wide and pleading, her honey-colored hair a mess of curls.
My mother flashed a worried look, the candlelight casting deep shadows across her face. “I know, honey. But I couldn’t get extra hours at the factory this week. I’ll get you something in the morning. Try to sleep.”
My heart broke. I could go three days without food before I noticed; such was the life of a Dreg rat. But my younger siblings hadn’t yet reached that level of immunity to hunger. I was the eldest of twelve, and since my father died two years ago, we’d barely been able to make ends meet.
“How can we sleep when we’re hungry?” Kess asked my mother. He was seven. He knew better thanto ask questions with obvious answers, but hunger made even the wise foolish.
“I’ve got a bit of money saved up,” I lied. “I’ll go get some food and be back in an hour.”
I slipped my blistered feet into my tattered boots as my mother peered at me in alarm. She was breathtakingly beautiful once, with thick blond hair and hazel eyes. But the last three years had aged her twenty. Now, her eyes were sunken and hollow, her lips pale and cracked.
My siblings cheered at my lie, even the older ones, and a stone sank in my gut. If I wasn’t able to score anything, they would be disappointedandhungry. A depressing combination.
I stood and grabbed my mother’s old, worn wool cloak, the edges frayed and her scent still lingering on the collar. As I slung it over my shoulders, she caught my arm and forced me to meet her eyes.
“Brynn Brighton,” she whispered. “You will not steal to feed this family. I can’t have you spending your life in the mines.”
I held her gaze and saw so much desperation in them it made me sick. I loved my mother my entire life. She was sweet, supportive, and honest, but I’d never loved her quite as fiercely as I had these past two years. Watching her mourn the loss of my father, and take up three jobs to support us. I loved her even more.
“I won’t steal,” I promised, not a single lie on my tongue.
She raised an eyebrow.
“But we can’t eat dirt,” I added, hoping she understood the gravity of the situation. My six youngest siblings were skin and bones. The community had helped as much as they could. Now even the rats were scarce.
She sighed, grasping both sides of my face. “I love you, Bean.”
My childhood nickname caused unexpected nostalgia to wash over me. “Love you, Mooky,” I told her, and she grinned, her molars all missing from tooth rot.
“Be back in an hour,” I promised the eleven little hopeful sets of eyes that watched me leave. We were all spread apart by one to two years, but even Tyrus, my sixteen-year-old brother and the second eldest, was still a little boy when I looked at him. He had not yet toughened into what life in the Dregs would require of him. I was trying to help him retain his childhood as much as possible, but he’d probably have to get a second job soon.
Pulling my cloak up, I kept to the shadows, careful not to be seen exiting the Dregs after curfew. The last thing I needed was another mark on my record. I wasone mark away from spending a year in the mines and never seeing the light of day.
The Dregs were an unforgiving housing district nestled right on the outskirts of the glittering Elite city of Aerlyn, a sprawl of crumbling stonework, crooked alleys, and scavenged materials. The Dregs felt more like a graveyard of forgotten ambition than a neighborhood. Smoke clung low to the ground from barrel fires lit to warm or cook food scraps. The scent of ash, sewage, and desperation filled the air most days.
The homes were stacked like broken teeth, a patchwork of shacks and leaning dwellings where entire families crammed into single rooms. There was no magic here. Children grew up hard and fast, picking pockets or trading favors just to eat. Hunger, illness, and grief were as common as dust.
I pressed my back against the cracked stone buildings and piles of rubble as I passed under the lamp-lit alley and towards the Elite city. The scent of rot and smoke that clung to the Dregs only lessened the farther I got away from it.
The tall golden spires of Aerlyn loomed high in the sky, like the spears of the Creator himself, a sign of the opulent wealth the city held. Trash-heap digging in Aerlyn carried a punishment of life in the mines. Ihadn’t been willing to risk it before, but my friend Fiona said she’d done it plenty of times without getting caught. Her job was trash removal in Aerlyn. But she’d sneak in later and steal the good stuff she’d set aside. She even told me where the gap in the fence was. She said the Elite were always drinking and hosting parties. They had hired help from the Dregs, so seeing a magicless walking around in dusty boots and clothes with holes in them wouldn’t immediately tip them off that I’d broken in. It would just look like I was there to take out the trash. Fiona’s family looked well fed, and just last week I’d seen her mother in what looked like brand-new boots, so I decided the risk was worth it.
I found the gap in the fence easily and slipped my small frame through as I quickly rushed to the street with the most buildings to hide in their shadows.
I lost my focus for a moment at the sight of the clean cobblestone roads with burning oil lamps every ten feet. I paused at a giant whitewashed brick house with tall glass front windows. The little flowerbeds that framed the stoop of the house I stood next to were filled with pink peonies. My mother’s favorite. For a second, I imagined her living here. She’d spend the day gardening and pulling fresh herbs for our dinner. And there would only be two children to a room instead of six. We’d be happy, and well fed and warm in the winter.
A small dog yapping ripped me from my trance.
Focus, Brynn, I scolded myself, and thought of my siblings’ hollow faces. I pressed on, down a quiet alley where the sounds of laughter and music echoed off marble walls. Inside the brightly lit building, Elites danced and drank, their fine silks glittering under crystal chandeliers.
Outside, in the shadows, I found what I’d come for: a massive silver trash canister.
I grinned.
“Score,” I whispered, rushing over and prying open the lid. Inside were a half-eaten loaf of bread, smeared icing from a discarded cake, crumpled napkins, and untouched pastries. I glanced skyward.
Thank the Creator. We’d eat for another week off of what I saw in that can.
