A great hall on the city’s far side hosted the event. At its front entrance, Cape Triumph’s high society was also arriving—not just suitors, but also those who wanted to see and be seen. Our carriages traveled to the back so that we could be taken in a private door and led to a concealed holding area, away from the main room. It gave Mistress Culpepper and Miss Bradley more time to fuss over us while Jasper delivered last-minute instructions.

   Cedric, looking very splendid in a grayish-blue dress coat, strolled over and stood with Adelaide and me, offering occasional comments as we watched the flurry in the room. He explained how suitors interested in us would have to speak to our “representatives” to schedule a dance tonight. It was both an attempt at organization and a means of making sure high-status suitors received preferential treatment. I wasn’t surprised to hear Cedric would manage Adelaide’s dance card. I was surprised, however, when he pointed at Aiana and said she’d be in charge of me.

   She stood across the room, speaking with Charles. Her outfit still consisted of a split skirt and blouse ensemble, but the fabric was dressier and the embellishment more elaborate. Realizing I wasn’t supposed to have met her yet, I tried to mirror Adelaide’s surprise.

   “Who is she?” I asked.

   “She’s Balanquan. Does various jobs for us,” Cedric said.

   More jobs than you know, I thought.

   Our procession into the hall started before I had a chance to talk to her. It was a more formal, more civilized version of our arrival at the docks. We entered one by one, paused as we were announced, and then walked down a long aisle toward a dais on the room’s opposite side. Adelaide set the pace, as elegant and poised as ever, acting as though the posh onlookers and richly decorated hall were nothing to her. The party guests regarded her with wonder and awed murmurs.

   I received a few more whispers and astonished looks than she did, which didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was that I too earned plenty of admiration. There were no slurs as there had been at the docks. I was so used to being “the Sirminican” and treated as an add-on to the other girls that it felt strange to be regarded as their equal.

   Well, some thought I was their equal. Others . . . not so much.

   “Are you really for sale?” one man asked me during my first waltz.

   I hated that word choice and tried to maintain a pleasant smile as I composed a diplomatic response. “I’m available for marriage, so long as a prospective husband can pay off my contract fee.”

   He studied me skeptically. “Oh. I thought maybe the Thorns were expanding their business.”

   “Expanding it?”

   “Well. They’ve never brought a Sirminican before. Why start when there must be hundreds of Osfridian girls who’d gladly come over? I thought perhaps . . . well, that putting you with the girls who are actually eligible was a front. That maybe the Thorns were now selling services to men who don’t want a wife but are still, ah, interested in female company. There’s a huge demand for that, you know.”

   He went on to elaborate on what a great business idea that’d be, even though I assured him multiple times that the Thorns weren’t conducting anything like that. I gripped his hand tightly as we danced, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to slap him.

   “Think about it,” the man told me when the music ended. “It might pay better than marriage.”

   I couldn’t even utter a word, and simply let Aiana lead me to my next partner.

   “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look . . . displeased.”

   Displeased? That was an understatement. “Aiana, do you think it would ruin the party if I choked someone?”

   Her lips twitched with a smile. “I think the Thorns might frown upon that, yes.”

   Some men behaved quite nicely to me and seemed genuinely open to a Sirminican wife. But that didn’t mean they were nice men.

   One such was a judge named Abel Mathers. He was charmed by the vague suggestion of ruined nobility in my past and sympathetic to the plight of Sirminicans in general. “Can’t blame them for wanting to leave. It’s terrible what’s happened.”

   “It is. But it’s hard getting out—and then almost harder finding a place to go.”

   He nodded along. “They should all come here.”

   “It’s an expensive trip.”

   “As bondsmen. Bondswomen. The trip is paid for. They get food, lodging. It’s better than what a lot of other people have. And they actually have a chance to pay off their freedom in a reasonable amount of time.”

   I nearly debated “reasonable” with him, but another word held me up. “They actually have a chance? Compared to what else?”

   “Penal workers, of course.”

   “What are they?”

   “Well, they’re similar. They too are bound to a master and a work contract, but they do so because they’re fulfilling a sentence for a crime—a petty one. Something like theft, not murder. It’s a more useful punishment than locking someone away. They aren’t paid like bondsmen, of course.”

   I frowned. “Then how do they earn their freedom?”

   “By putting in their time, which depends on the length of their contract. The judge sets the time frame when the criminal is sentenced in court.”

   “Are there standards or rules? Or is it just up to the judge?”

   “There are guidelines,” he said with a wink. “But ultimately, the judge decides how long they have to serve—and who they serve. People who want penal laborers or servants can apply to the court to get one.”

   I was growing increasingly dumbfounded. “They can just ask for a worker they don’t have to pay? There must be a lot of demand for that.”

   “Oh, there is. More demand than available prisoners, actually.” He was smiling too much for a topic that didn’t seem so cheerful. He had a golden tooth I hadn’t noticed earlier.