Chapter 3: The First Unfortunate

NINE

The horses pull us through the outskirts of Freeport. Every now and again, the snake-like nerves in the pit of my belly writhe too much for comfort, but the clacking of the horseshoes over the wide cobblestone road soothes them back into a slumber. I peer through large shop windows and see Unfortunates running stores and cleaning tables in their plain, worn tunics. I wonder if I'll be sent to the town to work? I'd like that. I want to be in charge of something.

Fortunates litter the pavements of the shopping district, dressed in fine suits and pretty dresses. I stare at them, gawking at the sheen in their hair and the cleanliness of their skin. They stare back at me, and it hits me then that I've never been in the presence of a Fortunate before, and seeing them so close makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. I avert my gaze, remembering one of the many rules that govern how I live my life. Don't make eye contact with a Fortunate unless they address you directly.

We pass through the town quickly and draw closer to the large estates behind it. I keep my attention on them until they hang over us. Until we're dead in front of the white stone manor in the middle. Two stone lions sit proudly in the foreground, guarding the manor's intimidating wrought iron gates. I lift my eyebrows in awe. They're carved so expertly that they look soft. How is it possible? I peer through the iron at the thick white columns that seem to bear the weight of the manor. Then, I look back to the lions.

Lions.

Blood drains from my face. This house belongs to the Sario family. I've heard the moderators talk about them over the years. I don't know much, but I know this family goes through Unfortunates quicker than any other.

Soyer stops the cart and leaps off the top, hitting the ground with a thud. I shrink into myself as he turns toward us, his lips curling into a wide, evil grin. He strolls around the cart, whistling a merry tune. Movement at the entrance of the Sario home catches my attention as a Fortunate strolls out the giant doors and plods down the stone steps.

Soyer yanks at the metal clasps at the back of the cart, and one side falls.

"Get out and line up at the gate," he orders.

I'm the first to exit the cart and head toward the gate. Anxiety builds. It starts in my toes as the cloth shoes hold my feet tight. Every time my foot connects with the hard ground, my heart thuds. Boom. Boom. Boom. I stop in front of the gates like I'm told. I'm so close I can smell the lacquer. I hold my breath, but the smell forces its way through my nostrils and assaults my senses.

Please don't let this become my home.

Don't stand out and get a job in a kitchen; that's my plan.

The other girls line up beside me as the Fortunate swallows the distance. He reaches for his gate, and my teeth chatter as the iron clangs, and he swings it open like it weighs nothing.

"Opening your own gates, Michael?" Soyer says, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. "Has the world gone fucking mad?"

"It's July fifteenth." The older man, Michael, shakes Soyer's hand. "It's a busy day, so I've got no one left to spare."

They exchange more pleasantries, mainly about the weather, and they gossip about Milano's order of three Unfortunates when he's only allowed two this quarter. As they talk, I use the time to analyse Michael Sario. What do I know about him? I know he's the head of the Sario house. I know he's the father of two sons, Kaden and Vincent, and his house specialises in mining, metal, and precious gems. If I had to pin an age on him, I'd say he's in his late forties or early fifties, and I don't suspect he's dying any time soon. Like all the Fortunates I've passed today, Michael is one of the healthiest-looking men I've ever seen. His stance is proud and strong, his hair barely greys, and his skin is primarily wrinkle-free.

"You've outdone yourself this time, Soyer," Michael says, stepping toward us, reminding me nothing of the brave lions at his gates and more of a sly wolf. "They're stunning. The lot of them."

Someone whimpers. My stomach drops.

"How many do you need, Michael?"

"Two, I need two." Michael rubs the palm of his hand over his stomach like he's contemplating his next meal. "If it were for me, I'd pick the redhead. Alas…" He flicks his volcanic glass stare over us, one by one, and back and forth, until he settles on me. "It's for my son."

I swallow as painful tendrils of dread burrow in my chest. Don't look at me, I urge him. Please don't pick me. He slides his slimy, wolfish gaze down the length of my body, and I grit my teeth.

"Vincent?"

Michael shakes his head and continues to appraise me through the sheer fabric of my dress. "No."

"Kaden?" Soyer asks, his voice tainted with disbelief.

"Yes. It's his birthday in a couple of days." Michael steps forward and closes the distance between us with his calculated steps, placing himself right in my face. My heart races, pounding relentlessly in my ears. He's close, so close if I took a deep breath, my chest would touch his. "Tell me, Unfortunate, do you know how to please a man?"

I shake my head. "N-no, sir."

My teachers told me how, but I've never practised it.

"You'll do just fine for Master Kade," he says. My heart stops cold as tears sting my eyes. "He'll tell you how to make him happy, I'm sure."

My throat constricts. I try to swallow it down, but it doesn't help any.

"It's his twenty-fifth birthday already?" Soyer wonders aloud. "You're looking for a First Unfortunate?"

A First Unfortunate? I recall a lesson about First Unfortunates. They handle most of their Fortunate's errands, attend most parties, and complete anything their Fortunate requested, both in and out of the bedroom. No other Fortunate can order a First Unfortunate around unless permitted by the owning Fortunate.

Michael nods, grips my shoulder with his warm fingers, and pulls me into him. I go with it, not wanting to take any chances while Soyer has his finger pressed to the trigger of his rifle. Michael flicks a lock of my hair over my shoulder and reads the number behind my ear.

"Nine." My skin crawls as my name falls from his lips. "You'll do."

Michael pulls me behind him and turns to the girls. Hidden from his dark appraisal, I almost sink to the ground.

"I'll take the blonde as well."

My lips part as my eyebrows shoot up. Blonde? There's only one blonde here. I glance at Thirteen. She's shaking—her entire body trembles as she bites her lip to hold back her tears.

"We need more kitchen staff." Michael steps toward her and takes her by the elbow. "And you remind me of honey-soaked pancakes."

He escorts her to stand beside me. The other girls sag in relief. It's a subtle, collective movement that Soyer and Michael overlook, but I do. It's not over for them, but at least they weren't chosen to serve the worst family of them all. Soyer said earlier they're only taking four of us today. There are two spots left to fill, but at least their chances of being picked have halved.

"Right," Soyer booms. "You lot get back in the cart."

"Where are you going now?" Michael asks him.

"Knowles residence."

Nodding, Michael waves him off and turns to face Thirteen and me.

"Come," he orders, pushing past us. "And don't dawdle."

We trot behind him as he leads us down the path to the stone steps of his porch. We climb the stairs, and the front doors pull open for Michael. My gaze skitters over the male Unfortunates who hold the large doors open, the brass handles in their hands. I eye their lovely crisp, white tunics. They look healthy. They look well-fed and clean, and for a moment, I wonder if the Sario family is as bad as everyone makes out. It's evident they take care of their Unfortunates, or at least it is at a glance. I peel my gaze from the Unfortunates and onto a wide, marble staircase in the foyer. A young man, an important-looking young man, leans against one of its elegant gold rails and toys with an uneaten apple.

Michael exhales, already irritated by the man loitering on the stairs. "What do you want, Vincent?"

Vincent, Michael's son, grins, exposing his perfect white teeth. He tosses the apple up, then catches it in his hand as he drops down a step. "He's going to hate you."

"What's new?"

We stop at the bottom of the stairs, right behind Michael, and Vincent meets us there, not allowing us to go any further. Sidestepping his father, Vincent assesses us, leaning so close his pleasant, warm breath blows against my skin. When he's done toying with our hair and lifting our dresses, he moves in front of Michael.

"Give them both to me."

Michael snorts. "Enough Unfortunates have been wasted on you."

Wasted? My stomach turns.

"So? You're king of the world. What's two more?"

"I said no. You want something to do?" Michael points over his shoulder at Thirteen as he plants a foot on the first step. "Show this one to the kitchen. Give her to Portia."

Seemingly annoyed, Vincent cuts his coal eyes at me. There's something personal in the soulless depths of his glare as if I'm being thrust into the middle of a feud that has raged for decades.

"He'll hate her."

Michael calls over his shoulder, "She's an Unfortunate, Vince. I don't care."