The kitchen corridor smelled heavily of boiled cabbage and wet wool, a damp, dense heat that pressed against Nila’s face the moment she pushed through the heavy oak door.

She walked with quick strides, her dark wool skirt lifted an inch to clear the gray puddles left by the service omegas carrying water buckets from the well. The fortress was waking up later now that the sun barely cleared the eastern peaks, but the lower levels were already humming with the scraping sound of heavy iron pots being scrubbed over the brick hearths.

Marcus was waiting by the secondary grain cage, his massive frame propped against the wooden bars. He...