"This must be a joke."

"What does it say?" Patch jabbed me impatiently in the lower back. Throwing a scowl his way, I turned back to the colourful poster pinned up to the broken lamppost.

"'The Selection is an exciting opportunity for all of Illéa. At the end of the process, our beloved Prince Asher will have a wife, and our great nation will have a new Princess, and a future Queen.' What a load of bollocks."

My best friend sniggered at my back, eyeing the paper like he was trying to make sense of the jumbled lettering. He gave up after a moment, and instead occupied himself with scrubbing the soot out of his thick head of black curls.

Scowling again as I waved the cloud of black dust from beneath my nose, I read on.

"'All girls between 17 and 21 may apply, no matter your caste, heritage, or income. Selected girls will be chosen at random on national television. We are very proud to welcome a whole host of diverse women from all over the country.'"

"Diverse in the sense that they'll range from kindarich to filthyrich?" Patch snorted, busy patting down his overalls. His mother hated him tracking the dirt through the house.

Grinning, I continued, "'Every single young woman that applies will receive-' Holy shit!" Patch wheeled round. "'Will receive a small fee for their efforts and this wonderful act of patriotism.'They're offering money!"

"They're tryna bribe the whole nation?!"

"I guess they know there won't be many applications, and certainly not from normal women below the third caste. This'll tempt a lot of the desperate ones."

"It doesn't say nothing else?"

"Just instructions on how to apply. Every eligible woman will receive an application, and you have to give it into your local Service Office this Saturday, next Saturday the names will be drawn."

Patch huffed, shrugged, and turned to leave. After casting my eye over the colourful paper a final time, I hurried to catch up to him.

Whoever had tacked up the poster had done it in the dead of night, because it hadn't been there when we'd walked home yesterday from work, and there'd been a thick rim of people crowded round it this morning, too many to risk being late to the mines.

"Will Andrea apply?" I ask him, beginning the long process of whacking the soot off my own overalls.

"Wrong gender," he chuckles, scrubbing now at the dark bronze of his skin. "If it'd been a Princess, she might have tried her luck. But she's twenty-two anyway, missed it by a year."

I grunted in way of reply and scrubbed my fingers along my scalp, working the dirt out of my thick hair. Hopefully there'd be enough hot water left back at the house for me to have a shower when I got in.

"What about your big sister?" Patch mumbled, wary of broaching the topic.

"Mania," I growled her name, "Has not showed up for a while. Though I suppose we'll receive her application, considering the orphanage was her last known address, and she's twenty-one."

"And Nike?"

"Just turned seventeen last month, she's eligible." I snorted, "She'll be thrilled."

We took one of the main streets that led out of the city centre. Not much of a centre, what with it being just a couple of crumbling buildings around a big cobbled square that doubled as a marketplace. Not much of a city, come to think of it, given that it was so run down. Half of the houses were unlived in, half of the buildings destroyed, power shortages were frequent, hot water hard to come by.

A really charming home, our little city of Fames.

"I heard about Billy." Patch said suddenly, "Forgot to mention. His ma said he'll be back at work next week, if things run fine. Medicine was dropped off on the doorstep. Anonymous."

"The Medicine Women?" I frowned.

"They're assuming." He shrugged his big shoulders, "But anyway, he'll be back in the mines late next week."

"That's good to know."

"Yeah, six lashes won't ruin him, but I'm sure it's gotta sting."

I remained silent, remembering all too well the sting of the whips that Gruks carried round, pinned to their belts. Your brain blocks out the agony; too much adrenaline to notice much of anything. It's the weeks following that you struggle with. Fire ripping up your back every time you moved. Patch glanced down at me, winced, and hurried to fill in the silence.

"Are we going to the Pits tonight?"

"Might as well. If I get seriously injured tonight, I've got until Sunday to recover."

"Smart." He smirked.

"Undiscovered genius." I chuckled.

We came to the cross-roads that would lead us in separate directions. We'd lived a few streets apart our entire lives. Patch's street had a few occupied houses on it, mine was completely empty, our large house standing lonesome at the end of a long street nestled into a backdrop of trees, the rest of the buildings little more than burned out shells.

"Turn round, then." He motioned, and I spun.

He swatted down my back, beating off the excess soot as best he could. The coal mines weren't exactly very clean, and Elizabeth had smacked me round the head enough times for trekking dirt in.

Patch's big hands assaulted my ass, and he spent an unreasonable amount of time patting over the denim there.

"All right, all right!" I hissed, twisting back round to punch him in the chest.

He laughed, rocking back on his heels, before spinning himself.

"Your ass is just too tempting, Princess."

I thumped him hard in the back and wheezed as a billow of smoke hit me right between the eyes. He grunted under the blow, but soon laughed.

"I'll kick yours one day, Patch Sallow."

"You just say that because mine is better than yours."

"Whatever."


"How's Billy?" Nike asked as soon as she walked through the door. She stomped her boots on the mat, dislodging all the dried mud before tugging them off. She pulled her soft orange hair back into a tight bun before entering the kitchen; a habit she got from working on the farms.

"Patch said he'll be back in the mines by next week. He only got six lashes."

I was stood at the kitchen counter, stirring the stew that would serve our large family for a couple of days. Huxley was perched on my hip, her head on my shoulder, thumb stuck in her mouth. I'd been telling her a story.

"Good," Nike nodded. "Damn Gruks, throwing their weight about. So much for law enforcement. They were in the farms today, questioning people about stolen vegetables."

"They didn't hurt you?" I glanced up sharply, eyes narrowing.

"No," she shook her head before calling a greeting to Rocket and Hunter. They sat drawing at the kitchen table, their blonde heads bent low. "But they did drag David away; he denied it, but they told Susan they had solid evidence."

"Susan?"

"The new head farmer. Nathaniel quit last week after his daughter was arrested for getting pregnant."

"Absolute bullshit." I growled.

Hunter and Rocket gasped, heads popping up at the naughty word. I apologised to them quickly, and they went back to their drawings, satisfied.

"What do you expect though, Ris?" Nike hip-bumped me away from the stove. Good job too; my cooking skills were seriously lacking. "The riots stopped five years ago, but it isn't like the country has recovered."

"I expect those Royal bast-" I cut a look at the twins, "Royal kathármata to take a little pay cut, to be honest."

"You know I don't speak German." She grinned.

"It was Greek."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes.

"Did you hear about the Selection?" I asked her, still amused.

I plonked Huxley down on the counter, twisting her little body so I could braid her long honey blonde hair. Her pale skin, blotchy from lack of sunlight, felt dry under my fingers as I smoothed her forehead. Malnutrition, that was. Her skin and hair were both rough to the touch, though at her age, she should have been softer than freshly washed linen. No such luck.

The roughness of her locks against my calloused fingers always made my insides boil.

"Yeah," Nikes laughed too. "The Prince is ready for a wife, so I guess we all have to stop and stare in awe, right?"

"Typical." I grinned, "What do you say, baby sister? You want a royal brat for a husband?"

"I don't even like boys." She snorted, "Let alone that stuck up little-" she glanced at the twins too. "Culus."

"I don't speak Latin." I smirked, "Could you repeat in English?"

"Liar," she lunged at me with the ladle, but I ducked swiftly and jabbed her in the side. We laughed, and Huxley let out a timid twitter of a giggle. I pecked her on the cheek, and she batted her big hazel eyes at me.

"Will you two quiet it down?" Elizabeth stuck her head into the room, her dark eyes narrowed with annoyance. "When will the dinner be done?" As a pretty large woman, in terms of body weight, she was constantly hungry. Though I didn't know how she'd maintained the weight all these years; we were constantly broke and constantly on the edge of starvation.

"When we call, probably."

"You chatting back, Eris?" She asked me, raising her eyebrows. Her dark skin rarely allowed any colour to leech into her flesh, but she managed a faint red tinge whenever I angered her. Which was pretty regularly.

"Nope." I smiled.

"Good, because people are starting to talk, what with how often you sleep over at Patch's. Wouldn't want those rumours to escalate now, would we?" she smiled broadly and disappeared out the door.

"I honestly love her," I told Nike with a sniff. "Like, I think she could seriously replace our mother. Do you think I should order some adoption papers from the Service Office?"

"Shut up." Nikes rolled her eyes.


"You'll be heading to the Service Office tomorrow." Elizabeth announced at dinner, pointing a spoon at Nikes and I in turn.

"For adoption papers?" I asked blandly, and Nike kicked me under the table.

"What?" she frowned, "No. With your application letters."

"What?!" we both exploded, shocked and outraged.

"Don't even start," she held up a large hand, glaring around the whole table as if she expected the kids to argue as well. They were all staring on though, all six of them. Little Fern, the seventh, threw around her pudgy fists in anger at the lack of attention. "Not one of you are gonna be picked and we get some money out of it anyhow. So don't start arguing."

"Tomorrow is Saturday!" I exclaimed.

"I'm well aware, thank you."

"It's the only day we get off!" Nike huffed, throwing her spoon down into her empty bowl.

"And you'll spend it earning money for our family, by signing up to this ridiculous competition." Elizabeth smiled widely, and went back to her stew. She'd added an extra scoop too, the big cow.

Clarabelle tugged on my sleeve to gain my attention, and when I turned to watch her sign her words, she looked confused. Her terracotta skin was my biggest envy.

She signed, "What competition?"

I signed back with a smile. "It's something hosted by the palace when a Prince comes of age. He wants a wife, so a girl from each province will live with him until he can pick one from among them." Clarabelle pulled a face of disgust; outraged. I signed again; "I know."

Henry was giving a detailed description of the history of the Selection, shoving his round spectacles up his nose as he did so. Nikes was nodding, interested if a little confused at his vast knowledge.

Slumping back into my seat, I scowled down into my empty bowl.

Rocket was on one side of me, scrubbing a hand through her short golden hair, Hunter next to her shoving his long golden hair back. I smiled, despite how annoyed I still was. The 7 year olds were little terrors, but I loved them dearly.

Rocket stopped Henry from chattering on with a kick under the table. He yelped, and Elizabeth snapped at Rocket, but the small girl just grinned at our carer. With a laugh, I started to collect our bowls so they could be washed. It was Henry and Clarabelle's turn today, and I ordered them up out of their seats so they could complete their tasks.

"Eris," Elizabeth eyed me suspiciously as I piled the bowls in my arms, "No trip to the Pits tonight. I can't have you bloodied and bruised tomorrow."

Again, I went to argue, but she cut me a look that promised she'd kick me out for the night, so I shut my mouth and turned away, glaring holes in the scratched and dirty floor as I went.


"This is the absolute stupidest thing I've ever done." I grumbled around a yawn.

Nikes was plucking at the threadbare periwinkle dress Elizabeth had wrestled her into half an hour before. "You once jumped out of a second floor window because you thought faeries would carry you."

"Well, I mean..." I huffed, "Second, second stupidest."

She chuckled, and reached into the pram she was pushing so that she could prop Fern's bottle back in her mouth. The small demon had woken up when Elizabeth had been too loud about getting us ready, so we'd been ordered to bring her with us.

Despite the fact we were a full half an hour early for the Service Office opening, we weren't the only ones already present. This was the only Office within a fifty mile radius, and so there was a whole assortment of women here. You could pick out the wealthy from the poor; we were positively shabby next to them in their fine clothes. They also wore make-up; a sure fire way of telling the rich from the poor. We had no need of such frivolous things. Especially since we could barely afford food.

We took our place in line. Fern was restless, having been woken too early, so I plucked her from the pram and rocked her in my arms, holding her bottle to her mouth. At ten months, she could only eat very soft foods, but still had a lot of formula, and milk when we could afford it.

"Weren't we supposed to fill these out ourselves?" Nike frowned at the sealed applications that Elizabeth had handed over as we'd been heading out the doors.

"It's illegal not to."

"Then I guess Miss Elizabeth has just seriously broken the law." She tore into them, and I smirked at her. "What? I'll seal them back up!"

"Yeah, right. Why are we even here?" I growled, rocking Fern as she started to wiggle insistently. "As if Sevens are getting into the Selection, for crying out loud."

"I dunno," Nike mused, brushing back her auburn hair. She was given a much nicer colour than I was at birth. "These applications are pretty impressive."

"What?!"

"She's lied grossly," she shook her head, her dark eyes flicking up to meet mine with exasperation. "She's said that we speak seven languages between us. I mean, we do, but we don't speak them fluently, like she's put down. Also that you can play piano, violin and can sing. Which is an outright lie.. She's said that I can play the cello, and the flute, which is also a lie considering I only know the National Anthem."

"It doesn't matter, we're Sevens. A Six has never even entered the competition, let alone a Seven. The whole competition is a lie; we all know they're picked carefully before they're announced, and not at random. So we're fine."

Laughter burst out of Nike so suddenly it made me jump, so loud that people turned to stare at her. She clamped down on the noise, because the Gruks wandering up and down the line were eyeing her curiously, but she continued to snort into her palm.

"What is it, you weirdo?"

"Elizabeth has written down about you; 'I'm good-mannered and patient, with a friendly, wholesome attitude towards others'." She snorted again into her hand.

"Prick." I kicked her in the shin, scowling. She had the nerve to wipe invisible tears from beneath her eyes.

Raised voices down the line drew my attention as Nike went back to reading. Two women seemed to be squabbling. They looked to be Fives; their clothes were faded, second-hand no doubt, but they wore tiny amounts of make-up. Poor, but not so much that they couldn't afford the occasional luxury.

It seemed one of them had bumped into the other, and had spilled a flask of coffee onto the other's dress. The spiller was apologising profusely, while the spillee was simmering with rage.

The spillee – whose friends were moving in to back her up, like a pack of wild dogs – raised her voice to a shout, and shoved the girl in the shoulder.

Gruks looked over, men and women in black uniforms, weapons hooked into their belts, armour gear on. They wouldn't step forward to stop the violence before it happened; they never did. The Gruks would wait, smiling pleasantly, as the situation escalated, and when it did achieve proper violence, they would swoop in and use brutality to put them down.

It happened exactly as I predicted. I'd watched it too many times to be wrong.

I didn't know which one threw the first punch, but after that first shove, violence built in the air like a coming storm. Another shove was given, and then another, and then the crack of a slap filled the dull morning air, and after that a shriek, and then they were grappling with each other.

The friends hung back, three of them dancing away as they spotted the Gruks moving in. The two girls didn't notice, or didn't care about the coming officers.

A female and a male Gruk strutted forward, still grinning as the girls shrieked and howled. The female reached in, grabbed one girl by the hair and yanked her back, tossing her to the floor with ease. The girl fell heavily, and cried out in pain.

The male grabbed the other girl as she lunged, and slapped her hard around the face.

A shout of protest rose to my lips, but Nike was already beside me, scooping Fern out of my arms and clamping her nails into the skin of my elbow.

The girl on the floor tried to scramble up, and the female Gruk yanked her lightening rod from her belt and jabbed it into the girl's side. She froze, shook, dribbled all down her chin, and dropped to the floor as soon as the rod was removed.

They were both yanked up by the Gruks, the frazzled one picked up by two – she wouldn't be walking for a good long while – and the other girl led sobbing along. They were bundled into the back of a black van with the Illéan flag on the side.

Gruks closed in again, but they went for the three friends this time. The girls hadn't actually gotten involved, but they'd supported the unrest, so they would be punished for the unrest, too.

One Gruk grabbed the applications from every single one of them, and – right there in their faces – ripped them right up.

Insides boiling, I turned back to Nike with a snarl on my lips.

"You're too willing to get involved." She shook her head at me and bounced an agitated Fern on her hip.

"It's wrong."I snapped.

"You think I don't know that? Of course it is, but I'd rather it was them than you, Ris. Please, just calm, all right?"

"Yeah," I blew out a harsh breath. "Yeah all right."

The line of women was decidedly quiet after that. The Gruks patrolled up and down, smiling smugly as they inspected us too closely.

Down the line, a few of the male Gruks were carrying out inspections to ensure that nobody was carrying weapons or any explosive devices. The sight made my fists clench; as if anyone other than the wealthy could buy weapons of any sort. They were doing it to prove a point and it was obviously an excuse to feel up the curvier women in the line.

I wanted to storm over and throw a punch, but Nike kept a firm grip on my wrist.

A beady eyed Gruk approached us, passed an eye over our bodies, and turned away. Nike was curvier than me, with rounder hips, broader shoulders and fuller breasts, but she was still very skinny, and they weren't interested in the poor women.

He turned away, then turned back suddenly.

"Whose baby is that?" he asked, voice a snap of authority.

"Not ours." Nike replied quickly so that I couldn't retort. Her hand had become iron around my wrist, nails biting deep into my skin as a warning.

"Well then, whose is it?" he growled.

"We're from the orphanage," I told him, voice a sneer. "She was dropped on the doorstep. We dunno whose she is."

"From the orphanage, ay?" he smirked now. "No wonder you're so skinny. At least you'll have one less mouth to feed soon; She won't live through the winter."

"You won't live through this conversation if you carry on talking."

Nike let out a low sigh of exasperation.

The Gruk was staring at me, his greasy hair shining in the low morning light, beady eyes shocked at the steel in my voice. For one brief moment, he gulped fearfully.

"The orphanage, huh?" he glanced between the two of us, "And orange hair? You must be Eris Black."

"You've heard of me." I smiled at him, showing all teeth.

"You're the one that snapped that man's spine." He eyed me warily.

"You have any solid evidence to go with that vicious accusation?"

"Everyone knows you did it." He glanced around, "Everyone knows Jax has it in for you."

"Well then, if everyone knows, you better run along and arrest Jax, before he hurts little old me."

"Are you talking back to a Guard?" he asked, his voice a little stronger than it had been before. He straightened his spine, plastering on a glare. "Well, ma'am, are you?"

"Not a Guard, no!" I gasped in faked shock, "A Gruk, however..."

He balled his fist and shoved it forward, striking me right in the center of my stomach. The breath left me, and I bent a little with the force of the blow as pain blossomed through my torso.

He gave me a rough shove in the shoulders and Nike caught me as I stumbled.

The little worm didn't even look at me, just turned and stomped off, footsteps hurried. The women who had turned to watch the spectacle looked away, faces a little pale at the display of violence.

Straightening up, I rotated my shoulders to work out the pain in my abdomen. A sharp jab went through my muscles as I flexed too quickly, but after working them for another few moments, the pain was reduced to a dull throb.

"Are you okay?" a woman in front asked, she was grey haired and tanned a honey gold, and her eyes were kind. "I'm a Medicine Woman, would you like me to take a look?"

The girl beside her, clearly her granddaughter, was throwing fearful glances towards the Gruks.

Nike and I smothered gasps. Medicine Women were illegal; any form of drug or medication was strictly controlled by the government pharmacies, but it was impossibly dear to go to one. Medicine Women were a cheap alternative, even if they couldn't provide the best care.

"Best not to get yourself in trouble," I murmured to her, "He can't punch very well; it'll only bruise."

"You were brave, standing up to him for your sister." She bent low over Fern's pram and allowed Fern to grab onto her finger and nibble at it.

"Just stupid, I think." I said with a smile.

"You got that right." Nike grumbled.

"If ever you need anything, Eris Black." The wizened woman turned to me, her eyes as grey as her hair. "You can find me at the Soot Market, ask for Valerie."

"Thank you." I murmured.

She turned away with a respectful nod, wrapping a strong arm around her granddaughter's shoulders. Nike and I shared a wide eyed glance.

My little sister reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up to inspect the red outline of the Gruk's fist. She shook her head, sighed at me, and tugged the shirt back down.

The Service Office opened its doors with a clatter, and before they allowed anyone else in they permitted Gruks to enter so that they could control the crowds inside too.

The whole ordeal seemed to drag. We shuffled inside, moving at a snail's pace. Women filed in with applications and left with small rectangle cheques clutched in their fists.

When we got into the building, there was still more queuing, lining up for a small booth where a man sat with a big clunky camera, taking photos as the hopeful girls sat on a stool and smiled widely.

Fern, at this point, apparently got frustrated with the lack of attention, and started squalling loudly. She received irritated looks from a few rich women, and the Gruks were glaring, but it wasn't like there was anything to be done. I bounced her on my hip, hushing her and crooning quietly, but she didn't let up.

There was no more formula to offer her, so we simply had to grit our teeth and endure the hollering.

Nike snatched her from me, but even her soothing voice couldn't coax the little demon into silence.

The cameraman waved us quickly forward, looking eager to get us out of the way. He looked extremely bored, but took his work seriously apparently, because he took the time to arrange Nikes into a flattering pose, perching her on the small stool and tucking a few stray hairs back into the twisted bun Elizabeth had done for her.

After smoothing her dress over her knees and down her shins, he stepped back, told her to smile widely, and snapped the picture. She jumped up, thanked him for his patience, and whisked Fern out of my arms, holding the monster on her hip and swinging her gently from side to side.

I stomped to the stool and simply plonked down onto it, and the cameraman jumped up with a scandalised gasp.

"No, no, no." he shook his head as he hurried from behind his camera and started to reorganise my posture.

"Don't you just need my face?" I grumbled as he urged me to straighten my spine and draw my shoulders back, telling me to 'tighten up my core', I dunno what that meant, but I tensed my stomach and he seemed satisfied with that.

"It's a full body shot, dear." He informed me as he moved round to face me, then he tapped my knees, ordering me to draw them together, and then to twist my whole body to the side so I was sat at an angle. "This is your good side." He smiled, like he was doing me a favour by informing me.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He shook his head, and then drew my long hair over my shoulders, arranging the messy curls as best he could down my chest.

Retreating behind the camera, he stooped to look through the lens. He looked up at me, told me to lift my chin. To smile wide, but wait, not that wide.

I glanced at Nike so that I could roll my eyes, and while she was grinning at me broadly, she was also wrestling with a wiggling Fern, whose screaming had reached a brand new pitch of severity.

The cameraman told me to look into the camera, ordering me to smile, softlyhe urged, and then bent to inspect through the lens again. He nodded, reached to press the button.

Before he managed it, there was an awfully loud burp, a hiccup, a gurgle, the splatter of liquid hitting a surface, and then a shriek.

I glanced to the side, saw Fern smiling contentedly, the trail of white sick splashed all over Nike's chest, and watched as her face became a startling shade of green. A chorus of low groans erupted from almost everyone gathered around, and the women surrounding Nike took several cautious steps back.

Bursting into laughter was the first thing I did, my spine curving a little as it spewed right out of me. I could feel the smile dominating my face as my sister hopped and danced around and held a smug Fern at arm's length.

The camera gave a flash, and I glanced at it, still snorting through my nose with amusement. The man gave me a nod and a smile, looking a little grey himself as I hurried to take Fern from Nike's arms.

Fern giggled happily as I tickled under her chin, still chortling as Nike grimaced and stuck out her tongue at the baby.

"Here," the man handed our pictures to me, "You were laughing in yours and we're not allowed to retake, but it isn't ruined."

"Thanks." I nodded, and we made our way to the front desk. Nike wearing a permanent grimace while I smothered Fern with kisses, rewarding her for a job well done. She giggled happily at the attention.

The woman behind the counter took our applications, stapled the pictures to the right envelopes, and only when she'd tucked them away did she hand over a wad of tissues with a wrinkled nose.

We left the Service Office, Nike scrubbing at the ruined dress and her damp skin while I pushed the pram.

By the time we'd gotten home, Nike was glaring viciously at me, because I had a tendency to burst out laughing whenever I looked at the dark mark spread over her dress.

Nike swore at me in Latin for the rest of the day, especially when I found some sweets for Fern to suckle on.


Thank you for reading! xo

Words:

Vlákas – Greek for idiot.

Kathármata – Greek for bastards.

Culus – Asshole in Latin