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Beggars Cannot Be Choosers

Lianna Starkov crept into the kitchens, her scuffed shoes dangling around her neck by the laces. When Cook and the others had rushed out to separate Nina and Juna, the scullery maids scrapping it out in the courtyard over Jaemes the bootboy, who had been toying with both of their affections, Lianna had seen her chance and seized it. She hadn't wasted time summoning Alina and Mal, only having perhaps seconds to spare.

The air was thick with the smell of fried onions, making Lianna's eyes water despite themselves. She tip-toed towards the pantry, shaking her head at the furore unfolding outside, especially over somebody like Jaemes with his piggy eyes and cruel tongue. Lianna was no stranger to violence; her bruised knuckles were testament to that. Even at eight years old, her ferocity was unnerving for one so young, ready to defend to the death what she held dear. All she had was Alina but her sister was small and scrawny, often making her the target of the older children who liked to give out beatings to make themselves feel better over the unfortunate hand fate had dealt them.

Lianna unwillingly understood the root of their antagonism, before making them understand hers through her fists. Though twins, Lianna and Alina were not identical. Lianna was taller and heavier than Alina, making her look older than she really was. She had been the first born, taking more than what she needed in the womb. Now it was the other way around, Alina unconsciously drawing upon Lianna's strength as her own. Together, they had somehow survived the slaughter of war, life in the orphanage infinitely better than where they'd been, living like rats in the rubble.

Biting her lip, she creaked open the pantry door, her dark eyes growing as wide as saucers at the sight before her. Slabs of medovik cake were piled high on delicate blue porcelain plates, along with other delicacies Lianna didn't know the names of. All she'd had to eat all day was burnt shanghi, the eggs off and the butter sparse. Alina always complained the food tasted of mud, but Lianna wasn't one to turn her nose up at the chance to fill her gullet. But this morning, even her indefatigable appetite had been challenged.

Glancing over her shoulder, Lianna hastily snatched up three slices, stuffing them down the front of her rough cambric shirt, impatiently removing her shoes from around her neck as she did. The billowing fabric concealed the bulk, each slab the size of a brick. It mattered not one whit if Cook had spent hours concocting the elaborate confections for the exalted company Ana Kuya was expecting or what she would do when she found out she was several slices short. This was Lianna's stomach settling several scores she had with Cook.

Licking the honey from her fingertips, Lianna kicked the pantry door shut before hurriedly leaving the kitchens, shoes now hanging from her sticky hand. As she waddled up the stairs, all too aware of her illicit cargo, her tucked in shirt keeping it contained if not secure, she could hear Juna wildly shrieking at Nina, something about Jaemes and a hayloft. Rolling her eyes, she made her way to one of the many abandoned rooms littering the Duke's house, a once opulent bedchamber that Ana Kuya had shut up along with the others, leaving it to dust and despair.

Inside where Alina and Mal, the pair perched on the edge of the mattress of the four-poster bed they'd turned into a makeshift den, Alina holding up a scrap of paper for Mal's perusal. The four-poster was literally falling apart, Mal accidentally bringing down the embroidered hangings only last week, covering them with clouds of choking dust. Consequently Lianna approached it with some trepidation, always expecting fresh misfortune. As she did, Alina slid off the edge of the mattress, landing with a dull thump on the flats of her feet, Mal remaining where he was. Mal was a shy, stocky boy around the same age as them, who let his smile say what words couldn't. He formed an unwelcome third, but Alina held a strange affection for him, so Lianna let it go.

"Why are you waddling like a duck, Lia?" Alina asked, brow furrowing.

"Because I have cake," Lianna boasted, chucking her shoes at Mal, who caught them easily. Originally they had been Alina's, but Lianna had swapped them, her own being in better condition, Alina now having the benefit of them instead.

"Really?"

Lianna thrust a grubby hand down the inside of her shirt, pulling out a slab of slightly crushed cake, giving it to Alina with an air of triumph. "Here, Mal," she called over, reaching inside her shirt again, "I have a piece for you too."

"You smell of smetana," Alina complained, wrinkling her nose.

Lianna shrugged, handing Mal his slice as she did, who took it with a shy smile. "Beggars cannot be choosers," she quoted, taking a huge bite, spraying crumbs everywhere.

To be certain, we'll be tall again

Whether weather be the frost…