Of Cages and Crowns (previously The Culled Crown, Book 1)

ONE

Benson Homestead

Three days before Sacrit

I'd only just finished at the pump and was heading back to the house when I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel lane. Shit. I had enough sense to dart behind the nearest shelter—the outhouse—but as soon as I was there, my mind went blank.

I'd hidden, but now what? Where could I go with so much open space between where I stood and the main house? And it wasn't like I could really go inside either—what if whoever was in the automobile wanted to go into the house for something? They'd see me. They'd ask questions.

I needed . . . I needed to . . .

My heart plummeted, my insides doing a wicked backflip as I peered out from my hiding spot. Dust rose in a swirling cloud as an automobile headed our way. I scanned what I could of the yard, looking for my brothers.

Bad. This was bad.

Warning bells pealed; red flags waved.

What if they found me? That would almost be worse, because then they'd wonder why I'd hidden at all. Then, if they were anyone important—and they had to be, if they were driving an automobile in Varos of all places—they'd ask about my identification card. Goddess knows, they would see some pretty huge discrepancies if they did.

I was very obviously a blond, seventeen-year-old girl and not the boy my card claimed I was. And that discovery would lead to questions and those questions would lead to examinations. And if they noticed the mark on my hand . . .

The outhouse creaked as I leaned against it, careful to stay in the shadows. The rumble of the automobile's engine died out just as the front door to the house squealed open on unoiled hinges. My oldest brother, Ambrose, shouted a muffled greeting, but the words were lost in the sharp clack of the screen door slamming shut behind him as he exited the house.

My other brother, Kace, walked out of the barn to my far left, his brows lifted in surprise at the vehicle parked outside our ramshackle house. He headed toward Ambrose, but stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of me. For a moment we just stared at each other, both of us ensnared by curiosity and fear.

The stillness of the moment died as the man in the automobile called out, "Mr. Benson, I come with a summons."

Kace's eyes widened at the words, and he took off again. I glanced around the other side of the outhouse and then abruptly darted back into the safety of my hiding spot. A magistrate. There was a magistrate here—on our farm. Only a few feet from me. Bile rose in my throat and my heart became a caged bird in my chest—the pressure of each beat more valuable and more erratic as I considered every terrible thing that might involve a magistrate.

The distance enveloped the rest of the man's words as he climbed from the automobile and then began to, presumably, explain to my brothers what the hell he'd come for. I dared another look just in time to see Ambrose step forward to take a small bundle of letters from the magistrate's outstretched hand.

The magistrate cleared his throat and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit. He dabbed at his shining forehead, his voice growing loud with annoyance as he said, "Hot summer Varos is having. If the rains don't come soon, crops will suffer."

I knew exactly what he meant by that: if the crops suffered, the queen's coffers would suffer. You couldn't tithe the dead.

My throat grew tight at the implication. More than just the crops would suffer without rain. My family could starve or lose the farm. We relied on our crops to earn enough money to keep us alive. My mother's job as a midwife was rarely paid with coin, and my brothers' apprenticeships in town hardly even made enough to keep the livestock fed—much less put food in our bellies.