Like Enora.

‘We contain these dangerous proclivities as best we can, but the fact is that a number of dismissed women have refused to marry according to age regulations. In the Eastern Sector, this trend is spreading, and now young men aren’t even advertising marriage profiles,’ he tells me.

‘And you let them?’ I say, not hiding my surprise. ‘When the Guild has such persuasive methods at its disposal?’ Is this the taint I heard him discussing, or just a symptom of a larger sense of discontent?

‘Frankly, after Enora’s stunt, I’m concerned about the safety of our current methods. The process may have damaged her. The remains of her thread barely held together when we removed them from the weave. It might surprise you to learn we don’t want to remap the entire female population.’

‘But you would, though,’ I accuse, my blood boiling.

‘Of course, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the good of Arras,’ he says, dropping his gaze to meet mine. ‘Someday you’ll understand this. Right now you can’t see past yourself. If girls stop marrying – if, Arras forbid, they live on their own – we can’t protect them.’

‘So you’re doing it to keep women safe?’ I ask.

‘Yes. When expectations are clear, they are easily met, but when we begin to bend the rules, we invite discord.’

I actually think Cormac believes what he’s saying, but I’ve seen the effects of these stringent rules. My mother being refused more children, our carefully segregated neighbourhoods, Enora trying to live a lie. Was quiet desperation the price of surface happiness? ‘Maybe they aren’t ready to get married,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t have been.’

Cormac presses his lips together and watches me for a moment before responding. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Adelice, because the Guild has decided the best way to address this concern is to provide an example to these young women.’

‘What kind of example?’ I ask. I keep my voice steady.

‘The Guild has enjoyed success with most Eligibles through the elite treatment and privilege afforded Spinsters,’ he continues. ‘They’re excited to be taken to the Coventry.’

My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out all the ambient noise. Only Cormac’s practised, smooth voice funnels through, like a mandatory Stream broadcast. ‘So it makes sense to give young women an example of perfect domestic tranquillity. We’ll market it the same way we do coming to the Coventry – that being married is a life of privilege. And we’ll use someone from the Coventry as an example.’

‘But Spinsters can’t . . .’ I’m too embarrassed to say it out loud.

‘Consummate the relationship?’ he asks, a smirk playing at his lips.

I give a small nod, but keep my eyes on my feet.

‘You’re not stupid,’ he says with a trace of annoyance. ‘You can’t possibly believe the whole purity-standards bit.’

‘Then why tell us that?’ More blood rushes to my face and settles on my cheeks. Generally, I don’t consider myself dumb, but I had, in fact, always believed the ‘whole purity-standards bit’.

‘Family, Adelice. We can’t have young women running around town. We need them at home, having babies, and serving Arras. And I’m sure you know women here—’

‘But it takes away our skills.’

‘You’ve seen some action since you’ve been here,’ he accuses, ‘and you’re still weaving.’

The flush of my cheeks deepens. So much for being discreet. ‘I never crossed any lines.’

‘Maybe so,’ he says, but he shrugs as though he’s unconvinced.

‘So you’re going to allow Spinsters to marry?’ I ask, feeling a bit dizzy.

‘No,’ he assures me. ‘We need Spinsters to remain dedicated to their work, and our philosophy that a wife’s first duty is to her husband would be undermined by such a policy change.’

I exhale in relief. The thought of being forced into a marriage, of making Jost live through that . . . I can’t imagine a worse torture.

‘But a Creweler can be afforded special privileges,’ he says, and my heart jumps back into my throat.

‘You . . . want . . .  me . . . to . . . marry?’

‘Consider it an order,’ he says with a smile.

‘Or you’ll remap me,’ I whisper. ‘Do I get to choose?’ I struggle to hang on to the faint flicker of hope this thought offers me. No one could object to Jost. He might not like the constant grooming. But as much as I try to believe it’s possible, even if it were, I’d be putting him directly under the Guild’s thumb. No matter how much it may hurt him, it would be better if I were married to someone else.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?’ he asks with a cocked eyebrow. ‘Your choices aren’t as well conceived as the Guild would like.’

‘So you’ll choose for me?’ I ask slowly. No doubt it will be a political match.

‘We already have.’ He flashes a blinding smile. ‘Me.’

The blood rushing in my head drains out, and I grip the arms of my chair to stay upright.

Marry Cormac?

‘I’m only sixteen,’ I whisper.

‘We’ll wait for you to turn seventeen as custom dictates in the larger metros,’ he says in a casual voice.

I struggle to make sense of what he’s telling me. I stand to look out of the window. ‘But how old are you?’