Cormac scowls. ‘Renewal tech makes that a non-issue,’ he says through clenched teeth.

‘Not for me.’

‘What? You think you can go out and marry some young pretty boy?’ he asks, his voice rising steadily. ‘Let me make this clear: it has been decided. The Guild wants assurance that you’re being tightly monitored.’

‘And you’re just the man to do that,’ I say, narrowing my eyes.

‘You’ll enjoy the same privileges and get to have children.’

I choke back the stomach acid this statement sends shooting up my throat. ‘You can have kids?’

‘Of course,’ he says, straightening his tux jacket. ‘My genetic materials have been safely stored since I was a younger man.’

Much younger. Of all the possibilities I mourned when I was brought to the Coventry, having babies was not on that list.

‘So I’ll be’ – I search for the word, my thoughts moving too fast for me to latch onto them – ‘impregnated.’ My only solace is that if I can’t escape, traditional methods of procreation won’t be necessary. Although lying back on a medic table and letting some . . . 

‘Our biogenetics team has created a patch that will ensure I can procreate much the same as any young father.’ His black eyes gleam as he speaks.

I back slowly away from him. The thought of his body bearing down on my own – his aseptic stench smothering me – steals my breath, and I gasp.

‘And if I refuse?’ I ask, barely containing the hysteria I feel building in my chest.

‘We remap you,’ he says with an edge in his voice, ‘and then you marry me.’

I cross my arms over my chest, clutching my shoulders, and shake my head. ‘I’ll do anything you want except that,’ I beg, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. ‘I’ll be Creweler. I’ll be good.’

‘I’d hoped you would see reason,’ he snarls, moving toward me. ‘I would have preferred a wife with some spirit, but I’ll remap you and marry you next week if I choose to.’

He’s shaking me now, but I can only sob. ‘Please. Please. Please.’

My pleas are breathless, lost in his gruff attack.

‘Did you think,’ he says, his voice full of disdain, ‘we would let you run wild, screwing around with the servants and playing dress-up? Arras demands your service, Adelice.’

I wrench my arms free and fly from the room. Cormac doesn’t follow me. He’ll find me eventually; he knows there’s no need to exert extra effort now. Scrambling into the stairwell, where I’m protected from the view of security monitors, I tear at time and weave myself into safety. When I’m sure the moment is secure, I collapse onto the cold, hard landing and stare at the hourglass my father burned onto my wrist. How can I remember who I am if they’re determined to take it from me?

I’m out of time. Even if I can break out of the compound, Cormac will hunt me down. I think of Loricel’s resignation to her impending death, and for the first time I truly understand the relief she must feel. I wish I were dead.

I stay there, trapped in my own web, unable to move. There’s only one person powerful enough to help me now, but even she has nowhere to run.

I go to her anyway.

21

The Creweler’s studio walls are blank, and the loom sits empty. Loricel must be at dinner with the others. Maybe they’ll assume I’m with Cormac and not come looking for me. The screens in the room reflect the default program, and I take a deep breath and consider where I should look first. I only have to tell the walls where I want to be and the tracking program will display that place. These walls can show me anywhere in Arras, but I’m not sure how long I have with them, so I better make my time count.

‘I am in the great hall at dinner,’ I command, feeling a little silly.

The walls shimmer and the great hall weaves itself across the space. I stand in the dead centre, the table stretching out around me. At the far end Loricel sits, speaking to no one. Meanwhile the other Spinsters make lively conversation that I can’t hear. Each woman’s skin is a pale version of its natural colour – chalk white or dusted chocolate or muted honey. I watch as one girl throws her head back, and in my own I hear a maniacal cackle as others clap and wave their hands in exaggerated gesticulations. This is how they close their day: at a long table filled with puddings and roast meat and delicate breads filled with sweet cream. A few gulp down thin red wine. One snaps her fingers and a young man appears to refill it. His face is blank, except for the dullest hint of disgust in his electric-blue eyes.

I stare at him. Dressed in his evening suit, he bears little resemblance to the scruffy boy who carried me across that stone cell, but his eyes are the same as the day we met, the day he bandaged my hands, the day we kissed. I have to turn away or I’ll rip right through the wall to get into his arms.

All around, eyes fix on me. I feel exposed, but then I realise I’m standing in the spot where the main dish will be placed, a large ham or turkey or duck. One by one, the Spinsters seated near this spot begin reaching out towards me, their hands returning with knives and forks full of steaming, white meat. I’m being eaten alive.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing and focus on what I now know. I have located both Jost and Loricel. I want to follow Jost, but this is my only chance to find the information I need to get to Amie if I want to pull her location up on the loom.

‘Show me the offices,’ I command, and the scene shifts to a busy building where smartly dressed men and women bustle about with stacks of papers. It’s a scene outside the Coventry. My command must have been too vague.