Walking from the communal pasture back home took much longer than one would expect when you were Meya Hild.

The reason? Two words: Marinia Hild.

It was often said that all the seven Hild children were remarkable in some way. In the case of Marin, it was beauty. Such was her beauty that the manor's young men created an unofficial category for her, the only one higher than Gold: Diamond, meaning she could marry any man in Crosset without having to pay him a single copper coin.

Being the only Greeneye in Crosset, Meya also had her own unofficial category: Dung. And it didn't help that she was always reeking of pig droppings, either. The lowest class defined by the law was Pebble, actually.

Either way, it meant she'd need to work extra hard to save up a large dowry stash. Who cared if all that hard work in scorching daylight made you look even less desirable? Dung, at least, stank less and didn't squish underfoot once laid out to bake in the sun.

By all accounts, Marin should be able to marry early. If not for Dad. Like most pretty maidens, Marin wasn't allowed to work outdoors. She was forced to spend her days inside the house helping Mum out with light housework. If her skin were any fairer, Meya swore she could have scraped lead white off it and sell the powder to rich women in Meriton.

It was difficult for young lads of marriageable age to gain access to Marin. The solution? Two words: Meya Hild.

Every evening, Meya would walk through the village, trundling a wheelbarrow full of hens and trailing a pig on a leash, receiving love letters, flowers, jewelry and food to pass on to Marin. For a fee, of course. Perhaps once them knuckleheads had learned to stop calling her attention with "Oi, Dung!", she would deign to do it for free.

The inflow of young men trickled to a stop about a minute's walk from Hild House. Dad was armed with a sickle tied to a broom handle, sharpened at the ready for gutting, and suitors knew to give Marin's house a wide berth.

Meya put Hanna and the chicken back in their homes, left the wheelbarrow beside the chicken coop, heaved up the bulging sack sitting in it, then trudged to the cottage door.

The instant she entered, a confused din of greetings befell her from the occupants, now crowded around the pot hanging over the fire in the hearth.

"Have you latched the coop door?" Mum asked, as always worrying about every wee thing in the three lands except Meya's own wellbeing.

"You alright, Meya?" Maro made no move to hide his concern, which was why Maro would always be her favorite brother.

"Any bullies at the pasture today?" Marin demanded. Meya guessed she would have gotten along well with Marin, too, had her skin not been so white it seemed to glow in the firelight.

"Where's your collar?" Morel, on the other hand, couldn't give any less damn.

"Is it true you kicked Gregor Krulstaff in the crotch?" Marcus abandoned his bowl and darted over.

"What's that you got there?" Myron pointed to her sack.

"Show me your hands!" Mistral squealed, eyes sparkling with delight.

Dad made no move to show he had acknowledged Meya's return. Only when Mum made to hand her a bread-bowl did he growl between mouthfuls of bread and vegetable stew.

"No dinner, Alanna."

"Please, Dad. She was just trying to help out." Marcus turned and pleaded.

"Quiet, Marcus."

Apparently, Dad had already told them about the Ice Pillory. Just as well. It saved Meya the trouble of recounting what had happened. Taking a deep breath, she rattled off answers to all of their questions.

"Yes, Mum, no sneaky tom would get his paws on a single feather tonight. Mistral, here are my hands. Still intact. Maro, I'm fine, how kind of you to ask. Marin, yes, some tyke pushed me into the path of a horse cart. Morel, where I keep my collar is none of your business. Marcus, no, I didn't kick his crotch; it was his arse. And Myron, this here—"

Meya lifted the sack from her back and displayed it to her family.

"—contains the usual tokens of appreciation from the men of the manor to our beautiful Marin."

Meya set the sack down then untied the rope, leaving the four corners to fall away, revealing an ensemble of spring flowers, cookie pots, lurid red envelopes, and crates filled with honey pies. All her siblings scrambled in, except Morel.

"Goodly Freda, why so many?" Marcus exclaimed. Myron admired the artwork on the cookie pots, while Mistral rubbed her cheek against an embroidered handkerchief. Meya couldn't resist a snicker.

"May Fest approaches! So, who will you choose for the May Dance this year, Diamond Girl?"

She poked Marin's arm. Personally, Meya didn't give that big a fart about on whom Marin's pity would fall this year, but the more intel she could sell along with her gift-ferrying services, the more gold she could demand.

Marin blushed a deep scarlet. Morel cut in before she could reply,

"Why d'you ask, Dung Curl? She won't be taking any of your admirers, anyway, seeing as you never had any."

As Meya blinked, her other five siblings yelled as one.

"Morel!"

"Morel! Take that back." Mum raised her voice, something she wouldn't do if she could avoid it. She had a frail throat and sounded as if she had a perpetual head cold. Meya didn't like it when Mum strained her voice.

"It's fine, Mum. Everyone calls me dung-something these days. It's not going to make Morel a bigger stink-bug than she already is."

"Meya!" Mum whirled around and snapped at Meya instead, and Meya grinned sheepishly. Well, that backfired.

Dad was anxious to finish his last meal of the day in peace.

"Perish it, you two. Or I'll take your bowl away until tomorrow night. Yes, Morel! Even if you did cook dinner!"

Dad cut Morel off before she could do more than open her mouth to protest. Meya's cheeks ballooned like a full waterskin as she stifled her laughter. Dad could withhold her meals for a week and she'd still survive on the money she earned ferrying gifts to Marin. The weeks leading up to May Day really were the time to exploit. Not that anybody knew what she was up to, though.

Desperate to lighten the atmosphere, Marin studied the tottering pile of gifts, then pushed it towards her younger siblings.

"Meya, I can't eat all these. You guys take some. You need all the food you can get since you work so hard. Please, Dad? Just this once? It's almost May Fest."

Marin served Dad her most pleading gaze. Dad would always have Marin give all the free food to the church's daily charity tent. Accepting the gifts when you had no intention to marry the men would be disgraceful, he reasoned.

Dad could resist Marin's googly eyes. Most of the time. She simply resembled Mum too much. Sighing, he finally nodded.

"Very well, take one for each of you—Meya, you are to have none!" Dad barked, freezing Marcus and Myron in mid-cheer, then shook a warning finger. "Make sure to remember their names and thank them tomorrow."

The five youngsters mumbled their Yes, Dads, and each selected one gift from the pile, shooting Meya apologetic glances that promised they would share with her whatever they chose.

They looked so forlorn Meya itched to wink back, but she knew better than to risk Dad's hawk-like glare catching on to her secret.

"Take your pick. I've already eaten." She lied, wishing her stomach would stop growling as fumes from Morel's stew wafted over. She settled down in the corner beside the door. "Jason treated me at the tavern. He knew Dad's not gonna give me dinner."

Meya shone a triumphant smirk at Dad. Dad's glare dropped even lower in temperature, along with the air in the cramped cottage, then he said coolly.

"You take that attitude with you to Hadrian Castle, and you'll have your tongue ripped out through your teeth, Meya."

It took Meya a moment to process exactly what Dad had said.

"Hadrian Castle? What d'you mean?"