Clara hisses between clenched teeth but goes still, the tension in her wrists locked in tight. Three pleats at her sleeves- and not empty. Something thin and firm, unyielding, like metal rest inside each slim pocket. Under the embroidered leather her joints are faintly swollen, her skin textured.

Burn scars, most likely, which are odd for someone this far from the Kitchens.

"They wouldn't. If they did I would know, and if I knew it wouldn't continue. She can't keep untrustworthy people in the Estate. Not when she's finally doing so well."