Since the day I was born, Lady Adler said, sucking the end of her cigarette. Luke watched her, or rather, he watched the smoke that flared from the lit tip, how it swirled and danced away. He didn't know much about all the ways that a Clove could be a liability, but there was only one way he knew that someone could be one just from being born.
The Aurellian word for being born out of wedlock translated in Clove to something like unexpected child. But the cross-caste version was much harsher. This, Luke figured, was closer to what Cloves meant when they said bastard.
"We got a real famous play about a born liability," Luke said thoughtfully. "The Tragical History of Owen Day. 'Bout this poor boy born from a secret relationship between two folk from different castes, and even though he lives as a Searu," he glanced up, "that's the lowest," he added for clarification, "he keeps tryna live his life like he's an Ealdor, that's the highest caste, like his dad. Real sad story." Luke shook his head. "It ain't easy bein' trapped like that."