The stone was cool against the sweat of Keyla’s brow, and she kept her eyes shut tight against the screaming. The sounds of death bounded off the walls of the refuge chamber deep in the Monarch’s stronghold, echoing in a whisper all around her, throbbing against her skull. She sucked in a deep, calming breath, fingers trembling as she bunched up the fabric of her frock.

Skeletal fingers found their way to hers, and Keyla’s eyes snapped open. Her mother Estela’s weak smile greeted her, sad eyes staring, full of shadows Keyla was only beginning to understand.

“It seems even the Ether itself has forsaken us,” her mother murmured. More screams slipped through the cracks and crags of the refuge chamber, and with them came the quiet noises of grief—the near silent sobs of newly made widows, the muted moans of bereaved mothers, and beneath it all, the whispered talk of death.

“If that is true, all hope is lost,” Keyla said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Look at them. Mothers and daughters and grandparents, each one of them doomed to sit here as their men are slaughtered just beyond the thick chamber’s walls. And there’s not a thing we can do to comfort them.”

“Such is the face of war,” Estela wheezed. “It isn’t a beautiful face. It is a face marred by ugliness, marked by shadow and spear. And it will only become uglier the longer you stare at it.”

“How can I ignore it when I am confronted by it at every turn?” Keyla insisted. “Their screams do not abate, no matter how I close my ears to them. And the sobs of those they’ve left behind grow no quieter as the minutes pass. And Gods help us, what about father?”

“Men become soldiers and fight in battle. That is their burden to bear. Living inside the grief they leave behind is ours.”

Her mother’s bony hands seemed too sharp against her palms, with skin too thin and papery, and river-like veins too gray. Keyla reached out and brushed a silvery strand of hair back from her mother’s cheek, exposing the shadows that pooled like ink in the hollows beneath her cheekbones.

“I know I’m a sorry sight,” her mother croaked a laugh, “but you’ll not get rid of me so easily.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Keyla whispered, leaning forward to kiss her mother’s brow. As she drew back, she stared into her mother’s withering face. As the Monarch’s wife, their next of kin and servants now looked to her mother to protect them in his absence. Nevertheless, there was little Estela could do for them in her current state. She was too frail, too sickly. Already her strength failed her, and most days she was carried about on her litter made of wood and rough hide. A cough rose from her chest then, one thick with blood and sickness. Keyla held her close, worried by just how weak she’d become.

“Shhh,” Keyla said, lips pressed against her mother’s ear. “It’ll be alright.”

But the echoes of hurried footsteps interrupted whatever else she might have said, and with them, three soldiers poured inside the refuge chamber. Blood spattered the braces about their arms and legs, their leathers awash in the rusty color of death.

Keyla disentangled herself from her mother’s fragile grip and stood. The soldiers’ faces were grim, though she wondered if that was merely the countenance of war. Two of the soldiers remained at the door, which they closed shut behind them, using two huge bolts. It was only the hulking captain of the Monarch’s personal guard that dared to approach, his black eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“What is it?” Keyla asked, drawing herself up straight. Even at her full height, she hardly reached his shoulders, but she did her best to seem imperial.

“It is with a heavy heart that I must deliver the news,” he said, dropping to one knee. His was a strange face, one with a sharp jaw and narrow point of a chin. He seemed only a year or two older than her, yet he glanced at her now with haunted eyes. “Our Monarch, Moriyan Gindar, has fallen,” he whispered. “Your father is dead.”

Murmurs erupted in her vicinity, but Keyla scarcely heard them. Time felt thick around her, as if she was moving too quickly and too slowly all at once. She swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat, ignoring the hot prick of tears behind her eyes.

“How?” she heard herself ask. Her voice was wooden to her own ears, stiff and hollow.

The captain glanced uncomfortably toward his men behind him, his brow furrowed. “He fought bravely. It was a quick and painless death, that much I can assure you.”

However, Keyla could see the truth in his eyes. Her father must have suffered immeasurably. It was an unbearable truth, one that made her stomach churn, and she pushed the knowledge away as if branded by it.

Keyla nodded absentmindedly. “What now, then?”

“The battle is lost,” the captain said, rising to his feet. “You must leave the stronghold before our enemies gather their forces and reach the refuge chamber.”

Keyla turned to her mother. Estela sat staring up at them, her face impassive. Without a word, she held out her hand.

“Well then, captain,” Keyla ordered, “help me get my mother to her feet.”

The captain raced forward to offer her his arm. She grabbed at it gratefully, grimacing as he hoisted her from the floor.

“My daughter,” Estela wheezed, “you must lead them now. I will remain by your side, but I have not the strength nor the inclination to guide them.”

There was no time to argue. With a heavy heart, Keyla nodded and turned to one of her servant girls. “Yine, we must get our people to safety. Our only option left for escape is to the west of the Teyalus Ring through the Harkan Pass. Round them up with the help of you brothers and sisters, take whatever provisions you can and load them onto one of the barrows. The journey will be hard, of that I have no doubt.”

The mousy girl’s lip quivered as she nodded, scurrying off to carry out her orders.

“Captain, lead us to the pass using the tunnel system at the back of the refuge chamber,” Keyla ordered. “Time is running short.”

By the time they were ready to depart, the sounds of battle had made their way deeper into the stronghold. Shouts rang out and bounded off the stone walls, the desperate grunts of fallen soldiers cutting through the din.

“Time to go,” Keyla said, nodding to Yine.

They followed the captain to the back of the refuge chamber, while one of the other soldiers began pulling the barrow with the provisions. As they walked, the hollow grew more and more narrow, until they reached a crag in the rock face. It was hardly wide enough for them to walk two abreast, and they entered the gaping maw of darkness one by one. Keyla stood to the side of the entrance, ushering her people through. She reached for her mother’s hand as her litter passed, held aloft by four young servant women. When at last the bulk of the party had passed through the jagged opening into the mountain the Monarch’s stronghold was built against, Keyla slipped inside and made her way through the crowd.

Darkness surrounded them on all sides, marred only by the few pinpricks of torchlight that guided their way. The tunnel system smelled of dirt and mildew and musk, and Keyla’s nose wrinkled as she pushed her way to the head of the procession. The people stopped to let her through, bowing their heads slightly as she passed. Bodies crowded around her on all sides, but she forged ahead until at last she reached Yine.

Ahead of them, shadows swirled along the ground, writhing and twisting like living things.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Yine asked quietly, her brow furrowed as she peered into the darkness.

“No,” Keyla confessed. “These tunnels are treacherous, but the captain should be able to guide us through.” With these words, they embarked on their expedition deep into the bowels of the mountain.

Hours slipped through Keyla’s fingers like droplets of water. Inside the chaotic web of tunnels, there was no sense of time. There was only the void of darkness and shadows that worked their way through skin and skull to infiltrate the mind. They made slow progress through the first part of the tunnel system, brief flickers of orange light illuminating the path ahead. It was filled with boulders and jutting stone.

Always, Keyla worried for her mother. The stone walls around them only enhanced the sound of her mother’s deep wheezing breaths, and more than once, the echoes of a coughing fit bounded up the path to greet her. Each time, Keyla’s heart constricted in a terrible ache, and she let others pass so that she might walk for a time with her mother. She would hold her mother’s hand and give what comfort she could, and though Estela remained awake, she spoke little.

At last, when her feet were bloody and she was weary through to her soul, Keyla called for a halt. Up ahead, a faint sliver of silvery light slipped in through a crag between the rock face.

“We’ve reached the end of the tunnel system,” she said to Yine, who stood faithfully by her side. “And it appears night has already fallen.”

“What would you have us do?” Yine asked, her eyes peering through the gloom and shadow to fixate on the shaft of light beyond.

Keyla looked up at the captain.

“The Harkan Pass is a dangerous place,” he said. “And the chance that our enemy has been able to break into the refuge chamber is slim. Let alone them navigating the tunnel system.”

“Let us then enjoy one night of protection inside the mountain, and brave the elements tomorrow,” Keyla said. “The journey will only grow harder from here.”

Yine stepped away, calling out orders to her brothers and sisters and the other servants, and Keyla pressed a trembling hand to her eyes. Hunger gnawed at her insides, and she made her way over to the barrow that held their provisions.

“What do we have for rations?” Keyla asked wearily to the two soldiers who had been taking turns pulling the barrow.

They appeared grim. “Not enough, I fear”, one of them said. “Though I’ve never traveled the Harkan Pass, I’ve heard it told that it’s a seven day journey.”

“At best, considering our company consists of so many children and elders,” Keyla agreed.

“If such is true, there won’t be enough to go around. We have a few loaves of black bread, some wheels of cheese.” He moved some of the food around to have a better look. “Some preserved carrots, pickled plums, and stewed prunes. Nothing fresh to speak of, and only enough cured meats for one meal.”

Keyla eyed the barrow as he spoke, taking stock of what it contained. “We’ll save the meat for halfway through the journey,” she decided. “They may be tired now, but this is the strongest they will be on this trip. Hopefully, we can make it that far without delving too deep into our coffers. We’ll have to make do with the rest. Give only what the people need, not what they want. Do not be kind. Kindness today will doom us tomorrow.”

The soldiers nodded gravely. Keyla spared one last glance for the barrow. Fighting the urge to take her knife and cut a wedge from the closest wheel of cheese, she walked away and picked her way through the sprawling limbs and bodies that littered the ground. Already they had unrolled their scraps of fur and began to settle in, mothers pulling their children close against them, whispering tales of brighter days.

Fill their heads with hope, then, Keyla thought to herself. Let them feel the spark of joy in this wretched place. Give them sweet dreams and pray to the Gods that it will make their feet lighter tomorrow.

Moving carefully through the crowd, she stopped at her mother’s litter. She turned to those that had dutifully carried Estela and gave them leave. She didn’t know what she would do when their strength waned, when they became too fragile to help her mother along. She knew only that she would never consign her mother to this place, to this tomb.

Keyla gifted her mother with a smile, reaching out to grab her hand. “How are you feeling?”

Her mother winced as she propped herself up on her elbows. “I’ve no right to complain,” she said with a sorrowful smile. “I’ve done so very little to help ease the burden you bear.”

“Your mere presence eases my burden, mother. This place would be all the darker were you not here with me.”

Estela squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Come closer, my sweet girl. Sit with me.”

Keyla folded her legs and dropped onto the pallet next to her mother, their backs pressed against the biting stone wall. Estela’s hands shook as she slipped them inside the folds of her furs, pulling free a thick hunk of dried meat.

“Here,” she said, offering it to Keyla. “Take what you need.”

Keyla stared at the ration, lips pursed in a thin line. “Why do you have that?”

“I took it from our private kitchen before we entered the refuge chamber. I had my suspicions that things would not end well for our side. The numbers were never in our favor.” She coughed, a thick squelching sound that made Keyla grimace.

“I wanted to be sure we were prepared,” she continued, “that we would survive, no matter our losses.” She reached out and took Keyla’s hand, gripping it tight against her chest. “You may not see it now, daughter, but this is for the good of the people. Without us to lead them, they would falter.

“It feels wrong to keep something so precious to ourselves. There are others that could benefit more…”

“They will be the first to die,” her mother warned. “Mark my words, Keyla. Not all of us will make it to the end of the Harkan Pass, but you and I must. Whatever befalls us during this journey, that must never change. Promise me you will do whatever you have to in order to ensure our survival. The Gindar Family has ruled the Mountain Folk for generations. It is our birthright to rule. Do not sacrifice all that you are for those weaker than you. Do you understand?”

Keyla’s nod was barely perceptible in the dim light. She didn’t say what she was thinking, that her mother would likely be one of the first to die. She didn’t want to believe it, and she recoiled from the thought as if burned by it. She cast it aside and tore a strip from the dried meat, gulping it down quickly so that no others would see. When she had taken her fill, she tore another strip for her mother. They sat in silence together, listening to the sounds of restless slumber. It was a long time before Keyla finally fell asleep.

The morning of the next day showered them in weak, flickering sunlight. Beyond the confines of the tunnel system, the Harkan Pass extended through the Teyalus Ring as far as their eyes could see. Trapped between two walls of stone, they stood inside a funnel of wind and snow that raged around them from dawn until dusk. Gusts of wind slipped through the folds of their clothes and danced in their hair, leaving bits of silt and chipped stone behind. So their miserable journey began, one that Keyla was eager to end, and so she pushed the throng at a punishing pace.

On the third night, the first of them passed. It was one of the elderly folk, a frail old woman with papery skin and sunken eyes. She had been ill for some time, and to Keyla’s grim relief, the old woman died in her sleep. It changed the morale of the travelers, and the old woman would not be the last to die. The evening of the fourth day brought two more casualties, and the morning of the fifth another three. Unable to dig graves, they massed their dead together and burned them, black smoke billowing upward and writhing there against the clouds like ghosts. By nightfall on the fifth day, people no longer tried to hide their anger and resentment.

“They blame us for their misfortune,” Estela said, chewing through a small bite of moldy bread. “Still, I should think that we don’t have to fear them, at least for the moment. We command the soldiers that hold their food stores at bay. But what happens when the food runs out…”

Her mother’s words trailed away, and Keyla watched the others with wary eyes. She was not blind to their anger, nor was she immune to it. She felt it the same way they did. It swallowed her, consumed her, burned inside of her. She felt the sting of injustice as they did, and it left a sour taste on her tongue. The cold had grown overwhelming, and there was a perpetual pit of hunger within her that would not be tamed. It gnawed at her marrow, its sharp bite twisting against her insides with each passing moment. If not for the private store of cured meat her mother had taken, she was all but certain she would have given up.

It was that knowledge that scared her most. Knowing how close the rest of their company was to death filled her with a chill no fur could dispel. From the corner of her eye she saw Yine approach, and she rose from the cradle of blankets, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“How is everyone holding up? Your family?” Keyla asked, leading the servant girl to a place just out of earshot.

“They are weak,” Yine said. “As am I. The hunger never leaves our side now, and water is low. I worry we won’t make it out of the Pass.”

Keyla nodded. “We’re only a few days out now, Yine. Have faith.” She reached forward and gripped the servant girl’s hand. It was cold as ice against her fingers, and she shuddered at the touch.

“I’m sorry, Keyla. I don’t think I have the strength to go on.”

“Nonsense,” Keyla said, waving away her words. “You have to continue. I need you.”

“I want to,” Yine whispered, collapsing against a nearby wall and sliding to the floor. “But already I feel tired for tomorrow. I’m weak, as are the rest in my family. I don’t know if we’ll escape this hell.”

Keyla’s heart gave a sickening twist as she glanced down at the girl. Yine had been a faithful servant, as had every member of her family for generations. They had served loyally, without question, and in the young girl’s steadfast companionship, Keyla had found an unorthodox friendship. With a sigh, she dropped to her knees and fished about in the pockets of her cloak. She pulled free a small bit of dried meat and offered it to Yine.

“Take this.”

Yine eyed it with suspicion. “What is it?”

“dried meat. Eat it.”

The servant’s eyes widened in surprise, her mouth quivering. “Where did you get that?”

“Does it matter?” Keyla asked. “I would share what I have with you to keep you well. So that we can lead our people through the Harkan Pass together, and be better for it on the other side.”

But Yine hesitated. “It isn’t right to eat this. Everyone is starving, people are dying of hunger, and all this time you’ve had your own private stock on which to sup?”

Keyla shook her head, chewing her lip in worry. “It isn’t like that, Yine. My mother brought it only to ensure that we would endure the journey and see our people through the Pass. It was never enough to feed everyone, but we would all die here, trapped in this valley of stone without it. I have felt the fist of hunger in my gut, clawing and raking my insides. This sustains me so that I can lead the people on. That is all.”

With begrudging hands Yine reached out and snatched away the scrap of food. She ate with deliberate slowness, as if trying to savor each bite, her face twisted into a sour mask. Her eyes darted to those gathered nearby, their still, sleeping forms like statues in the darkness. When she had swallowed every last bite, she wiped her mouth, and wept.

Two days more and the faint rays of dawn skittered across the ground before them. They’d lost a third of their company by then, some to hunger, some to the bitter, endless cold. But those that remained were heartened by the sight of light, however dim it was. Spurred on with renewed life, Keyla led them onward, keeping Yine close at her side.

As they approached the end of the Pass, the dark, swollen clouds overhead began to thin. They parted like curtains, revealing the scraps of warmth they had once held at bay. Keyla let the light fall upon her skin, soaking through to her weary marrow, and it thawed the ice in her soul. A smile broadened on her face as she stared ahead, watching the curves of the mountains surrounding them dipping low toward the ground.

“We’re nearly there,” she whispered, eyes glassy with relief.

Another hour and they found themselves at the end of the Harkan Pass. Keyla stepped aside, ushering the rest of the group ahead, their joy palpable as they passed. They had all mourned the dead, those souls that had been lost to the shadows, but they had escaped, had been set free on the other side, and that was something to celebrate.

“We’re on the western edge of the Teyalus Ring, now,” Keyla said to Yine.

Below them sprawled an emerald plain, one dotted with small white flowers. Its beauty was marred only by the long, thin scar of a brook that ran across its left side, snaking its way through the verdant grass and disappearing over a gentle rise.

“Where will we go now?” Yine asked as they helped the last of the stragglers through the mouth of the Pass.

“To the fields,” Keyla said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Everyone must keep their wits as we descend the rock face. It is steep, and our footsteps must not falter.”

They wound around the side of the mountain, feet shuffling and picking their way carefully down the rocky slopes. It took the better part of the morning to reach the sprawling plains. When at last they did, most were soaked through with sweat, the bitter cold of the mountains now long forgotten beneath the warming sun.

“We’ll make camp here,” Keyla said, lifting her eyes to the sky. The sun was already beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, though it would be many hours still before sunset. “It has been a hard journey, and you are all deserving of rest.”

“And what of food?” A woman called from the back of the crowd. “What will we eat if we camp here? There’s nothing but grass and twigs. We’ll starve out here as surely as we would in the mountains.”

Whispers broke out in a ripple, angry voices murmuring and being carried towards her on the wind. Keyla listened for a moment before holding up a hand for silence.

“You have suffered through unimaginable woe to get here,” she said, addressing the throng, “and you have risen above the hardship and strife. You are here because of the strength you possess. Do not falter now, here, on the precipice of redemption. I cannot say our path ahead will be an easy one, but there is much to be glad for. There is fresh water to drink, and a soft place to rest your head. Let the warmth of the sun nourish your souls, and soon we will find a way to nourish your bodies. Have faith that the Gods have seen us this far, and they will not let us fail now.”

“What would you have us do?” Yine asked as those gathered began to disperse. Most made their way to the creek, lowering their hands to cup the cool water and swallow it in desperate gulps.

“We’ll make a hunting party led by the soldiers,” Keyla said. “Let's see what they can find. Hare would be most welcome, I think, but smaller game will do. There might yet be something to forage beyond that rise. It’s worth exploring.”

“Shall I go and select the team and send them on their way, then?” Yine asked.

Keyla nodded. Yine departed, weaving easily through the crowd. Within moments Keyla had lost sight of her.

Making her way through the people, Keyla began to delegate the most essential tasks; building cooking fires and erecting tents, gathering firewood and refilling the waterskins. She prayed that the hunters would find something of consequence, something to quell the rage that lingered amongst them, but larger animals were unlikely to fall at the hands of unskilled hunters on the brink of starvation.

As she made her way around the rudimentary beginnings of their camp, she thought for the first time of her father. What would he think of her, to see her now? In life, Moriyan Gindar had ruled with brutality and craved fear in his people. He had been ruthless and savage, and without compassion. She knew if he’d been there to rule them, many more would have died in the Pass. She also knew that there would be no threat of uprising from his subjects, no angry whispers when he passed, no looks of quiet fury volleyed in his direction as they were at her.

The knowledge left her conflicted. Her father had been a hard man, and had made choices that she did not envy. He’d left the sickly to starve when famine threatened all the mountain folk and the surrounding villages, had separated his own kin and the more powerful families of their mountain village Arkandar from the lower born, and had confiscated all food stores and left the lower born families to starve while the most powerful of Arkandar survived. The alternative, of course, had been to resign them all to death at the hands of famine. It would have been a slower death, perhaps, but an assured one nonetheless. In dividing his people and leaving some to die, to fight for their own survival and struggle against a merciless world, he assured that others would live and pass on their names, ensuring the survival of Arkandar itself.

For enacting this, he had been condemned. The Mountain Folk had risen up against him and incited war, and in it he’d been slain. Had he deserved his fate? Or had he merely done what was necessary to save his kin? He had all but assured those left behind would die a horrible death. Yet he’d also assured the prosperity and survival of many other lives with that choice. Did it make him a villain or a saint? Was he the monster the villagers claimed, or was he the savior of her people?

No matter what she thought of him, Keyla worried that the people would see her father whenever they looked at her. He had been a reviled man, yet their fear of him stayed their hatred and resentment. She had a feeling they’d give her no such grace as she learned to lead them. She understood the reason for her father’s brutality; understood the hatred Moriyan Gindar had harbored for his people. They’d murdered his beloved uncle, many years ago, and it had left a wound within Moriyan that had never healed.

But understanding his ire did not mean she agreed with it. No matter how her father had ruled, she resolved to be just in all things. She would rule with a measured hand and take the words of her people into consideration with each choice she made. It would not be enough to repair the damage her father had done, she knew that, but she could help make the future right.

As the shadows of twilight began to fall, the people huddled close around the two blazing cooking fires. Keyla sat with her mother and Yine, huddled beneath her soiled furs, eager for the hunting party to return. Leathers lay on the ground before her, and several sharpened skinning knives were scattered across them. Their blades flickered orange in the firelight, and more than once Keyla caught Yine staring at them with something akin to desire.

As the swollen belly of the moon cast a dim pallor on the ground, the first of the hunting party returned. Keyla rose to her feet, as did many of the others, and she was dismayed to see their hands were empty.

“They’ve not caught anything,” someone murmured sourly.

“Is that true?” Keyla swallowed back the disappointment that threatened to choke her and nodded.

She waited as the hunters approached, their faces grim and lined with shadows.

“We tried,” one of the hunters spoke as he approached. “There were a few voles, but they were too quick to catch. Apart from them we saw nothing else.”

“What of fruit?” Keyla pressed, the knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. “Was there nothing to forage?”

The captain shook his head. “There was nothing, I fear.”

Looking into the faces of her people, Keyla was overwhelmed by their desperation. For days already they’d been starving, having none of the supply of meat she’d been given by her mother. They were weak. Frail. Ghostly things that lay there in duress, listless and all but ready to die.

“We cannot give up hope,” she said to them, forcing more warmth into her words than she felt. “We have not come all this way to escape persecution, only to die here on the other side of the mountains. We—”

“We?” Yine spat, rising next to her. “Do not pretend that you are one of us, Keyla. You set yourself apart the very moment we entered the Pass.”

“Yine?” Keyla said, brow furrowing. “What—”

“You speak beautiful words of hope, but beneath them you are as cruel and guileless as your father was. Your true intentions are plain. You would condemn us all to starvation, while you and your kin survive on private stores of dried meat.”

Murmurs swelled around them, punctuated here and there by hissed insults.

“Perhaps you thought that your people did not deserve to know what you’ve kept from them?” Yine asked, her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “Perhaps you thought to wait us out, to watch us starve and fade to dust while you were sustained by your ill-gotten supplies?” She shook her head, taking a step closer. “For too long we have suffered the moral superiority of the Gindar Family line, but it ends tonight.”

Before Keyla could stop her, Yine reached for one of the skinning knives. She thrust it deep inside Keyla’s belly, the blade slicing through skin and sinew and the organs beneath to emerge on the other side.

Keyla sucked in a breath as blood blossomed across her stomach and dripped down the small of her back. At first, she felt only the heat of it as it spread across her skin, yet when she peered down at the knife, buried inside her to the hilt, pain sliced through her middle like a thousand shards of glass. Keyla cried out as she pulled the blade free and sunk to her knees. She dropped the knife, clutching at the wound in her stomach.

“Why?” she moaned, lost in disbelief. “Why?”

Somewhere nearby, she heard the faint echo of screaming and saw the flurry of hands to her right. As her body slumped sideways, she realized that the hands belonged to Yine’s brothers and sisters, as they held Estela down on her litter. Estela screamed over and over, high, wailing sobs, and she struggled against the arms of her captors, trying to reach her daughter.

“What good will this do?” Keyla asked, unable to wrap her mind around the pain and betrayal she felt. “There is no food left to go around.”

Yine’s mouth twisted into a terrifying grin, while she picked up the knife again. “Oh, but you have no idea how wrong you are, Keyla.” She dropped down to her side, gripping Keyla by the wrist with her free hand. “This is a good thing,” Yine insisted, her eyes wild. “The Gindar Family line can finally begin to repay the debt you owe to our families. We have served you faithfully, and in return you have abused us and exploited us for generations, but no more.”

As the edges of Keyla’s vision grew murky with shadows, she watched Yine raise the blade above her head, pulling Keyla’s arm taut.

“Tonight,” Yine said with a wide, deranged grin. “It’s we who shall feast!”

Pain shattered Keyla’s arm, leaving a trail of hot, slick blood behind.

Then the world went black, and Keyla knew no more.