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The chain clanks on the stone floor—Zhorath has unhooked it from his belt, probably certain I have no chance to escape. Or maybe he enjoys leaving me pinned in the kennel, tethered by a short lead. I let out a shaky breath and lean against the cold wall, my arms trembling under the slop bucket’s weight.

Thyra edges closer, her eyes darting from the hounds to the corridor. “I heard them talking again last night,” she whispers, voice trembling. “The gargoyles have been spotted in the outlying villages, destroying entire towns. They… they kill the women first, so no one can awaken purna magic.”

My heart sinks at her words. “But I’m no witch,” I hiss, almost pleading with fate. “I’ve never cast a spell in my life.”

Thyra’s voice quavers. “Rumors say any human woman could awaken it, given time. That’s what the gargoyles believe. And the dark elves do, too. So we’re all suspects.”

I close my eyes.Purna.My mother was rumored to carry that magic in her blood before she died, leaving me nothing but speculation and fear. “They’re paranoid,” I mutter. “So we suffer.”

She nods, then lowers her voice further. “They dragged a woman from the eastern tower two nights ago. She might not even have been purely human, but they said she had purna blood. They… they killed her.”

My stomach churns with nausea. Another life cut short under suspicion. I tighten my fists around the ragged hem of my tunic, anger bubbling up.How long can I keep living like this?

“I don’t know,” Thyra admits, glancing at the hounds as they polish off the last scraps of slop. “But I fear we don’t have much time left.”

I listen to the sounds of teeth scraping metal. My eyes burn, but I force back tears. Crying in this place is dangerous; it shows weakness. Anger, at least, can keep me standing.I’ll survive,I vow.I always do.

Footsteps echo closer, and I hush Thyra. Another guard strides in—this one younger, with a half-crazed smirk. He surveys us without a word, spitting on the floor before turning sharply and leaving, as if confirming that we remain chained and helpless.

I feel the tension grinding through my shoulders. “We need to finish and get back to the courtyard,” I whisper. “Before Zhorath returns and decides to punish us.”

Thyra nods. “Help me with the trough.”

We work side by side, scrubbing the feeding trough, disposing of the last of the slop. The hounds snap at us through the bars, but they’re calmer now, stomachs full. Then we head down the corridor, pressing ourselves against the damp walls whenever guards pass by. The dark elves rarely meet our eyes unless they’re barking orders or dealing out lashings. Acknowledging us as people probably makes their cruelty all too real.

Despite the gloom, I force my chin up. I refuse to cower, even though my pulse hammers in my throat each time a guard passes with a blade on his hip or a crossbow over his shoulder. The corridor leads us back into the courtyard, where more slaves bend double, scrubbing away dried blood. My stomach knots at the iron tang of gore.How many times have I seen that stain?

Before I can grab a brush, a commotion erupts by the far gate. Two guards drag in a young woman with nearly white hair, her face bruised and bloody. She kicks and thrashes, screaming words I can’t make out. My chest tightens. Is she the next suspected purna?

Zhorath looms nearby, barking for the guards to haul her to the dungeons. The woman’s ragged sobs tear at me. Our eyes lock for a heartbeat, and in that instant, I see all her terror laid bare.

I have to bite back a flinch. I recognize that fear.It’s the same I see in my own reflection.Then she’s gone, dragged through a doorway. The fortress gate slams shut with a jarring clang.

“Slave,” Zhorath calls, his voice echoing above the hiss of rain. I realize he’s looking right at me. “Come here.”

My heart leaps into my throat. I hurry over, keeping my eyes on his boots. “Overseer?”

He dangles the chain in front of me, then fastens it to his belt. “You’re going to the kitchens for extra duties. The fortress is on high alert, and we need more provisions. Understand?”

“Yes, Overseer.”

He starts walking at once, forcing me to stumble after him as he tugs the chain. We pass kneeling slaves scrubbing fresh stains from the stone. The mingled odor of cleaning solvent and blood stings my nostrils.Who died this time?

“Pick up your feet,” Zhorath snarls. “You’re lagging.”

I ignore my aching limbs as best I can. We descend through twisting corridors lit by torchlight, the air growing hotter as we approach one of the main kitchens. The place is large and smoky, vats of soup bubbling, ovens glowing. Human slaves hurry around with sacks of flour or stir massive pots. The tension here feels as tangible as a living thing, thickening with every new rumor about the gargoyles.

When I step inside, the smell of roasting meat almost overwhelms me. My stomach clenches from both hunger and revulsion. Slaves like me get watered-down broth and stale crusts at best. The dark elves feast while we waste away.

Zhorath thrusts my chain at a guard who stands near the door, then fixes me with a cold stare. “Help them prepare supplies. If you slack off, you’ll regret it. When you’re done, handle the water barrels for the evening watch.”

“Yes, Overseer.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears.

He stalks away. The guard, a man with a pockmarked face and a bored sneer, gestures for me to move to a corner where a heap of vegetables awaits washing.Better than dog slop or scrubbing blood.I give a relieved sigh and push my tattered sleeves up. The cool water in the basin soothes my bruises as I start washing potatoes and carrots, losing myself in the repetitive motion.

My thoughts, however, refuse to quiet.Gargoyles are coming. They kill human women. They sense purna magic.A swirl of dread churns in my belly. Two other female slaves wordlessly join me at the basin, both with haunted eyes. None of us speak under the guard’s watch.

Time bleeds away while I scrub. The guard paces nearby, his eyes never leaving us. My arms ache, wrists raw from the collar’s weight, but I keep my head down.Just survive until the next moment,I tell myself.