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He walks to the pool, his white wings flaring. The King surveys their small group and his eyes find Justin. “Old man, you’ll choose first.”

“I– I’ll grant you my servitude,” Justin stammers, spit bubbling in the corner of his mouth. His eyes, narrowed to slivers from years of peering into the wind, dart between Gerrot, Page, and the other human slaves.

The King laughs once. “No vacancies just now, I am afraid,” he says, and gestures to the pool.

Justin’s weathered hands tremble, but his gait is purposeful as he walks. The pool’s contents dip and curve to welcome him, appearing nothing more than a soft place to curl into. Closing his eyes, Justin takes a deep, shuddering breath and falls in.

As before, light blasts from the pool, and envelops the room. Then it settles, its glow more prominent. Justin is fished from it by the Glacians. He does not drip with the pool’s strange substance, nor does he appear to have absorbed any of it into his hair or clothes. His face now matches the soulless gaze of the twenty others and he is nudged to sit among them.

“You next,” the King calls to Deidre.

She will follow the path of Justin. The girl is too terrified to do much else. Quaking, she approaches the pool, whimpers escaping her. She hesitates at its edge, watching the swirling substance curl up to form a cradle for her. Mesmerized, she stares into its silky depths and tilts her head, as though listening – to what, Dawsyn cannot tell.

“Hurry up, girl,” growls Jorst and shoves Deidre in.

Her screams reverberate against the walls as she falls. Then she, too, is gone. The shock of light stabs at Dawsyn’s eyes before she can close them and then it vanishes. What remains of Deidre is collected and she walks like a wraith to join the others, her body now stilled of its trembling.

A hand grasps Dawsyn’s. Mavah’s fingers clench hers, her expression resigned.

“Old woman, step forth,” the King calls.

Mavah’s eyes swing over Dawsyn’s shoulder, locking with her husband’s – with Gerrot’s. There is an apology in her stare. “No,” she says, resolute. “Not me. I think I’ve had me share of this forsaken place.”

The King’s grin vanishes. Dawsyn doubts he is accustomed to human defiance. “Step into the pool… or be thrown.”

A glint of light shines from Mavah’s hand, a shard of glass. “I’ll be makin’ it as burdensome as possible then,” she says, mouth tight, back straight. Too quick to be stopped, she thrusts the glass deep into her neck and wrenches it out again.

The artery gouged, it spews like a geyser. Blood spatters the stone. A drowned gurgle sounds from her lips and Mavah collapses.

Gerrot howls like a man possessed, like an animal wounded. Dawsyn herself gasps unevenly, her chest tight. Too late, she sinks to the bloody floor and slaps a hand to Mavah’s neck, but it’s like holding back water in a dam and she watches the torrents slip easily through her fingers.

The King rolls his eyes. “Throw her in.”

Jorst and Ryon drag Mavah to the edge and watch her topple in, her gushing blood quickly swallowed by the pool.

Dawsyn watches on as Mavah’s body is pulled roughly from that hole in the floor and a surge of heat radiates through her lungs. It quickens her breaths. She feels the blood in her face roil, her stomach tighten, her fists curl. Seething rage consumes her as she looks upon thosefuckingwhite beasts – the captors of the Ledge, the keepers of the Chasm.

Finally, the King looks to her. “Now, you,” he says and nothing more, as though he expects she’ll follow the rest, as though he thinks her a mere human girl, no different from the hundred others who fell into that damned pool. Like she didn’t have a father and mother and grandmother and sister and a den of girls and a name to live up to.

Dawsyn stares back at the King, her glare burning, and finds that she cannot allow this to be the sum of her existence. “No.”

The King sighs dramatically and looks to the room. “We must try to select more agreeable humans in the future, I say. I’m growing bored, girl. Jump.”

“No,” Dawsyn says again, her voice clearer.

The King nods to Jorst and Ryon, who step toward her.

Her voice hitches. “I wish to run.”

The Glacians cease. The rumble quiets. The King himself does not hide his surprise. There is a moment of pure silence.

And then, “Well, well.” A smirk grander than the ones before climbs high on the King’s white cheeks. “A human brave enough to face the slopes?”

The Glacians turn restless, the excitement among them tangible. Dawsyn sees how their hair bristles, their wings tense, some baring their teeth at her.

“So be it. It has been a long time since one of you has gifted us any entertainment at all.”

The crowd guffaws. It only fuels the burning of Dawsyn’s core.