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Sweat beads at Wes’s lips. “I… I…”

But Abertha shuffles forward into Dawsyn’s periphery. “It was a fight,” she says loudly, her voice far stronger than the boy who tried to pin her down not minutes before. Abertha looks with contempt at the people closing in around them to better watch the proceedings. People who would gawk and spectate but would never once raise their hand to protect her. To shield her. On the Ledge, every eye is turned away from their neighbour. Turned inward solely to mind one’s own welfare.

“We were fighting,” she says loudly, for all to hear. “And Sabar stopped us.”

Dawsyn’s eyes shut.No,she thinks.

“It’s done,” Abertha continues, and in the silence that follows Dawsyn opens her eyes to find the girl piercing her with a stare like the tip of a knife. It beseeches her. Begs her. “It’s done,” she says again.

Beyond Abertha, those watching seem to lose interest. They back away, falling into the darkness. Just another tussle, nothing more. They were ripe for picking on the Ledge.

Dawsyn seethes quietly, but her eyes don’t leave Abertha. They stay glued to the girl’s throat, to the graze on her jaw, to her bruised lips.

“Wes lost,” Abertha snaps at Nevrak. “Again. Shame you lost your dear girls. They were twice as strong as your bastard-born son.”

The veins in Nevrak’s furrow bulge slightly. “Gloating is unbecoming on you, Bertie. Born with a bitch’s tongue, like your mother.”

“Such is my burden,” Abertha says dryly, then she shoves past Nevrak, disappearing quickly.

Dawsyn is left with Wes in her grasp, the ax blade still biting at his throat. His breath seems steadier, as though knowing he has not been bested, as if he believes himself out of the thicket. He even grins up at her. “If you don’t mind, Sabar,” he says thinly. “Lower the ax.”

“Unhand him, Dawsyn,” Nevrak adds. “And tell yourpetto step back.”

Dawsyn looks over her shoulder at Ryon, still blocking Nevrak’s path with his raised sword. Nevrak eyes Ryon with something intended as contempt, but instead only appears scared, dwarfed.

Dawsyn grabs the blade from Wes’ hip and throws it before any can react. With precision it embeds into the toe edge of Nevrak’s boot, likely just nicking the skin inside. Nevrak curses and stumbles backward, saved from falling by the arms of his fellows.

“Bold of you to insult a Glacian,” Dawsyn says. “I wouldn’t make a habit of it.”

Ryon chuckles good naturedly and sheathes his sword.

“You almost got my foot!” Nevrak shouts.

“I’ll admit, I was a little short,” Dawsyn allows. “I was aiming for a toe.”

Nevrak rights himself, pushing away his two cronies and pulling out the blade. “Get off me,” he mumbles to them. And then to Dawsyn, “Ain’t a single person here that needs you to show us the way, Sabar. Only two directions and you’ve already pointed the way.”

“An interesting threat,” Dawsyn intones. “Why don’t you make good on it?”

Nevrak hesitates. “What?”

She nods in the direction of the Chasm’s path. “By all means, be on your way. And take your pitiful excuse of a son with you.”

Nevrak says nothing. His eyes sweep between Ryon and Dawsyn, now quelled by hesitancy, by fear.

Dawsyn huffs a breath of mirth and turns her eyes on Wes. “If this…stain… touches one more person indecently…” Here, Dawsyn pauses, raking her eyes with revulsion over Wes’s face. “If your hands find their way beneath one more skirt, Iwillcut off your cock, Wes. Do you understand?”

He swallows. “I didn’t–”

The denial is choked off by Dawsyn’s ax. Beads of blood spout along the skin. “Do you understand, Wes?”

The boy’s eyes water, but he nods this time, refraining from speaking at all.

“Good,” Dawsyn says. With that, she finally withdraws the ax. After one last warning glance, she turns her back on him.

“Morning is breaking,” she says, and indeed, a sliver of grey light has appeared high above. “If you wish to blaze the trail, Nevrak, you ought to make haste.”

“We will allow you to lead the way,” Nevrak mutters darkly. “If I have your word my son and I will not be threatened again.”