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Ryon bares his teeth, the swords in his hands shake. But he does not advance. He stays his ground. “Stop,” he growls to Tasheem and Rivdan, who have crept forward, closing strategic gaps like the practised fighters they are. “Not here,” he repeats, glaring at Ruby.

It is difficult to tell whether the Glacian wishes to trust her or slice her to pieces.

“Do not let this girl deceive you any longer!” Alvira continues. “We have food, wagons and carts for your sick and injured, horses for those too tired to walk.”

Ruby can see the horde rouse at the mention of food. They look in desperate need of it.

“We will reach Terrsaw in mere days,” Alvira promises. “With enough lanterns to light the path, and sustenance to strengthen you. You will be seen to safety on the other side.”

“What of the ocean?” a Ledge man calls – bearded and bedraggled. “Does this stream lead to an ocean that will trap us?”

“You needn’t fear it,” Alvira answers, her tone placating, gentle. “The Chasm empties of its tide long enough for us to reach Terrsaw soil. And there you will claim your dues. You will have freedom in all its forms – fertile land, forests, rivers, community. There is plenty for the taking, and you have suffered long enough. Please,” Queen Alvira implores sweetly, almost sickeningly. “Allow us to provide you with the comfort you have so long been without. Let us lead you home.”

There is a pause. But it is short.

The bearded man moves first. With one last withering look to Dawsyn, he takes a fortifying breath and squares his shoulders. “The blood is on your hands,” he says simply. Clearly. Then he deliberately walks past Ruby, and into the frontline of guards before the Queen, passing between the gaps of their shoulders. They let him through.

The rest take no more time to deliberate. They funnel between Dawsyn and the Glacians like sand through an hourglass, some spitting on her as they pass.

“Stop,” Dawsyn says weakly, stringy hair half covering her face.“Stop,”she says, and her voice quavers. It comes undone.

Ruby looks down at her, at the arrow protruding from her shoulder, the blood blossoming along her chest. She looks at the pathways made by her tears cutting through the grit on her face. She looks at the way Dawsyn’s eyes plead, a crippling mix of fury and defeat.

I am sorry,Ruby thinks.

“I will kill you,” Dawsyn splutters at her. Each heaving breath seems to cause injury.

“Stay down,” Ruby says to her. “It is done.”

“Archers!” Alvira calls again.

And more arrows come. This time, they cut through the wings of the Glacians.

All three howl in agony, the leathery membrane of their wings torn. They stagger, holding their weapons upright once more.

“Stay down!” Ruby calls once more. Pulling on the reigns.

“Arrest them!” Alvira shouts.

“No,” Ruby calls. “Halt!”

The guards dither on either side of Ruby, hesitating.

“They will die here,” Ruby calls. “In the Chasm, where they cannot attack our number or fill our wagons,” Ruby’s heart sprints. She prays silently to the Mother. “We agreed they would not take from the provisions we have brought. There are many who are weak, Your Majesty. We should not burden ourselves further by carrying the enemy.”

“They will be brought to Terrsaw,” Queen Alvira commands. “They will answer for their crimes.”

“It is not what we agreed,” Ruby says. “They are injured. They should be left–”

“These guards will not answer to the likes of you, child,” Alvira says plainly. “Take them all.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

“Take them!” the Queen repeats, her voice reverberating up the Chasm walls until it fills the sky.

Oblivion is preferable,Dawsyn thinks. Her innards feel splintered, fragmented into a million parts. The glow in her mind sputters pathetically, the iskra in her belly is heavy and listless. It does not rouse even to the thought of demise, of utter obliteration.

The magic is as willing as she to have death’s hand take her instead.