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Orlagh kneels on the unforgiving cobbles, surrounded by her beautiful loaves and rolls. The time-worn market stall lies on its side behind her, damaged beyond repair. I catch sight of her face twisted with pain. But no tears stain it.

For a moment, I stare, uncomprehending. I see the expressions of the young men surrounding her. They are animated with wicked glee as they watch her scramble, as they grab buns and whip them at her. I recognize one of the brutes, although I can’t place him.

Goaded by his friends, he whoops and lunges forward, stomping on a loaf and crushing the poor woman’s fingers beneath his boot. She yelps in pain, eliciting a fresh wave of wicked cackles from the onlookers.

As if in slow motion, I see the same idiot pick up a wooden cutting board and raise it above his head. It takes a moment for comprehension to click into place, and white-hot rage fills me.

“Stop,” I scream, throwing myself between my friend and her attacker. As I face him with fire in my eyes, he lets the board fall.

Somewhere within me, there must be a lioness. I feel her tearing through my core, giving fierce power to my words.

“You pathetic cowards. What gives you the right to attack an elderly woman in the street?”

The sick smile on the young man’s face falters as I stare him down. He’s tall and weaselly, and I have encountered him before. This time, he is not inebriated.

“What’s the matter, Flip?” One of his friends snickers behind him. “Are you scared of a little girl?”

My cheeks grow warm, but I will not be intimidated. Balling my shaking fists at my sides, I do not break eye contact with Flip.

Flip glances at his companions, and when he turns back to me, all his mirth has melted away. “Get out of my way, little dog.”

“Not until you promise you’ll leave this poor woman alone.” My teeth grind against each other as I try to contain my fury.

Flip’s eyes narrow, and he takes a menacing step forward. I do not shrink back.

“Do you know who she is?” Flip jabs one finger toward Orlagh.

The kindest woman in the Vale, I think.

He sniffs derisively. “She’s one of the fidrélas. She’s a myth-worshipper, a filthy smear on the backside of Utsanek.”

Cackles ripple outward at his words—from more than just his simpering troop. A satisfied smirk slants his lips.

Unease grows within me, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

“I’m surprised anything could be filthier than that mouth of yours,” I say, keeping my lips tight so they do not tremble.

The laughter dies, and his friends exchange affronted looks. One of them gives Flip a nudge from behind, and he moves in closer still.

“You’d better watch it. You kind of sound like that old hag. Maybe you’re one of them too.” Eyes the hue of rotting squash stare down at me, daring me to retaliate.

I hold my lantern below my chin. I’m sure it is much too bright in the square to notice the anomaly surrounding me, but I can’t help feeling self-conscious.

“Amyrah ...” Orlagh’s soft voice breaks the tension of the moment. I gasp like I have forgotten how to breathe and crouch beside her. “Amyrah, yeh don’t need to be here. I can manage by mysel’.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I pull her off her knees and lean her into my side. She trembles all over, clutching her bruised hand in the other. My heart breaks.? “Whatever you think of her, there is no reason for this despicable treatment.” I turn my eyes on the brood again, hoping my words will make some impact.

Instead, Flip looks about to burst out in laughter. He crosses his arm and raises his chin. Under the glaring light of the bones, his face appears skeletal. “Myrzeth would disagree with you,” he says with a shrug.

Myrzeth? There is something familiar about the name, but I can’t place it.

I focus instead on helping Orlagh up. She’s trying to act like there has been no harm done, but the way she grimaces and gasps when she tries to stand tells a different story. Once she’s found her feet, she clings to me the way I clung to her as a small child.

“What are you talking about?” The continual burn of my indignation is starting to take its toll. But I need to be strong for Orlagh, so I force myself to stand a little straighter.

“Haven’t you heard? Myrzeth is making some changes around here.” He struts around us, and I wonder if he’s ever had so much attention in his whole life. “He’s given permission to make trouble for everyone who resists the Shrouded.”

“Is that so?” I ask, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. I should be more careful, but he is a ridiculous peacock.