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Taly understood pain. She knew what it felt like, how to weather it. When she dreamed of the palace, it was all she could remember.

But at the first prick of white-hot agony, she realized—she knew nothing at all.

Pressure at her spine, and it was building. Burning as vines—thorns—burrowed beneath her skin and wrapped tight around her spinal cord.

It was an archaic method of torture, not illegal, but certainly looked down upon in civilized circles.

The thorns slithered from her spine, branching outward like roots—twisting along her nerves and tearing through everything in their path.

Eventually, she would either bleed out or the thorns would strangle her heart. But that would take time. As much time as the earth mage standing over her decided it should.

Her skin felt tight, stretched to its limits as the vines coiled deeper inside her.

She felt them twisting, expanding—tendrils creeping through her like living chains.

Every breath was a battle.

Shards, oh Shards, it hurt.

Her eyes scanned the crowd. A few dared to look back, their gazes holding hers for a breath before shame or fear forced them away. Most couldn’t look at her. Their heads dipped low, eyes fixed on the ground, as if acknowledging her might mark them as next.

Sanctifiers held her arms and legs as thorns slithered along sensitive nerve endings, causing them to fire. Taly thrashed wildly. She bit her lip so hard it bled. Tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t stop them.

But she didn’t scream.

Blood sliding down her back. Blood on her face. Blood pooling beneath her.

Blood, blood, and more blood as the thorns kept digging, kept slicing.

Thorns writhed beneath her skin, stabbing up through her wounds. Delicate like rose vines, green and slightly curling, they glistened with red.

But she did not scream .

She wouldn’t give them the fucking pleasure.

She’d die before she let them see her break.

Taly didn’t make a single sound.

Not as blood frothed on her lips.

Not as vines pushed through the beds of her fingernails.

Not as they lifted from the scrapes on her neck.

Even when they sliced their way across her vision, she made no sound.

Darkness edged in, but she rejected it. She wouldn’t go softly. She would stare them down until the light left her eyes.

The thorns punched through the wall of her throat, curling out of her mouth in jagged coils. Razor-sharp edges shredded her lungs. Through the haze of agony, she searched the faces in the crowd.

Searched for something to hold onto.

Only one pair of eyes met hers.

Small. Wide. Familiar.

Luck.

She sat at the edge of it all, knees drawn to her chest. For the first time, her gaze wasn’t hard, but searching.

Luck looked at her—not past her, not through her. At her.

“Make her yell,” one of the Sanctifiers crowed. They stood around her, laughing and cheering as her body convulsed.

The thorns tightened. Pain tore through her body, a raw, endless fire. But Taly held onto Luck’s stare, clung to it like a lifeline.

And she clamped her lips shut.

A rough yank snapped her head back. “I respect what you’re doing,” the earth mage drawled.

He had a knee to her back. She could hear his smile.

“But dignity won’t matter when you’re dead.

Give us a show,” he urged, like he was asking for a favor.

“One scream and I’ll kill you before you’re drawn and quartered. ”

Taly bared her teeth, blood bubbling from between them. “Eat. Shit,” she growled around the thorns filling her mouth.

The earth mage smashed her head into the pavement. Something cracked. Probably her nose.

Above her, the Sanctifiers continued to laugh and laugh and laugh.

Then they stopped laughing.

Taly realized the reason why when she saw a head roll across the pavement.

Steel clanged above her, and a body hit the ground. He tried to crawl away, but he didn’t get very far without legs. From the pavement, she watched in a daze as blood dragged after him.

There were shouts. More Sanctifiers screamed. The weight disappeared from her back.

Then a warm violet light licked at her bloodied skin, and she sighed as the scent of sandalwood and suede washed over her.

Skye.

He dropped to his knees beside her. “Shit.” His hands shook, not sure how or where or even if he should touch her. “Taly, say something. Please.”

“Wha…” Taly choked on the blood filling her mouth. “… took you so long.”

Skye laughed, the sound raw with relief. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, carefully, so very carefully smoothing the hair away from her broken, bloody face. She trembled. From pain. Fear. Too many things all at once. “You’ve done enough. I’ve got this.”

Behind him, five bodies littered the ground. One dead, three in the process of rising, and one that never would unless he figured out how to regrow legs.

Which left ten still able-bodied and ready to fight, and they closed in on him now.

Skye stood and planted himself in front of her. Shadows gathered in his palms. His expression was blank, but fury burned white-hot beneath it. It raged in every line of his body.

Only one of the Sanctifiers recognized the danger. One smart yet so very stupid Sanctifier shuffled back.

Skye’s eyes shot to him, drawn by the movement. He would die first.