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The cold broke through her skin. Quickly, as if driven by its own will, it seized her mind and pushed her to the edge of an abyss filled with uncertainty and fear.

Shadi closed her eyes.

She was overwhelmed by sensations she did not understand. She felt as if she had been caught in a winter storm, the rain turned into crystal shards and daggers in the hands of merciless warriors. They raged at her head, at her shoulders, then tore at her chest again and again.

She cupped her left hand around her nose and held her breath. With her right hand, she grabbed the arm of the person preventing her from slipping. The current roared in her ears for a heartbeat. The next moment she found herself under the surface.

Don't open your eyes.

Darjin's words echoed in her mind, clear and strong, almost stronger than the river she was immersed in.

When you go under, don't open your eyes. Concentrate on your breath. If you don't control it, you will die.

Shadi had not paid that much attention to her, even though the Dagger had repeated that phrase ad nauseam.

Do not open your eyes. The water is almost frozen and will blind you, my lady.

Darjin could make advice sound like threats and dark omens. But there was no one in the world Shadi trusted more.

Don't open your eyes.

Her heart began to gallop, faster and faster—a pounding that forced itself into her ears, drowning out Darjin’s voice and the roar of the river. How long could she hold out? How long before fear overtook her, forcing her to climb Darjin’s arm in search of salvation?

Despite the cold, she felt flames in her chest. It seemed almost ironic. That morning, she had looked out onto the wide balcony of the bedroom, open to the hills that surrounded the view beyond the city walls, and had been struck speechless. The white cloak reflected the cool light, illuminating every shadow like an ancient spell. Houses, trees, streets, and living and inanimate objects seemed to have been transformed into a myriad of crystalline sculptures.

Do not open your eyes.

Shadi closed them even tighter. She had little time left. Too little. The cold had seized everything inside and outside her. In her ears it screamed for her to surrender. In her heart it whispered to give in to exhaustion.

She had never felt so weak and inexperienced as in these moments. The future loomed, ready to devour her in one bite, mocking her inadequacies.

Maybe she would have cried. But the water made her cheeks hard as porcelain. Shaken by a wave of anger at a body she wished was stronger, more resilient, and guided by an unwavering will, Shadi tugged at the arm that held her alive, preventing the current from gaining the upper hand.

Darjin pulled her out of the river with a single tug, and she felt as light as a feather.

The icy air was no more benevolent than the water. Shadi inhaled deeply, coughed as if everything inside her wanted to spill out, and collapsed to her knees, her hands wrapped around her chest. The rock scraped her feet and knees.

Shaken by tremors, she barely noticed the heavy fur Darjin threw over her. But she clearly felt the warm breath on her cheeks and the grip of the Dagger's hands on her shoulders.

"This is madness, my lady. I swear by all the gods that this is the last time I take you on this race against death. I will not have the weight of your blood on my conscience. That is not why I am here."

Shadi would have laughed at her stern tone. But her body seemed to resist any movement, even the smallest.

"Your wet rags will prevent the fur from doing its job," Darjin said quietly as she unfastened the high collar of her tunic.

Shadi saw the look in her eyes, the mixture of concern and shame that filled them. She nodded in agreement and let Darjin work. Quickly, the Dagger dressed her in thick breeches and a woolen shirt.

"Thank you," Shadi whispered as she took Darjin's hand again, this time to mount the horse. It seemed harder than climbing a mountain high into the clouds.

"You will thank me when we are away from this madness, my lady," Darjin replied.

It was the first time in many years that Shadi had allowed anyone to lead a horse for her. She had neither the heart nor the strength to object.

Darjin urged the thoroughbred into a gallop, making it lift snow and stones like a black hurricane, glowing with anger and worry.

And Shadi felt herself carried by a power she had never known. It seemed so foolish to fight it. Was it fear she heard in the Dagger's voice as she urged the stallion to run, again and again?

"Do not sleep, my lady!"

Shadi knew she should have listened. She understood that this power, so seductive and melodious, was leading her into eternal sleep.

It was the cold of winter.

It had taken everything she cherished deep inside.

She closed her eyes without noticing. The wind caressed her forehead, whispering of what she’d never be—and the peace it promised.

She tried to swallow the pain and opened her eyes. It was difficult to stretch her arms behind her head on the pillow, as she did every morning upon waking.

The stiffness that permeated her body made her feel as heavy as a boulder, so much so that even blinking her eyelids and rubbing them with her knuckles seemed all too exhausting.

Why did she feel so bad? The answer came from her memories, along with the overwhelming sensations that accompanied them. The icy water, the fear that she was about to drown, the violent shaking when Darjin had pulled her out, and finally the soporific singing of the fever.

That was it. Fever.

She blinked and recognized the bedroom, almost entirely in darkness except for the uncertain blade of light that crept in through the balcony window, the same one from which she had admired the landscape transformed into a white jewel overnight.

What was the time? How long had she been asleep?

She touched her warm brow. The only image among the memories that was free of that utter coldness was that of Darjin's gaze. She remembered how the Dagger had warmed her, how she had protected her from the cold in such a motherly way.

"This is madness, my lady," she had said.

Shadi laughed softly, amused and saddened at the same time. Maybe she had really frightened her. For the first time, the Dagger seemed less than stone-like in her stubbornness.

There were those who said that these warrior people had no human feelings and emotions. Shadi had never given weight to those rumors; she knew Darjin and knew the depth of her soul.

"Poor fools, all of us!"

Shadi shuddered between the sheets and almost cried out in fear. She turned sharply to meet her mother's gaze, sunk between the cushions of the armchair at the side of the bed. The woman stroked her head slowly. "We were all worried about your strange fever, the delirium it caused," she sighed. "Instead you laugh."

The cold gaze, weighed down by stone gray eyes, did not convey the same concern as the voice. It had always been difficult for Shadi to guess the thoughts of this woman, so reserved in her manner and measured in her gestures. She sent mixed signals to everyone, so much so that she could upset anyone without saying a word.

Shadi bitterly told herself that perhaps her mother would have preferred to see her remain in a delirium. Had she failed her again?

She bit her lip to keep these thoughts from coming out. After all, sarcasm had not brought her much satisfaction lately. She fell back on a dignified silence.

"In any case, I'm glad you're feeling better," her mother continued. She stood, accompanied by the rustle of silk swelling her skirt, illuminated by the soft reflection of the fireplace light brushing against her corset, and approached the bed. She reached out a hand and stroked Shadi's forehead.

They were always so cold, her mother's hands.

Tiona Jan Hura, wife of a Lugalen, mother of two, patron of the arts and respected figure in Kenjir, still drew the eyes of men and women, young and old. Her figure seemed to resist the false flattery of time, and her voice underscored each of her appearances with elegance and authority.

But those who watched her did not know, could not know, of her icy skin.

"The fever is less burning, but it has not left you yet, my daughter. You need more rest. I will see to it that no one disturbs you while you gather your strength," she said in a voice reduced to a whisper. If those hands had conveyed even a grain of the attention that her words showed, Shadi might have been deceived. Perhaps she might have felt truly loved by the sight of such calm grace.

"From now on, you will only be surrounded by people who deeply care about your well-being, my dear." She hinted at a flat smile that only curled the corners of her mouth and did not even accidentally touch her eyes.

For a moment, it was as if her mother's hand had stopped caressing her forehead and instead plunged into her chest, as if trying to squeeze her heart in a vise. "Where is Darjin?" Shadi asked in a low voice, moving her forehead uncomfortably under her mother's touch.

"Oh, little Shadi, you don't have to worry about the Dagger. Not any more. Soon that savage will be nothing but a bad memory."

Shadi opened her eyes wide. "What does that mean? What happened to her?"

"Her behavior was unacceptable, and in a few hours she will get what she deserves. However, we will keep her in our prayers and ask the gods to show her favor. Perhaps a return to her desolate lands will teach her to be more grateful for the generosity of the Lugalens."

"What do you mean, Mother, what has she done? Why do you want to send her away?" stammered Shadi.

"It was more what she did not do. The Dagger has shown that she is incapable of giving you proper attention. After all, she does not know how to protect you properly."

"But she didn't do anything."

"Exactly. My dear, you would not be bedridden if that ungrateful little beast had kept her eye on you as she was expected to do. This," she said, raising her hand to Shadi's forehead and pointing to the bed on which she lay, "is a demonstration of her inability to fulfill her duties, let alone the oath that binds her to our country and especially to our family."

Shadi knew that her mother was very capable of ignoring all her complaints and that she had to act quickly. Continuing to argue would do nothing to clarify Darjin's position. But she also knew that someone else might listen.

"I'm tired, Mother, please let me sleep a little more."

The answer seemed to deal a mighty blow to the thick web of chatter and self-control her mother was using as a shield. It lasted only a moment. Without another word, Tiona smiled at her, kissed her cheek, straightened her blankets, and stepped back from the bed like an art connoisseur looking at a painting from a distance.

What were those eyes judging? The true value of an artifact of dubious provenance or poor resale value? It certainly seemed that way from Tiona's sigh and her walk to the entrance of the room. She paused near the door and looked back at Shadi.

"I will tell the guards to watch over your sleep."

The armory was deserted at this hour, as the sun slid towards the horizon, setting the peaks surrounding Jabal Amira ablaze.

Darjin had been to this place many times, often when it was unoccupied, as it was now. She was grateful that she did not have to talk to the soldier who guarded the weapons or feign interest in any of the other fighters who had sworn allegiance to this city and family. She knew there was a curiosity in their eyes that often bordered on mockery, and she barely tolerated it.

She had never been good with people.

Shadi often scolded her for her unfriendly demeanor and taciturn attitude. She would reply that what appeared to be flaws had actually saved lives, and that perhaps one day they would prove more useful than annoying. After all, as she often repeated, 'a blade only brings pain to those who find it in their chest.'

Now, however, she wondered if she should have done things differently.

The Lugalen's wife had asked her questions. But it was just a trick. In her heart, she had already decided that the person responsible for Shadi's condition was Darjin herself; to her, she was little more than an expensive pet. An animal trained to sniff out danger and turn enemies into victims.

And what use is a bloodhound when it has lost its sense of smell? Or if it has become deaf to threats, however implied?

Darjin knew how false those remarks were, and she neither feared them for her own sake, nor worried about how the members of her people would react to her return to her homeland. She was ready to prove herself to everyone and clarify the circumstances that had led to her being removed from the Jan Hura family. No, she was really just worried about Shadi. The girl had gone down a dark path of unspoken questions and was looking for answers in all the wrong places.

But that was not for Darjin to judge.

She simply had to fulfil her oath.

And she had failed. She drew the two short, curved blades from their leather sheaths behind her back and studied them. The slanting light of the setting sun bathed them in amber and orange, making them seem to vibrate with life. The Lugalen themselves had given Darjin these weapons on the day she entered their service. She laid the blades on the dark marble slab and discarded the scabbards.

Iron to iron.

Blood to blood.

Memories to memories.

Furs and sheets slipped to Shadi's feet as she stood. She had the impression that even the thin nightgown she wore weighed like a stone.

She walked on the thick carpets that covered the floor, grateful for the way they cushioned her steps. If only they could have soothed the dry, burning pain that ran through her muscles. But they were only fur rugs. These pains were of her own making.

Biting her lip as she approached the wardrobe, she dug through the layers of silk, wool, and velvet piled at the bottom until she found the hidden leather pouch.

She pulled out a heavy wool blouse and pulled on her breeches and leather boots. Tying her laces and buckling her belt was as difficult as climbing a mountain. Fever had made her fingers softer than molasses. She tried to grab a handful of coins from a small jewelry box and took forever. She gritted her teeth, wiped her forehead, and blew her nose to stay focused.

Time was running out. She would never forgive herself if her father had kicked Darjin out. Unfortunately, relations between Shadi and Lugalen Jan Hura had not been idyllic in recent weeks. There was only one person in her family who would listen to her without batting an eyelid and to whom she could tell everything.

She just had to get to him. In another situation, all she would have had to do was cross a few hallways, knock according to the secret sequence they had worked out together, and sneak into his room.

But Tiona had locked her in. She did not trust Shadi's words and remembered all too well, without hiding a certain disappointment, all the times her daughter had sneaked out of her chambers, unseen, to engage in activities not befitting her lineage. The guard outside the door was proof of that.

She wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, pulled the hood down over her forehead, and approached the large window. She could feel the chill of the snow, see how the little flakes glowed in the light coming from the room. They were beautiful. They would not spare her a drop of cold and pain.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out onto the balcony, closing the glass window behind her and trying to concentrate. She had done it dozens of times. Never before had it been so important. She reached the edge of the railing on the left, where the stone fitted into the wall. She placed her hands on it, protected by leather that would become soaked too soon, and pulled herself up. First her right knee, then her left foot, to a ledge less than an arm's length away. Jaws clenched in pain and teeth chattering in the cold, Shadi pressed herself against the stone wall and took small steps along the ledge.

She shivered and felt the fever almost as if it were a living presence breathing down her neck and pouring liquid fire into her chest.

What a stupid idea. She had to stop to catch her breath and not give in to the shaking and dizziness. For the first time she was afraid of falling.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air prick her nostrils and pinch her lungs as she tried to stay focused. Then she opened them again as she decided to keep moving, struggling to control her breathing. At the end of the ledge, she felt with her hands the contours of the buttress, dotted upward with protrusions and holes that would allow her to climb it. Shadi lifted her face to the sky. A blanket of clouds as dark as wolf fur blackened it. Snow fell over her eyes, mingled with the tears the wind brought to her cheeks. She swallowed, inhaled sharply, and slipped her right hand into the first hole. Then she began the climb, feeling weak and weighed down by the burden of what had been, by the fear of what might happen.

The past had become gray, the future seemed black to her.

But she didn't want that to be true for Darjin.

So she pushed herself higher and higher.

The terrace was covered with a layer of snow as fine as sugar. Shadi paused a step away from the edge, her eyes fixed on the now nighttime landscape.

Jabal Amira was her home, the town where she had grown up and where she wanted to grow old. If she had been allowed a few more degrees of freedom, of course. Amidst the spires, towers, and thick walls of this stone fortress, she could feel the certainty that time would always flow the same way. Sometimes this rigid sequence suffocated her, other times she felt safe.

Memories resurfaced. She searched her eyes for the edge of the wall and the stone gateway. Many years ago, one of the thousands of caravans of foreigners had passed through this gate to enter the city.

Shadi had detected the shapes of the caravan and run to get the binoculars she had smuggled out of her father's study. Curiosity had almost burned her alive, and amazement filled her, mixed with feelings she could not describe at the time. With watchful eyes she had studied the banners of the strangers, their colors, their mounts and the way they rode them. And she had dreamed of the places they came from, the journeys they had taken, and the countless dangers they had faced.

The traveling party she had glimpsed then had proven to be unlike any other. Their entry into the city would change Shadi's life forever. For that was how she had met Darjin, who had become a constant presence in her days. A silent, elusive, mysterious certainty, drawn like a shadow on a beautiful painting.

Now that shadow was in danger of fading, erased by her mother's demands.

And by Shadi's stupidity. She sighed again, turned her back on the dark landscape, and inched to the edge of the terrace. The cold was becoming impossible to bear, and she knew she couldn't resist the fever-induced shivering for much longer. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to make one last push. She struggled to find a foothold on the edge of a wall slightly higher than she was, slipping the toes of her boots along the slimy stones until she found suitable ledges and climbed up to a sloping surface.

Panting, she surveyed the expanse of one of the fortress's roofs; a carpet of snow made it look more like the back of a giant sleeping animal than an endless succession of gray tiles. At the end of that mantle, she could make out the soft glow of two tall windows in a tower on the seventh of the citadel's eight sides.

He was there.

The light seemed to speak of hope and warmth.

Everything Shadi needed.

She left a snake of sunken tracks on the white roof. But she knew that at the rate the snow was falling, they would disappear very soon. Then she told herself that covering those tracks would be the least of her problems if she could not convince him. After all, it was a matter of openly going against his mother's opinion. Her father did not seem inclined to do so either. Or perhaps he was just better at hiding this small weakness than most.

The window was too high and there was no suitable foothold on the wall for another climb. It also gave off enough light to illuminate a fairly large portion of the roof. To avoid being exposed to it, Shadi had to walk the distance to the window, skimming the edge of the roof and risking losing her balance more than once. She could not allow anyone to see her before the time was right.

It was the moment of truth. She pulled out a coin, pointed it at the window and threw it.

Once. Twice. Maybe he was not there. Had he forgotten to turn on the lamps, or had he left them on purpose to fool the onlookers and sneak between the sheets of one of the many servants who willingly warmed his nights? The right wing opened on the third attempt, just as Shadi was beginning to despair.

Surrounded by the light coming from the room, clothed in a white linen shirt that revealed the shape of his torso and broad shoulders, her brother appeared to her like a vision.

Roben frowned, suspicious. He brushed a tuft of black hair from his face, and his eyes lit up with surprise and amusement as he recognized her.

"Gods, I didn't see that coming!" he chuckled.

"Were you hoping I was someone else?"

"Actually, yes."

"Help me up, Roben, or I'll tell Mother and Father about Lugalen Quentin's granddaughter. The one with the blonde hair."

"Ah, her! I like that one so much!"

"Too bad you brought her to tears after only two days of courtship," she interrupted him, fighting to hold back a laugh. Coughing fits shook her.

A veil of worry settled over Roben's eyes. For Shadi, it was like a slap in the face. It suddenly made her even more aware of the risks she had exposed herself to with the night hike. "Come up, you sneaky little fox."

Roben's tone of voice, his mischievous smile, and the way he leaned out of the window almost made her forget the cold and fever.

Suddenly, she blinked, and as her eyes filled with her brother's radiant face, she felt faint. Her vision fogged and the world began to spin, turning dark, black as ink freshly applied to white paper.

A distant white horizon, silhouetted against clouds of liquid iron, filled her eyes. There, the distinction between heaven and earth seemed as sharp as a line drawn with the sure hand of an angry architect.

Shadi marveled at the vividness of what she felt: the cold wind in her hair, worn loose and always hanging over her eyes. The tingle of dry leaves beneath her bare feet, the rustle of the night robe she wore.

It was a dream, and she was fully aware that it was the result of fever. She wondered if it was really possible to experience such moments, torn between certainty and doubt.

The landscape around her was still, as if caught in the frame of a fresco. She watched the long path that stretched before her, flanked by two rows of towering trees, almost completely stripped of their foliage, which now spread out like a rough carpet as far as the eye could see.

Only her increasingly restless breathing broke the silence of the black and gray world.

Shadi wondered what would happen if she were to speak. Immediately after the unspoken question came the lump in her throat. And the voice that caused it.

Choose.

With a gasp she turned around. She found the same identical path, but in the opposite direction of the iron horizon.

Choose.

She turned again, her hair standing up on the back of her neck, sure that whoever had spoken was only inches from her.

Three little girls, identical triplets, stood in front of her on the path, their hands clasped to their stomachs. They could not have been more than seven or eight years old, and they wore purple robes that were too big for them, so much so that the fabric piled up at their feet like the waves of a foaming tide. Their eyes were downcast and narrowed, as if they were afraid to open them.

Shadi felt her breath getting shorter, her anxiety turning to pain mixed with fear. Why should she be scared of little girls? And why did they look afraid? Maybe she should have just asked out loud. But she didn't get the chance. The triplets clapped their hands in unison, like little dance masters dictating the rhythm.

Choose.

The words came from them, Shadi was sure of it now, even though the girls' mouths had not moved.

And the chant was repeated.

Choose. Choose. Choose.

Hands clapped, eyelids tightened, faces lowered, and Shadi's heart pounded in her ears. A shiver ran down her spine.

Wake up, Shadi, wake up.

When Roben placed a hand on her forehead, Shadi bit her lower lip and shook her head. "You're burning up. I could fry eggs on your forehead."

Shadi swallowed hard. Painful awakenings and fever bites were becoming an unpleasant habit. "How did you pull me up?"

He smiled at her. "You don't want to know, believe me."

"You're right."

Roben shrugged. He forced a short-lived expression that was as innocent as it was false. "Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

She knew that this question expressed a thousand others, all together and all equally filled with apprehension.

"I just have a little fever."

"Shadi."

"Fine, fine, you're right." She hated to see him like that. She felt sick at the mere thought of being the cause of the shadow that covered his gaze, dimming its brightness.

"I need your help."

"All you have to do is ask," he told her. He offered her a hand, helping her to sit up and surrounding her with pillows puffed up like clouds.

As she looked at her brother's bedroom, poor in furniture and rich only in what would make the bed more comfortable, Shadi told him about the river, the cold, and the horse ride with Darjin. And of the conversation with her mother, which now seemed as distant to her as if it had happened a hundred years before, yet more suffocating than when she had participated in it.

"I think I heard about it a few hours ago, on the way back from the hunting trip," Roben told her. He looked away and crossed his legs on the bed next to her. "Mother has made a final decision, it seems."

"She wants to punish me."

"She's worried about you."

"She wants to punish me."

Roben sighed. "And she wants to punish you, yes. But you have made it easier for her than usual, little sister. You put Darjin in an impossible situation, forced her to obey your demands. She did so and endangered you while carrying out your orders."

The silence that followed this sentence soon became solid, heavy and charged with Shadi's reluctance. As much as she hated to broach the subject, she knew that telling her brother the truth was the only way to help Darjin. But she lacked the courage.

"Shadi, the real problem here is not what happened at the river or even the fever. Do you know that?"

Of course she did. But that did not make the subject any easier to handle.

"You must tell me why," he urged her. "You must tell me the truth. Why did you risk your life, little sister, why?"

Shadi knew the expression without needing to see it. She felt guilty. And so she answered. In a way, it was like paying off an old debt. She put the burden on her voice and let it fall from her shoulders.

"I feel lost."

Just three words.

Roben just waited for her to explain.

Shadi took a deep breath and went on. "It seems that everything has changed overnight. Since we received the invitation to the Trials." She hesitated. "Father thinks of nothing else. Preparations upon preparations for the journey, and it has become unbearable." She shook her head bitterly.

"Mother goes on and on about how important it is. That such an opportunity will not come again and that the future of our family depends on how I behave."

"She might be able to put pressure on the Masters themselves," Roben sighed.

"And make them feel inadequate."

"True, she could. Just as you are capable of using reality as a tool or a weapon. You have always been stubborn, independent. You have defied her in a thousand ways that have inflamed her pride. The Trials are the perfect opportunity to bring you down."

Shadi groaned. She felt exhausted, overwhelmed by the thought of what was in store for her. "What makes me angry is that in the end she is right. The Trials are indeed a rare event. In two months, it will be exactly thirty-three years since the last one."

"And thirty-three more will pass before it is repeated. All the Lugalens scattered throughout Kenjir will be busy putting their families on display."

"Their daughters, Roben. They will put their daughters on display. Father and Mother want to use me to pay off their debts and raise their social status."

Roben looked away, pensive.

"Do you remember the three puppies?" he asked her.

An unforgettable memory. It was she who found them, many years ago.

Returning from one of the few trips her family had made to pay homage to her mother's homelands in the south, the convoy had been forced to take a long break because of a landslide that had interrupted the route. They had set up camp for the night while soldiers and servants took turns opening a gap between the two walls of the small gorge that had collapsed before their eyes.

Shadi could not sleep. The desert winds, wedged between the smooth surfaces of the bronze-colored rocks, sounded to her like moans and roars. It seemed as if the night itself had turned into a monster that, wounded to death, kept weeping and weeping and weeping.

One of these laments was different. More palpable and painful than all the others.

So Shadi had slipped out of bed and run to wake Roben. When she had heard him moaning and protesting, she had shrugged: "If you don't come with me, I will tell mother the truth about all the liquor that has disappeared from our reserves. The secret haunts her. Can you imagine, Roben, how the Lady of Jabal Amira will react when she learns that her son has more alcohol than blood in his veins?" And he had widened his eyes, then laughed.

But Shadi's threats had worked. He had followed her into the darkness of the night and managed to evade the path of the soldiers guarding the camp. They had listened to the moans, and she had clung to her brother again and again, fighting back the fear that threatened to make her as stiff as ice. How many times had Roben asked her to stop, to turn back? And how many times had she shaken her head, unable to explain why it was so important to find the source of those muffled groans.

It was a cry for help. A cry that made sense only to her.

This inexplicable certainty did not spare her astonishment when they finally found the source of those mournful sounds.

It was a fox. Clutched between her paws, she had three cubs crying and pressing their little snouts against her belly, searching for her nipples, trying to suck a milk that would never come again. The fox's eyes were lost in the icy glass of death.

Shadi had watched them, her eyes shining with tears, her throat poisoned with grief. "We can't leave them there," she had whispered, "they'll die."

Roben had not objected when Shadi had placed the three tiny beings between the folds of her cloak.

But Tiona, cold and pragmatic as always, had reacted differently.

She had frozen them with her eyes, spewing words that split the air like stalactites shot from an arc of ice. She had spoken of the dangers of the night, of the wind that created shadows, and how those creatures walked among the sleepers, feeding on their nightmares, only to create new and more terrifying ones.

"The nights of the Crimson Desert are unforgiving. Even the bravest warriors fear them. What made you think you could walk through these canyons without the protection of the light?" she had asked, barely holding back her anger.

Shadi wondered if even Roben and her father, mute in the face of this absurdly composed tirade, understood what "you" really meant. The reproach was for her, only for her, the insolent fool.

Shadi had not given up. In silence, she had peeled back the folds of her cloak and revealed the three little ones. It had been one of those rare occasions when even Tiona Jan Hura, wife of a Lugalen, respected Lady of the lands that stood proud against the northern winds, had betrayed a true, deep emotion, free of calculation and precise purpose. She had widened her eyes as she approached the cubs and listened to Roben tell her where and how they had found them. "Without the mother, they will die within three nights. You must dispose of them immediately," Tiona had condemned without taking her eyes off her daughter.

Shadi had clutched the puppies to her chest in a soft but firm voice. "It could be a bad omen. The shadows would take them and turn their cries into nightmares of flesh and blood. You said it yourself, mother, so many nights ago, that children abandoned in the darkness never die, not really."

Tiona's lips had tightened, and she, her daughter, openly defying her, had felt the trembling of one who comes too close to an abyss and feels the terrible call of emptiness.

As she turned in a flutter of cream-colored silk that smelled of cinnamon essence, her mother had warned her, "If you'd rather they die slowly, be my guest. But I don't want to hear their moans. Their corpses must never cross my sight. You will be the one to bury them, Shadi."

And so it had been. The kits had died within three nights.

Shadi shivered at the memory of the tears she had shed. "She was right, even then. The foxes are all dead," she sighed.

"It is true. But they spent their last hours in your arms, little sister. You cared for them with love and devotion until their last breath. And that's not the point."

She raised her face, met Roben's eyes, and nodded.

"You were just a child, and you had the courage to do the right thing, despite everything, despite our mother," he told her again. "Since then, you have only become more stubborn and determined. In a little over a month you will turn seventeen, and I am sure you will have the courage to choose your path, the right one, this time as well. If you wish to participate in the Trials, I will be by your side, even if you decide otherwise, Shadi."

She felt her cheeks burning with affection and gratitude.

"I am not as strong as you think, Roben. Nor as brave. Everything I've done these past months has been foolish, empty. I feel wrong, more and more every day. I have ruined everything. Now Darjin will suffer the consequences."

"Maybe not."

Shadi opened her eyes wide and Roben smiled at her. "Maybe there is a way to stop our parents from sending her back to her people. But you might not like it."

"What are you talking about? What way would that be?"

"I'll tell you when you tell me the rest. I still don't understand why you were at the river and why you seemed determined to get sick. If you force me to read between the lines, I might find words you didn't mean to write."