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The first girl had hair as blond as wheat. They took her away almost immediately. She cried, screamed, called for her parents in a voice broken with despair. The guards silenced her with a slap that made her head roll. Her beautiful hair covered her face, and the tears that wet it turned red.

Shadi sprang to her feet at the sudden and cruel gesture. Without thinking, she threw herself at the two men. One of them saw her coming and raised his hand. With an almost casual gesture, he thrust it into Shadi's chest. The blow was sharp, fast. And extremely violent.

Shadi's lungs emptied in an instant, her chest burning with pain. Breathless and shaky on her knees, she would have collapsed if not for the man's grip on her arm. Her eyes widened as she let out a choked, agonized breath. The man's face, shrouded in dark cloth, loomed larger, consuming her vision. "It's not your turn yet, little princess," he hissed. "But if you are in a hurry to see what happens to your friend, we can find a way to give you a demonstration." He allowed himself a sharp laugh.

"There is no time," his companion stopped him.

The man let go of Shadi's arm and concentrated on the other girl. They dragged her away as she fought back tears and kept her head down.

Shadi was shaken by a sob.

She wondered when her turn would come and shuddered at the thought of what lay ahead.

"Shadi?" Kerina opened her eyes. She held them wide open as the flood of memories washed over her, mixing with fear. Clinging to Shadi who sat beside her, she sobbed, "Where are we? Who are these men? What do they want with us?"

Shadi could only shake her head. She gasped as the door hinges creaked again. The same men, the same blonde girl. How much time had passed? Not being able to say for sure was almost as painful as the blow that had bruised her chest. A bruise that would mar her skin for quite some time.

The captors shoved the girl unceremoniously, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground. She lay there, crying silently, as if what she had just experienced had wiped every word from her lips and drained her of all strength.

Shadi wanted to go over to the girl, help her up, wipe away the tears, maybe even tell her a few lies to make her feel better. And then there were the questions that haunted her. Perhaps the poor girl had managed to gather some useful information or heard something, anything, that might help her understand what was happening.

She didn't get the chance. The same guard who had beaten her made her follow him. His deep, rough voice still rang in her ears. "Now it's your turn, brunette. I wonder if you'll have the same desire to come forward after you've looked him in the eye."

Shadi bit her lips to keep from moaning. The man held her too tightly, squeezing her arm harshly. But she forced herself not to give in to the pain and fear that these ways instilled in her. Who was she supposed to meet? Whoever he was, was his gaze so terrifying?

They made her walk down corridors, through dark rooms whose use she could not fathom, then up a long, narrow staircase. As she tried not to trip over her robes, she realized that they had not bothered to cover her head as they had before. The revelation cut her breath like a searing blade. Maybe they thought she was too stupid to try to remember the way. Or they were sure she did not need it and would never get out alive.

They reached the end of the ramp. Another corridor, closed by a double door, guarded by two men dressed in the same dark robes.

Shadi looked at them furtively. They were menacing, shrouded in absolute silence. She wondered who or what these clothes represented.

The door opened as soon as they were within a few paces of it.

The room that greeted them was illuminated by an amber glow. It enveloped everything like a cloak, capable of softening edges and protrusions.

Shadi was pushed to the middle of the room. No one seemed to be waiting for her.

With her head bowed, she tried to focus on anything that might distract her from the threats and fear that blackened her soul. She watched the thick, richly woven and decorated carpet beneath her feet. She dared to rest for a moment, her eyes fixed on the furniture around her. Tables, chairs and shelves were carved from black wood, their forms lightened by articulated friezes. The windows were all covered with heavy dark curtains, preventing her from getting enough light to know what time it was.

How long had it been since she had been taken from her family's convoy?

The thought of her parents hurt. Even more painful was the fear that they might not have survived the attack. Or maybe they were more than fine, had survived the kidnapping unscathed, and were now dealing with the situation as if it were little more than a headache, an unexpected interruption that could be quickly dismissed. Just like the obstruction that had slowed the convoy and forced them to stop.

On the other side of the room, a door opened and closed.

Wide, confident steps approached her.

Shadi dared not raise her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest.

"You may leave us." The order came in a calm voice, far from imperious. It rang out clearly, unmuffled by the black cloth masks everyone else wore, but it seemed almost annoyed. The hands clasping her arms disappeared, followed by the sound of footsteps moving swiftly towards the doorway they had just passed. The door closed.

She was alone with the man who had spoken. She heard him.

His movements radiated energy. Was he in a hurry? Whoever it was, was he looking for a quick way to get rid of her once he had what he wanted?

He was behind her back.

Something brushed against her calves. An armchair?

"Sit down." The command was given as if it were guarded by pure reason. No resentment. Just the certainty that she would obey.

Shadi took her seat, instinctively rubbing her arms where they had gripped her too tightly. She closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on her breathing, to keep the fear from bringing her down.

The man placed another seat in front of her and dropped heavily onto it, as if overcome with exhaustion.

"Shadi Jan Hura."

She sat still, staring at his boots, black and shiny. She could almost see herself in his toes. The way he had pronounced her name was strange. It was almost as if the words were sweet on the man's tongue.

"You may look up."

What she saw was a surprise to her, even though she had had no time or way to form expectations. The man was young, perhaps only a few years older than Roben.

"My comrades were rough. I am sorry for that. It wasn't necessary," he told her with his eyes, so light grey they looked white, resting on her bruises. "But some things are beyond my control. That's not much consolation, I know."

Shadi held her face up, as he had asked, but she could not hold his gaze.

He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, which was also extremely light, and brought back a tuft on his head. It seemed more a mannerism than a necessity, for the hair was very short, almost shaved at the sides, and only a little longer at the top.

It was a hairstyle she had never seen before. It seemed almost studied to make his features even more angular. She watched him for a moment and then looked away, intimidated.

"Anyway, my name is Eshfen. I need you to answer a few questions. If you are honest with me, this meeting will be short and no harm will come to you. Do you understand me, Shadi?"

Hearing her name in that man's voice dried her throat. There was no hint of hesitation or doubt in the way he said it. As if he had said it many, many times before and somehow felt like its rightful owner.

She nodded.

"Very good. Very good, Shadi."

High Prelate Yalael Revenne was disgusted and angered by the symbol of power Darjin showed him. But he made no further objections and listened.

Darjin tried to convey the urgency of the situation and Lugalen Jan Hura's need for answers. The scorn never left the old man's face, not even for a second, but the story was convincing enough to make him agree to their demands. When he turned away from the Eye, he did so with tight lips and a hasty step, as if afraid that such a conversation might stain his fine robes.

Darjin turned to Narden, a questioning look on her face.

"Yalael was in a good mood," the woman chuckled.

"I dare not imagine what pleasant company he must be when he is indisposed."

"You have no idea," the woman laughed again. But Darjin could not help noticing a hint of sadness in her words. That feeling had crept in between them, resisting the woman's irony.

"Do you think he will go and call the Ensin?"

Narden shrugged. "All I know is that Yalael cares too much for his charge to risk underestimating your words. He may not believe you, but he is more afraid of what might happen if he ignores you. Ambitious and vain people are unpleasant, I know. But their desires also make them predictable."

"And those who are predictable are easy to manipulate."

Narden nodded, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Your little princess is lucky."

Darjin shook her head. Shadi was no little princess, let alone her own. "What do you mean?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? With someone like you by her side, a Dagger, I imagine there can be few fears to disturb the girl's nights."

"Her sleep is far less serene than you imagine, Narden of the Eyes."

"I find that hard to believe. Daggers, like you, may be all the rage among powerful families, but they remain an incredible luxury as well as deadly weapons. I have seen your people fight. I know what you are capable of."

"And I was almost getting used to the whole juggling on the run thing."

Narden laughed at her irony. "It was a good story. But reality is often more exciting, if more dangerous. In any case, I admire the way you have mastered your bodies and your weapons. Whether you know it or not, Shadi Jan Hura was kissed with a blessing when her family decided to entrust her to your care."

Darjin was not so sure, given recent developments. But Narden's words touched her. Struggling to keep her emotions from showing, she made a small bow. "I thank you. Your appreciation is as valuable as it is undeserved."

The woman folded her hands in front of her face and returned the bow. Their exchange of pleasantries was interrupted by the sounds coming from the Eye.

Yalael re-entered the dark surroundings on the other side of the unexplained opening, this time not alone.

Darjin narrowed her eyes and analysed the man who followed him with long strides and a confident gait.

Ensin Andik Thawill from the Red Army, servant of the House of Tutors.

The robes he wore were impossible to misinterpret. His torso was wrapped in blood-red bandages, decorated with the characteristic symbols of the ancient language of the gods. The fabric left little to the imagination, accentuating the man's musculature. The bandages formed an intricate, elegant knot around the Ensin's neck. On his left shoulder, a metal plate outlined the contours of his upper arm. He was wearing black leather trousers and boots. The man's hands rested on the thick belt around his waist. Two richly decorated staffs hung from it.

Darjin knew these weapons by reputation. They were one of the many distinguishing marks of the entire Tutor Household, used by all warriors of their rank. The history of the families to which they belonged was told in the friezes and inscriptions that adorned them. The man's posture alone exuded confidence, strength and command, though he remained silent and waiting.

But it was his face that amazed Darjin.

Blue eyes like streams from the highest peaks, large and feline cut, overhung chiseled cheekbones and a nose that contrasted with full lips and a strong-willed jaw. The long red hair fell well past his shoulders, echoing the color of the freckles that dotted his nose.

A very handsome man.

Perhaps a few years older than her. His face, however, retained youthful features despite its hard expression, contrasting with the incredibly strong form of his body. In any case, he seemed too young to hold the position of Ensin. In her many years of service, Darjin had met numerous men and women who commanded the armies of the gods. All of them were at least forty years old.

Narden, with a deep bow, drew her away from these thoughts.

Darjin hurried to follow her movements, sensing that the young man and the insufferable High Prelate probably demanded such deference.

"Ensin Andik Thawill grants you an audience. Do not waste his time and patience, women," Yalael croaked. He stepped aside and bowed again, gesturing all too conspicuously.

Darjin was sick of his manner and his conceit, but she tried to keep her mind on the task at hand.

Narden stepped back, giving her space.

Ensin Thawill still stood by, dissecting Darjin with his eyes. There was no sign of annoyance or impatience on his face.

Darjin cleared her throat, "Thank you for your time and patience, my lord."

The Ensin just lifted his chin.

Darjin took that as a sign of agreement and continued.

"Lugalen Leoben Jan Hura fears for the safety of his daughter and his family. To allay his fears he asks for your help."

Finally Thawill spoke. As he ran his eyes over Darjin, from feet to head, and with a slowness that made her uncomfortable, he asked: "Why?" His voice was deep. It echoed, even beyond the Eye, like a deep, cavernous tremor.

Darjin pondered the question for a moment. Was he referring to the Lugalen's fears or his request for help? She arrogantly chose the first hypothesis. "The Lugalen has received a warning. He fears that someone might make an attempt on the lives of the Jan Hura family aboard the Lethenium Dart. The Lugalen is pained at the mere thought that such an attack might also affect all the other honorable passengers." She spoke the sentence exactly as she had been ordered. She did not mention her master's fears about the conflict between the great Households, which she suspected was already raging outside the confines of the Trials. The Lugalen wanted Darjin to be cautious. He wanted her to seek information, but also to be careful not to make accusations that would reflect badly on the family.

"So Jan Hura fears for his family." The Ensin pondered the sentence as if asking himself a question.

Darjin resisted the urge to blink and look questioning. "Yes, my lord."

"How is his daughter?"

The world seemed to vanish beneath Darjin's feet, as if it had turned to mud and then to water. Why did this question seem so threatening to her?

"Shadi Jan Hura is well, my lord. And Lugalen Jan Hura would be overjoyed if her health could remain intact for many years to come."

Thawill paused for a few seconds before continuing, "The source of the warning?"

"I am not meant to know, my lord," Darjin lied. She tried to remain still, to hide the fear that burned in her chest at the thought of telling lies to such a powerful man. Perhaps it was sheer madness, but she sensed that the Tamer would prefer to remain in the shadows.

"I don't like gossip, Dagger."

"I'm sure the same goes for Lugalen Jan Hura, my lord. But it is his firm belief that the threat is worthy of your attention. And he hopes to rely on your infinite knowledge and patience."

"Don't try to flatter me."

Darjin bit the inside of her mouth. "I would never do that, my lord," she replied, hinting at a short bow.

Thawill looked away, seeming to reflect on what he had heard. He placed his hands on his hips and exhaled. "Leoben Jan Hura is no fool. His family and mine have been bound by trust and respect for a lifetime. I know my father always believed in him. So I am prepared to do the same. I will give credence to his words; his fears will not go unheeded."

Darjin nodded and bowed again, reassured, though less than she would have liked, by the Ensin's words. As she looked away from his attractive face, something caught her eye. A subtle glow, little more than a hidden reflection, behind the man. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was seeing and what was about to happen.

A blade.

The Ensin caught the alarm in Darjin's eyes, arched his eyebrows and seemed to ask her something.

"Look out!" Darjin shouted.

"Yalael, you old fool," Narden echoed.

It all happened in a heartbeat.

The old man raised his short sword, his face distorted by a mask of hatred. He hurled himself against the Ensin's back, who, sensing the danger, ducked and spun as if time had no meaning for his body. He delivered a kick to Yalael's knee, toppling him like a withered tree. The old man hit his head on the Eye. A web of cracks painted the surface of the Artifact.

Darjin stifled a groan of surprise and the instinct to throw herself at the object as if it were a door she could walk through. The image transmitted by the eye grew too bright, then too dark, but it did not fade.

Through the broken canvas, Darjin saw the Ensin kneeling beside Yalael. The old man was shaking violently, spitting blood, and his eyes were thrust upwards as if chasing a vision from another world. The impact with the Eye's surface must have been much more violent than she and Narden had perceived.

The old man's mind was drowning in blood.

"Who is it? Who did you sell out to, old man?" the Ensin asked, his voice devoid of any inflection.

Yalael coughed but did not answer.

Thawill shook him. "Do you want to die in silence? Do you want your last presence in these lands to be moans and vomit?"

Darjin moved as close to the Eye as she could and knelt. Unsettled by what she saw, overwhelmed with questions, she felt Narden's hand on her shoulder. The woman was shaken. That grip may have helped her more than Darjin.

Yalael coughed, again and again. A smile of disgust crippled his lips. "I will die today." He chewed the words along with the blood. "But what I believe in will continue to shine."

"Not what, traitor. Who? Tell me to whom you have sold your allegiance. Speak before I reduce your throat to pulp."

Yalael inhaled as best he could and spat out the answer as if the words gave him pleasure, relief. "To wisdom. To freedom. None of this is in the hands of the Masters. They call themselves the children of the gods, but they are nothing more than tyrants. Their cruelty will end soon."

Darjin shuddered.

They were blasphemies, nothing more, nothing less. She had never heard anyone make such accusations out loud.

"Your babbling is poison, Yalael. I regret the moment it touched my ears," the Ensin replied. "How many others share your blasphemy?"

"You will never know, Ensin. The fear of what will become of you and your beloved gods will haunt you to the end. You will not last long. Larsa will fall, as will Urook and Napur. The age of false gods is over." A bright smile distorted Yalael's mouth and mingled with a cough. It became a sneer. "The children of traitors will be our heralds. A Shield in a blanket of thorns, our faith."

The Ensin watched him. He took a deep breath and seemed to want to ask him more questions.

He could not.

The old man bowed his head, uttered a barely audible groan and died.

Narden's groan distracted Darjin from the grudge-laden, ominous end. The old woman covered her mouth with her hands. Tears filled her eyes.

"Hurry, Dagger," Thawill said.

Still kneeling, Darjin met the Ensin's gaze. She thought she read suppressed emotions in his eyes. Pity, perhaps sorrow.

"If there was a single grain of truth in this traitor's words, then your masters are already in danger. Find your Lugalen. Tell him that his trust was not misplaced, that I will act in his and his family's favour, and that I will contact him soon."

Slowly, absorbing every word and with her heart in her throat, but still further than ever from understanding what had just happened, Darjin got to her feet and forced herself to put the questions aside.

Thawill approached the Eye, "I pray to the gods it is not too late. Run, Dagger, run to the family you protect. And don't look back."