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Andik moistened his lips with the wine Nalia had offered him and walked with her around the perimeter of the circle. He ran his eyes over the glass walls, letting them rest on the infinity of overlapping layers that captured and returned light in a myriad of misty mirages. The Black Amphitheater floated on the lake, circling beneath the stars. It was a place that would leave a sweet ache in his eyes and mind at the memory of such beauty. Its splendor only added to his anxiety and sadness over the events that had brought him there that night in the presence of their Lord and Master, the God of all Urook and the lands surrounding the city.

He racked his brain trying to find the right way to take Shadi Jan Hura away from her parents, even if only for a few minutes. He needed her. He required her memory.

He noticed that Nalia had stopped walking and was no longer poking him in a vain attempt to lift his spirits. The Ensin had turned to the first level. "What are you looking at?"

There was no answer. Breaking away from him, Nalia walked to the parapet. She leaned against it, her gaze fixed on something below.

Darjin freed herself from Laamar's grip with a tug. Intuition ignited her senses with a rage, whispering the truth even before he spoke.

"Keep your hands off me, lieutenant."

He shook his head, his gaze fixed. "I can't. You need to stay with me."

"Why?"

He bit his lower lip. "Because if you go down there, I won't be able to protect you."

Darjin stifled a laugh. "I am touched. But I will take my chances," she said, turning away from him.

When she felt his grip on her shoulder, instinct took over as it had in every fight. Disappointment burned in her chest; realization should have come immediately, and doubt should have remained, just as it had when they first met.

Taking the hand that rested on her shoulder, Darjin twisted the wrist and turned hard toward him. As the twist came dangerously close to breaking, the question burst from her mouth, burning like sour wine: "Tell me the truth. Why don't you want me to go to her? What's going on?"

He stifled a groan of surprise and pain. With the experience of a skilled fighter, he freed himself from her grip. "I'm doing you a favor. If you run to your mistress, you will die. Like everyone else."

Darjin's heart skipped a beat. "What does that mean?"

Laamar only smiled with his mouth. "I cannot tell you. The more you know, the more danger you are in. I have spoken too much already."

"I should be dead," she finished.

He stared at her, motionless, tall, powerful, dark as southern wood.

"You betrayed us."

"I'm saving your life!" he retorted in exasperation.

"You are one of them. You work with the Shields." Darjin spat out the words angrily, as if disgust consumed her mouth.

"I will explain everything, I swear. There is so much you don't know, so much you could do. A warrior with your skills would be an infinitely valuable asset to the cause. But you must live to understand."

Darjin shivered. Fury clenched her hands and sank sharp nails into her flesh. "Oh no. You are listening to my explanation. If you thought, even for a moment, that your words could make me turn against the Jan Hura family, then you are very, very stupid. What a shame. What a waste. You are a joke, Laamar. So attractive and yet so foolish."

He widened his eyes in pain. "Don't make me do something I will regret, Darjin. I don't want to fight you."

She laughed softly. "I, on the other hand, will not beg you. And here is my promise: If you try to stop me again, I will kill you."

Laamar lowered his eyes and continued to slowly shake his head. Then he lunged at her.

Darjin knew her weakness.

Laamar needed a single, well-placed blow to one of her stitched limbs to overpower her. The impact would rupture her stitches and cause her wounds to bleed profusely.

He was much taller than her, stronger and heavier, though not as well trained with bladed weapons. But there were no blades in sight. Darjin could only rely on her own reflexes, blunted by fatigue, drugs and bandages.

Where was the Shield Band?

Darjin could count on one advantage.

Determination.

She was completely, and sometimes she feared almost blindly, loyal to Shadi and her family. And she always put the girl's safety first.

She pirouetted and dodged the lieutenant's strike as he missed her, unable to deliver his thrust.

The man paused, raised his fists to his face, and leaned forward in a fighting stance. "We don't have to do this, Darjin. We can leave this place behind. You can come with me."

Darjin lifted her chin. "Men like you should learn to keep quiet. You were much more interesting when you let your body talk."

Laamar made his lips disappear in a thin, exasperated line. As he approached, she mirrored his steps, joining him in a slow, circular dance. She felt his intent gaze, studying her closely.

A part of her hesitated. She wondered if he truly wanted her. If he wanted more than the passion of one night.

And she felt foolish for giving room to those questions.

He was a traitor, just a traitor.

Finally, Laamar made his move, throwing a powerful kick at Darjin's jaw.

Dodging the attack, she found herself exposed to two punches he threw her way. She parried one and ducked another with a quick backward bend, her arms shooting out to grab his wrist while he was still in midair. With a hard jerk, she twisted it at an impossible angle.

Laamar screamed in pain as she pushed him away.

"You are going to die." She pointed a finger in his face, her voice firm, her gaze hard. "Run away. Go and hide like the filthy animal you are. This is your last chance, traitor."

Laamar clenched his jaw. One, two, three seconds and he came at her again with a hail of blows.

Darjin dodged the first few, then parried, pirouetted, but the last one caught her cheekbone and snapped her head to the side. A shower of blinding light filled her eyes.

Immediately, Laamar pushed her onto the bed, pinned her down and wrapped his hands around her neck.

When she opened her eyes again, Darjin found herself facing the man she had shared the bed with moments before. He gripped her throat, his jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple as if it were about to burst.

The pain in her neck became unbearable, her lungs burned, dark spots filling her vision as she clung to his wrists, tight as iron.

No.

No.

It could not end like this.

Laamar's body was heavy on her, muscular, powerful and rock hard, his skin as hot as when he had held her, caressed her with pure desire.

No, not that hard.

Not that hard.

As everything around her went black, as her lungs trembled silently, Darjin found what she was looking for.

She would have laughed in his face if she could, if he had let her breathe enough.

For she made a very simple gesture, yet incredibly difficult given his size and weight.

Darjin's left kneecap sank between Laamar's testicles.

He howled like a wolf being torn apart alive, and she used the moment to twist her neck in the grip of his fingers. With all her remaining strength, she bit his right hand down to the bone.

The man screamed again, spewing obscenities and insults as she crawled from the bed, panting and coughing.

With her chest trembling from violent spasms and the rest of her body shaking like a leaf in the wind, Darjin crawled to the dresser and searched for her weapons. She took comfort in the traitor's cries of pain.

Why did no one rush to her aid? Why had Lugalen's men not swarmed her quarters?

On her knees, she opened the first drawer, then the second.

Nothing.

She turned in time to see Laamar standing there, his face contorted with rage, a trickle of angry drool wetting his chin. He roared as he lunged at her again, but the pain that erupted between his legs made him clumsy.

Darjin rolled away easily, and so she found herself looking at the emptiness under the bed. There was a bag underneath, and the unmistakable reflection of her blades.

She pushed towards them, reaching under the wooden base of the canopy, but only managed to grab one side of the bundle before Laamar grabbed her feet and began to drag her away. Darjin screamed in anger, clutching the bag tightly and straining towards it.

An object silently rolled out of the cloth.

It was the Shield Band.

As Laamar pulled her away, Darjin thrust her right wrist into the Artifact. And as the traitor lifted her off the ground as if she weighed less than a grain of sand and hurled her far away, she strained to observe the position of the symbols carved into the metal.

She remembered the words of the Tamer, as clear as if he were right there in the air, projected with her against a glass wall by a mountain of black muscle with crushed testicles and bloodshot eyes.

Three clicks forward to activate the defenses.

It was the right combination in the wrong place.

She fell anyway. But not on the floor. Towards a wall; the impact would put her out of action.

Laamar could crush her like an ant.

Without thinking, she aimed the Band at the wall and felt it burst behind her like a lava bubble filled with explosive gases.

Darjin flew past the torn wall, wrapped in a cloud of shattered glass and twisted iron bars. They looked like blades of grass in the wind.

Closing her eyes to shield them from the debris and sparks, she had a crystal clear perception of her surroundings, as if time had condensed and begun to drip around her, thick as honey: the night panorama surrounding the summer residence, the starry sky, the distant lights of the Black Amphitheater reflected on the lake.

A beautiful night to die.

Then her body reacted instinctively.

She reached out her right arm, opened her eyes wide.

And grabbed the railing.

But it was the weak arm, the one that had just been stitched up. The recoil, the pulling and Darjin's weight caused the stitches to pop out like corks from bottles of sparkling wine shaken violently.

Darjin screamed in pain, clenched her teeth and pulled her other arm up to grab the iron.

It was then that she saw Laamar's face.

He grazed her fingers.

Slowly he began to lift them one by one.

"You should have listened to me. We were going to do great things, Darjin," he said solemnly.

Then the lieutenant's head exploded.

What was left of Laamar's body collapsed. Had Darjin been at her strength, had she realized what had happened, she might have cried out in triumph.

But her arm hurt badly, her lungs burned, her head throbbed violently.

Who had blown poor, stupid Laamar's head off?

"Let yourself go!"

Darjin recognized the voice and the flapping of wings.

When she turned, the Silver Sparrowhawk was behind her, approaching at great speed.

With a sigh of relief, she let go of the handrail and let the cool air of the wind whipping the Lake of Currents embrace her. Moments later, she found herself in the Tamer's arms.

He held her as if she were a child.

"How did you know?" muttered Darjin.

He silenced her by placing his finger over her mouth. Then he brought the same hand to his face.

The mask disappeared at his touch. "I made you a promise, remember?"

Miro, her younger brother.

It was always him in that armor.

He was supposed to be dead.

Instead, he had once again saved her life.

"Today is the day I keep my word. I have come to see you. On a Silver Sparrowhawk."

Darjin could not believe her eyes.

Hot tears blurred her vision.

Crima Wolde's story touched Lord Zayr as much as it did the rest of the table.

Shadi was aware of this because of the applause that followed the girl's tears, not because she had paid much attention. With a veil of shame, she had to admit that she was infinitely more worried about what she would say when her turn came.

How could she explain the absence of certain memories and elements useful for understanding her role in the nightmare she had experienced?

And then there was this strange restlessness.

At first she had attributed her uneasiness to the unique structure of the first circle. It was, after all, a huge puddle in a dark sea. Given her history with water, it was natural to feel uneasy.

But the environment was only part of the whole.

Yes, being down there made her nervous, and the presence of King Zayr pushed her to the brink of hysteria. But these external factors were not enough. The discomfort turned into something almost unmanageable. Fingers pressed to her temples, eyes closed, she tried to concentrate. But an elbow nudged her side; it had to be Mother, no doubt. Why wouldn't she leave her alone for once? Why did the torture continue?

She opened her eyes again and looked at the woman, ready to hold her icy gaze.

But Tiona was afraid. What had frightened her? What had torn her impassive mask?

Shadi understood very soon. All eyes around the big round table were on her.

Zayr's, too.

And those of his son Reev.

Her turn had come, they had been waiting for her to stand up and tell her story, but instead she had remained silent, motionless, lost in fear and questions.

Trembling, she rose to her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. A veil of icy sweat covered her forehead and neck.

"These poor maidens must have parched throats. By uncovering such painful memories, they are in danger of being silenced forever."

Reev's voice. It was as deep and thunderous as his father's, but with a warmer, younger tone. It was an absolutely enchanting melody. Grateful for his courtesy, she took the time to gather her thoughts.

A crowd of servants bustled around the table. In no time, all the goblets were filled.

Shadi turned to thank the one who had refilled hers with a nod and recognized him as the strange man she had noticed earlier, the same one who had taken care of Zayr's wine. Once again she was seized by a feeling that was hard to identify. Had she met this man before?

She blinked, feeling dizzy.

Maybe she had drunk too much.

She put one hand on the table, the other on her forehead, and tried to breathe calmly and concentrate on her surroundings. She heard Tiona's voice; she was asking her if she was all right. She must have answered unsatisfactorily, because the question was repeated over and over again.

She shook her head and forced herself to open her eyes.

When she managed to do so, she tasted pure horror.

All the daughters stood behind their fathers. The guests watched them with a mixture of amazement and embarrassment.

The girls looked distant, lost, and sweating profusely. Some of them were beginning to lose the heavy makeup on their faces.

Shadi wanted to say something, but she could not.

Why had they all stood up at the same time?

The question died in her mouth when she found that she was no longer in the middle of her parents.

She was behind his father's back.

And she had a knife in her right hand.

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

The voice ripped through her ears, repeating endlessly. First a whisper, then a command, and finally a scream that could not be ignored.

Shadi wanted to cry and scream that no, she couldn't, she didn't want to. This was her father. She loved him. She would not hurt him. But her hand was raised, as were those of the other girls she could see from their motionless poses. It was as if someone was holding her head still, sticking needles in her eyes to keep them steady, straight ahead.

Shadi's heart was pounding with fear, racing with the horror of what was happening and the overwhelming sense of helplessness that gripped her.

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

The voice continued to haunt her, reappearing as the situation around the table deteriorated. It was a matter of moments. All the diners jumped to their feet. Blades slid down the throats of the Lugalens.

Daughters killed fathers.

Shadi saw the blood, heard the screams.

And memories flooded her mind like a raging river breaking a centuries-old dam.

Eshfen.

It was him. The servant who had poured Zayr and her drinks.

It was him.

It was him.

Him.

He had done something to her.

He had forced her to swallow one of those Aimflowers.

Its fruit can bend the strongest wills, enslave the most stubborn minds.

That was how he had forced her, and that was how he had maneuvered all the other girls. He had used them to commit a massacre in front of God.

Shadi heard another cry, an infinitely sad cry, a wail that tore at her chest. At last she understood. It was her voice. Her body was fighting. It was fighting against the will that wanted to overwhelm it.

She fought.

She resisted.

She held the knife.

Her father was still alive.