Vespir was not permitted to raise her eyes. Here, on her hands and knees alongside her family, she was in her natural state. She glanced to the side and noted that Casca was among them. He smiled at her, that gap-toothed grin from their childhood. Vespir allowed a small shake of her head. No fooling around. The fact that he was dead didn’t trouble her; they had bigger worries.

The Pentri regarded them, and she had to remain silent.

How…how had she gotten here, though? Vespir blinked, something tickling the back of her mind. Her mother nudged her—apparently Vespir wasn’t being obedient enough. She bowed her head again.

“You.” Lord Pentri’s boots stopped before her face, and Vespir touched her forehead to the ground. “You nothing,” the lord said, kicking her. Vespir grunted as a sharp pain lanced through her body. She crumpled in on herself, preparing to succumb to a shower of blows. What else could she do? There was relief in this submission.

But more blows did not come. Peeking up through her hair, Vespir watched as Lord Pentri pulled Casca to his feet. Dusted him off. Horror froze her blood as the lord selected more of her brothers and sisters to stand. Vespir crawled back to her knees, shivering while her mother wept and pled with her not to do anything. Keep small. Don’t let them see you.

It’s the best we can get.

But Vespir could not look away as the lord kicked her brother’s knees out from under him, as he slumped to the ground. As Lord Pentri bent her brother’s neck, unsheathed his sword.

He was a deserter.

And who was she to say no? What was she? Lutum. Dirt. She was nothing.

Nothing at all.

But…

As the lord lifted his sword above her brother’s neck—despite knowing that there was no bringing Casca back—Vespir lurched to her feet. While her parents gasped, she threw herself forward. It was pointless, she had no weapon, and her mother shrieked when Vespir knocked Casca aside and raised her empty hands—

Clang. Steel met steel.

Vespir found that she’d parried the lord’s blow with a sword of her own. The blade shuddered in her hands and nearly slipped from her grip. But she managed to hold it.

Lord Pentri stepped away, the rage melting from his face. He was rendered doll-like as Vespir rose, hefting the sword. Knowledge flowed into her muscles. Suddenly this weapon felt so…so right. Easy. A dragon’s face snarled up at her from the hilt, a ruby glinting in its eye.

Vespir pointed the sword at the nobleman’s gut. Lord Pentri fell to his knees as she approached him. So easy to slice his throat, watch him bleed out.

But he was Antonia’s father.

Should she drop her sword and beg forgiveness? Or gut the man?

A choice. Vespir had to make a choice.

She made it.

And then—