Chapter 8 · The Governor's Daughter

Lira's palm burned.

Not the shallow sting of a fresh cut. This was deeper. Hot iron pushed into bone. The blood pooled in her hand, and for three heartbeats the tent went silent.

Then the voices started.

She heard them. Whispers clawing up from the sand under her boots. A dozen throats speaking a language she didn't know, but the grief in it was obvious. They were calling someone.

Shana smiled.

"Well," the pit boss said. "That's interesting."

Lira jerked her hand back. The cut wasn't deep, but her fingers were shaking. "What did you do?"

"Answered a question." Shana pulled a rag from her belt and tossed it at Lira's feet. "Clean that up. You'll want it closed before you go."

"Go where?"

Shana turned to Alto. He was standing three feet away, fists tight, jaw locked. He'd heard the voices too. Lira could see it in the way his shoulders had gone rigid.

"Your choice, boy," Shana said. "I can sell you to the witch-hunters tonight and walk away rich. Or you can do me a favor."

Alto didn't move. "What favor?"

"There's a man in the governor's holding cells. Kael Ironhand. You know the name.