One of her uncle’s guards, a young man, rushed her as she stood up. His master lay in ashes in the snow and no one had tried to arrest the girl who had done it. No one was reacting in grief or in horror. Neither justice nor revenge was being enacted. The youth let out a cry of anguish wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to the floor. She shouted, raising her arms in self-defence as they crashed down, rolling. The wind was knocked out of her and black stars danced in her vision.
Zhira shoved at the man, writhing and kicking, trying to bend her knee. He went still, and suddenly she was free of him. He stood up, taking great care to make no unnecessary movements. Rhyode’s blade rested against his neck.
‘It's rude to attack without warning.’ Rhyode’s voice was unrecognisable t
