The poison had left my blood, but not my bones.
It lingered like an echo, curling through my limbs in waves of heat and shiver. My skin burned one moment, froze the next. Every breath rattled with the heaviness of fever, as though my body resented being alive at all.
Sleep dragged me under again and again, but it was never the deep, merciful kind. My dreams were filled with smoke.
In them, I stood once more in the courtyard of Ravaryn’s fortress. Snow lay heavy on the stones, but it did not silence the shouts. Soldiers ringed the square, eyes bright with cruel hunger. And in the center, on his knees, was the witch doctor.
His robes were torn, his crystal shattered in the snow like broken stars. His hands were bound, but his head was high, his expression calm.
Malrik stood above him, e
