Olav stomped into the room, and Rina's heart plummeted like a bucket into a well. Any feeling of regret for what had happened between her and Fin evaporated in an upsurge of fury.

His black eyes scanned the room like a hare searching for danger, met hers, and then dropped to the floor. His body curled in upon itself. A leaf singed by flame. Then he turned to the entryway, nodded, and Media swept inside on those robes that billowed without the wind.

The air seemed to crackle. The energy emanating from Media snapped across Rina's skin like static electricity.

Media inclined her head to the grey-haired magister. "Thank you, Magister Elia."

The woman bowed. "High Magister."

Before Elia's head had risen, Media's obsidian eyes had fixed on the Euran woman. "Lady Caterina, with all my heart, I had hoped the reports were false. I am deeply disappointed to learn I was mistaken." Media shook her head slowly, sadly, one hand resting above her heart—though Rina noted a slight twitch of her lips before she continued, "This is a sad day for our nation and for Amadore."

Lady Caterina's eyes narrowed into icy slits. From where she knelt, arms bound before her, she lurched forward. "How dare you say that, Media, not when you—"

From the corner of her eye, Rina saw Magister Elia swipe her hand through the air. Lady Caterina jerked from the phantom blow. A line of blood bloomed from her forehead, and again, that hollow hunger came upon Rina, though, thankfully, not nearly so strong as with Fin.

Fin. What had she done? For a moment, she forgot what was happening about her. Her gaze flicked back to Olav. Following his orders. Doing his duty for Mai. The realisation made the heat of her anger cool to guilt.

Olav moved about the room toward the prisoners. The healthy, not-so-dangerous prisoners were sent to the Devastation. What could Pietro do with his broken body? He was an old man now. Insignificant. Though the Magisterium didn't think so. At that moment, as if to justify their concern, Pietro started to thrash about like a snake caught in a net.

"Piss off, Media, you fucking bitch! I know what you're really up to. You won't get away with it. We'll—"

The strike was a physical one. A knee to the nose by Olav. Quick. Brutal. Precise.

Crimson streaked down Pietro's face, and an intense craving overwhelmed Rina to the point she thought she would vomit. She shoved past the magisters and their guards, flinging herself through the door, spitting out bile, her hands bracing her body. The bricks were blocks of ice against her palms. She paused, heaving, a line of saliva dangling from her mouth. The world thrummed. She closed her eyes, waiting for it to settle, but it didn't.

"Rina," came a tentative male voice. Olav's tall, familiar form was a silhouette against the light from inside the house. He took one step forward, foot scraping on the salted porch. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his head-turning quickly to check they were alone. "There was nothing I could do. I swear it."

She glared at him. Nothing he could do? There were a whole host of alternatives to his actions. Some worse, true. While others far less so.

A pressure was building in Rina. She thought she would explode with it. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and hissed, "Fuck off."

"Please." Olav's voice was now the whimper of a chastened child. His hand came to reach for her, but Rina slapped it away and he recoiled from her.

"Don't touch me, you bastard. I should have listened to my uncle. You're just the same as the rest of them. No better than a rabid dog."

Olav flinched. His body curling in upon itself again. "I did it to protect you. To protect us."

Rina stalked toward him, the air pulsing around her. All the while, Olav shuffled back, as if retreating from an inferno. "There is no us, Olav. There never will be an us. I may be an Arkis-spawned Denese, but I wouldn't stoop to sharing my bed with a mindless guard-dog—no matter who your mother is," she said, finger stabbing at his chest. "And on that topic, even if tonight never happened, there never could have been an us. So get that stupid notion out of your—"

Olav suddenly straightened and cleared his throat, causing Rina to bite her tongue. She'd forced him back into the entranceway. A room full of eyes were trained upon them.

Media blinked, her smile an almost-infinitesimal quirk of her lips.

The acrid tang of sweat and fear filled the room. A dark patch stained Isaac's tanned breeches, and tears lined Iskra's face. Lady Caterina stared at the floor with glazed eyes while Pietro's head lolled, a puddle of blood at his knees.

A vague, dreamlike memory of two dark-haired figures—one brown-eyed, the other with eyes as yellow as Carnelian crystals—flailing on the gallows drifted before Rina like fog across a field. Her parents. She swallowed as shame and devastation rolled over her.

Not again. She would not let it happen again.

"Take them to the keep dungeons," Media said.

The guards reached for the prisoners with their gloved hands.

"Wait!"

Media turned to Rina, one brow raised in question.

"I'll make a deal."

"A deal, child?" Media glided toward her. "I'm not sure you're in a position to do that." She turned back to the guards. "Now, if you please."

"I'll go to Nebia."

The guards had the prisoners on their feet, Pietro supported by two burly men like a drunk on harvest night.

"How is that a deal? Most young Denese women beg to go to Nebia. You should count yourself lucky."

Media half-raised her hand again, ready to give a third and final command, but Rina hastened to her, close enough to whisper, so no-one else could hear. Close enough to breathe in Media's cloying scent, like mildew masked by flowers.

"Because, for some reason I can't understand, you need me there—and I have to agree."

Media's lips stretched thin, and her dark eyes twinkled. "You've been planning for this, haven't you, my dear?"

Rina drew herself to her full height. "Haven't you?"

A chuckle flew from Media. "Your uncle will not be harmed, so long as you—"

"No," Rina said. She had wanted to save them all. Yet when she'd faced the group, she'd known it was impossible.

An example must be made—as it was each time. Any rebellion culled at its roots—especially when a Euran noble was amongst the traitors. So Rina played her trump. "Iskra too. If you hurt Iskra, you can go ahead and string me up with the rest of them."

Media's smile didn't waver as she said, "Brave girl," and approached Iskra. Crouching down, Media placed a hand on the woman's belly and lowered her eyelids. Iskra shuddered, and a ripple of movement came from within her distended stomach.

"It would be a waste to lose such a spirited creature before it saw the light of day." Media's long nail traced a line from navel to the pubic bone.

Rina thought she would be sick.

"And the mother is fertile." Media twisted on the balls of her feet, nodding, and looked to Rina. "As you wish. But don't forget, their lives depend upon your good behaviour."

Rina rushed to Pietro, fell to the stone floor, and threw her arms around his neck. He was yanked away by two guards who marched him toward the front door, while another held her as she writhed against his grip.

"Gods, she stinks of piss!" the man cursed.

Rina ignored the comment, though her cheeks blazed and her knees she thought her knees would buckle."What are you doing? I thought you said you wouldn't hurt him."

Media's grin was a red slash. "He and Iskra will be given comfortable cells, I assure you." She made to leave the building, turning at the last moment to say, "You are welcome to check their accommodation meets your approval before you sail. Perhaps on the morrow, after the three of you attend the execution."

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A/N: Thanks again for reading. I can't thank you enough. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear anything that you liked or didn't like. Please consider pushing that star!

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Dedicated to ESHurricane for everything she does to support the Wattpad community: as an ambassador, Queen of writing clubs, as a supportive reader.