I couldn’t tell Kaley; I wasn’t sure I had the stomach to even say the words out loud. I didn’t even want to think them:

Winston would rather be homeless than live with us.

THE THIRTEENTH

THE THIRTEENTH

Two creatures drifted through the underground tunnels of the Dungeon of Souls; long, lanky limbs, shredded burgundy robes, and large, pure black eyes. They whispered things to the believers on their way, sometimes in other languages, showing off rows of crooked teeth. They passed the cages like shadows, offering false hope and bribes. I’d never seen anything like them, but I somehow understood what they were saying. One word burned in my mind as though warning me they were close by: Feastbeggars. Feastbeggars. Feastbeggars. Run.

The sight had been enough to make me trip over my own feet. I turned to escape when another voice lifted down the line of cages: shrill, raspy, female. I stilled, recognizing it.

Heart hammering, I crept back toward her voice. A rock rested around the corner, and when I crouched behind it, my stomach dropped.

Gnomes grabbed the shoulders of a fair-featured boy with light hair and old flesh burns. They dragged him away from a cage where Wanda Thermichael screamed threats and shook the spindles with white knuckles. A gnome smashed a club against the bars, but still, Wanda yelled, and yelled, “Bring him back! Bring him back! You frostbitten monsters! Bring him back!”

Kilen kicked as he was hauled away. I stepped after them, my insides screaming as loud as Wanda’s voice, overwhelmed with the need to do something. Fire burned through my limbs. I hated that my body wasn’t really here; that my hands were useless.

Rattling bars and roaring voices filled the tunnel. I turned, filled with the terrible realization that Wanda and Kilen weren’t here alone, and I whimpered.

Cages packed with Patrolmen lined the tunnel. They yelled toward where Kilen had disappeared. They banged against the cage doors, some with bloody knuckles. I spotted Timblewon’s fuchsia hair as he shouted, and Mirkra slamming his forearm against the bars to try and break through.

Frost crawled around the bend, reaching down the spindles and pinching Mirkra’s skin. He cried out and ripped his arm back. Feastbeggars swept into view, their black eyes settling on him.

Like a parting sea of ghosts, half the feastbeggars rushed for Mirkra, half to raging Wanda.

The dream was torn from me before I saw what happened.

I couldn’t leave my bed in the morning.

Eliot came into the room with hot cider and tried to have a conversation. I didn’t speak a single word. He stared at me for a long time before leaving again.

Minutes later, he came back with Zane.

“She’s a frostbit statue,” Eliot said. “She was merry last night. I don’t know what happened.”