If Anji had had any food in her stomach, it would have threatened to come back up. She’d often listened to her parents’ whispered late-night talks, pretending to sleep in her loft bed. One night, her father had come home late and nearly fallen weeping into her mother’s arms, describing an execution he’d seen. Anji’s mother had fixed him some tea and sat up as their candles burned low, letting him vent out the horror of what he’d witnessed in graphic detail. The tremor in her father’s voice as he recounted the scene had kept Anji awake long after her parents had finally gone to bed. Once more, the image of blood and sharpened iron filled her tired thoughts, and though it caused her knees to go weak, she wouldn’t give the man at her back the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

“Sounds alright,” she said lightly. “I hope she’s a redhead.”

“They take this metal contraption, see, and you’re folded into it. Then they’ll tighten the metal, a little at a time. First you bleed from your nose and ears. Your spine separates, ribs and all that, then it’s the vitals gone. Takes hours for you to die. But you’ll be on your knees, limbs compressed, organs spilling out your mouth.”

“If you’re there,” said Anji, “be sure to stand downwind, would you? Your stink is torture enough.” She glanced to either side as they rounded the next bend.

“Think she’s coming for you, eh?” said the man. “Hawk? She’s a runner. Likely gave you up for good once she saw—”

“Fun little name, that,” Anji said, ignoring the question. “The Hawk. Do you have one too? Or do I just call you ‘Asshole’?”

Something slammed hard into the small of Anji’s back. She flew forward, her shoulder smashing into the snow and rock. The Goat set his crossbow on the ground and rammed the tip of his boot into her side. Anji felt all her breath leave at once. She gasped, eyes wide as the man unsheathed his slender dagger.

Anji froze.

He squatted and sucked at his teeth, letting the blade catch in the sunlight.

“Let’s get something straight, you and me,” he said, touching the dagger’s tip to her nose. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re dead already. And dead girls don’t jest. Dead girls walk when they’re told, they eat when they’re told, and they die when they’re told. And they keep their jokes to themselves, don’t they?”