I tempted Zerra this way, she thought, and I got what I wanted from him. I'm too weak to defeat these men with swords or spears, but I can deceive them. I can turn their need to conquer, their lust for blood and for body, against them. She gave Slyn a deep stare, letting him imagine all that she offered.

The brute licked his lips and turned back toward his men. "Roast us a feast!"

The Widejaws cheered and returned to their fires, tending to the meat. The scents of the meal filled the air: the fresh meat, the dripping fat, the spices, and the secret herb Laira had added.

The smell of tillvine. Her heart quickened. The smell of our victory.

She thought back to her captivity by the Cured Druids. She remembered watching the poor Vir Requis man swallow the tillvine juice, writhe and scream, and how his dragon magic had risen from him in strands of starlight. The memory still chilled her. But she also remembered feeding the tillvine to the Widejaw she had captured in the valley, watching him thrash, watching his own foul magic leave in a cloud of demon-infested smoke. Now the tillvine filled the meat. Now she would watch hundreds of Widejaws scream in agony as their magic tore from their bodies.

The Vir Requis crowded together in the center of the hall. All around them, the meat roasted and the Widejaws laughed, sang, and drank from wineskins. Slyn returned to his throne and stared at his domain, his eyes never straying far from Laira.

Laira inched closer to Jeid and glanced at him. He looked back, expressionless, but she saw the fear and hope in his eyes.

"The meat is cooked, my king!" said one Widejaw. He rushed toward the throne with a slab of roast boar. "Eat first, King Slyn, as is your right."

The meat steamed and its delicious aroma wafted, mixed with the tangy hint of tillvine. Laira could see green flecks of the crushed leaves on the meat.

Sitting on his throne, Slyn snatched the meat. The Widejaws all stared, drooling and sniffing, awaiting their own turn to feast. But Slyn would not eat. He held the hot slab, sniffed once, and stared over the steaming meal at Laira. His eyes narrowed.

Eat, Laira thought, staring up at him. Please, stars, let him eat.

He simply stared, not taking a bite.

Laira wanted to scream. There he was—the man who had slain so many Vir Requis, who had stolen their throne, who had defiled their hall. There was Slyn, a servant of Raem, the destroyer of Requiem, so close to losing his power . . . and he would not eat. He only stared. Laira's innards shook with hatred for the man, with a desire to shift, to blow her fire, to see his body burn.