The beam began to rise as the sun moved, and Sena craned his neck, straightened his back, and tried to soak up some last moments of companionship, of sunlight, of safety. But then the beam was gone, hitting the wall above his head.

He supposed he could have stood up. Standing would make him taller, let him embrace the sun again. But he was too weak to stand most days. Too wounded. Too hungry. Too tired.

"Alone," he whispered.

He rattled his chains just to hear them answer, just to hear a sound. That was how his chains talked.

How long had he been here? Sena didn't know. At least a moon, he thought. Maybe longer.

"I'm sorry, Issari," he whispered. His chafed lips cracked and bled, and he sucked on the coppery liquid. "I'm sorry that I'm sick. I'm sorry that I shifted into a dragon. I miss you, sister."

He wondered where Issari was now. In her chamber in the palace, the gardens, perhaps the throne room? Was she thinking of him too? Sena had heard Issari several times since entering this prison. She had cried out behind the doors, calling his name, begging the guards to let her in. But they always turned her away. And Sena always tried to call out in return, but his throat was always too parched, his voice too weak.

Caw! Caw!

Sena raised his head. A crow had landed on the windowsill and stood between the bars. The bird glared at him and cawed again.

"Hello, friend," Sena whispered.

He began to crawl forward, desperate to caress this bird, to feel another living soul. The crow stared at him.

Caw!

You have freedom, Sena thought. You have wings and can fly, yet you came here—to visit me.

As he crawled closer, chains rattling, Sena found his mouth watering.

I can eat you.

Suddenly it seemed that this was no crow at all but a roasted duck, fatty and delicious, not perched on a windowsill but upon a bed of mushrooms and leeks. Sena licked his lips. Since landing in this cell, he had eaten nothing but the cold gruel the guards fed him once a day—a gray paste full of hairs, ants, and sometimes—depending on the guard—a glob of bubbling spit.

"But you are delicious, crow," Sena said, struggling to his feet. "You are a true friend—better than that damn light that keeps leaving me. Better than the rat that only bites me when I try to catch it." He reached out pale, trembling hands toward the crow, the shackles around his wrists clanking. "I'm going to eat you—ah!"

The crow bit him.

Sena brought his finger to his lips, tasting blood.

With a caw that sounded almost like a laugh, the crow flew off into the sky—back into that forbidden world, back into freedom.