The demons tore the old man apart. One demon lifted a severed leg over its head, parading it as a trophy. Other demons tore out internal organs, and one began to feast upon the entrails. The demons danced with their prizes, slick with blood.

Issari winced, horror rising inside her. She closed her eyes. "This is evil, Father. This is wrong."

He gripped her wrist and his eyes blazed. "This is dominion. One cannot rule a kingdom with compassion, only with strength. With your siblings gone, you are my heir. This land will someday be yours. I will no longer pamper you. Accustom yourself to blood. When you are Queen, you too will shed blood . . . or others will shed yours."

Issari did not want to be Queen. She wished she could fly away too—like Laira. She closed her eyes, imagining that she too could shift. If she could become a dragon, she could fly off this balcony, soar so high even the demons could not catch her. She would head north, find her mother and sister, and flee this horrible city.

Yet as her father had said, she was pure. No reptile curse filled her veins. She remained a young woman, trapped upon this balcony.

She opened her eyes and mouth, about to plead with her father, to beg him to return the demons to the Abyss, when the crone stepped onto the balcony.

"So here they are—father and sister to the maggot."

Issari spun around and gasped. In the balcony doorway stood the strangest woman she'd ever seen. The crone was bent over, wizened as a raisin, and clad in animal skins. Warts covered her hooked nose, and her fingernails were long and yellow. Wisps of white hair covered her scalp, and her mouth opened in a cruel, toothless grin.

Is this a demon? Issari wondered, heart racing.

"Who are you?" Raem demanded, taking a step toward the crone. "How did you pass the guards?"

The wizened old creature cackled. She reached out twig-like fingers to rap his armor. "You are a man of metal, of might, of many demons. But Old Shedah still has some tricks." She spat right onto the balcony floor, then turned toward Issari. "Well . . . and look at this one. A fair, ripe fruit, she is." The crone reached up to stroke Issari's breast. "You are taller and fairer than your sister. She is a worm, but you are a rare flower. You would make a fine bride for my chieftain."

Issari took a step backward, banging her back against the balcony railing. "Stay away, witch! How dare you speak of my sister?"