Nephele stared at Ephyra in the dark, and then she said, “About a league past the farm where you found me. Up on a hill. You can’t mistake it.”

Ephyra nodded, getting up quietly.

“I want to go with you,” Nephele said, that same steel in her voice that Ephyra had heard back in the barn.

“No, you don’t.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“What I do best,” Ephyra replied, and then she was gone.

The Galanis guards were easy enough to slip past. The wind had picked up over the course of the night and by the time Ephyra reached the manor, it was raining. The water made the climb up to Dracon’s window slippery and slow. She had to fight to keep her teeth from chattering.

Clutching the side of the window with one hand, she banged the rock against the glass. It splintered and Ephyra struck again, as hard as she could. The window shattered inward.

“Who’s there?”

A bolt of lightning cracked through the sky, and Ephyra used the opportunity to make a dramatic entrance. Silently, she vaulted up onto the windowsill. The room flashed with more lightning, illuminating her in the window.

Dracon leapt from the bed, his broad torso bare, his hair and beard a wild tangle. “How did you get past my guards?”

Rain slammed against the walls outside, blowing into the room.

“The guards?” Ephyra repeated. “You should really be worrying about yourself.”

“Get out of my house,” he demanded. “Or I’ll call the Witnesses here.”

“You’ll be dead before you can,” Ephyra replied, slinking closer. “Actually, you’ll be dead either way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know what you’ve been doing,” Ephyra said. “Threatening people’s lives, their livelihoods. Threatening to throw the Graced to the Witnesses. It ends now.”

“You’re going to stop me?” he asked, laughing. “You’re just a girl.”

“And you’re just an oversized child who’s never been told that people aren’t toys for you to play with,” Ephyra shot back, advancing. “And you should know, I’m not just a girl. I’m the Pale Hand of Death.”

Whatever fame the Pale Hand had possessed before, Pallas had multiplied it tenfold when he’d tried to use her as an executioner. Dracon’s eyes widened, and he snatched up a candlestick from the table beside the bed.

“I’ll kill you,” he growled, brandishing the makeshift weapon.

“That’s my line,” Ephyra replied with a flash of teeth.

Three steps and she was across the room. He swung the candlestick clumsily. Ephyra caught it, taking advantage of his unbalanced stance to jab a knee into his groin.

With a pitiful groan, he crumpled to the ground. Ephyra tossed the candlestick aside and pinned him there, hand at his throat.