It looks like the quill that Moria had. Not the barbed tip, but the tube, hollowed out and . . .

Her legs gave way, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.

Ashyn woke on a soft pallet. She lifted her head groggily to peer around the dark room, and spotted a figure sitting beside her.

“Moria?” Her voice sounded odd, like a frog’s croak.

Her sister turned, but it was so dark Ashyn could only see the outline of her head.

“You better not be going out,” Ashyn said. “You know Father hates it when you and Daigo . . .”

Father . . .

The thought caught in her mind, and she could feel it buzzing there, trying to push past her sleep-stupor. Something about Father . . .

She couldn’t focus. Her throat hurt and her head throbbed. Had she drunk too much honey wine? No, she was always careful since the last Fire Festival, when Moria wanted to know what it felt like to be drunk and Ashyn had spent half the night nursing her.

Fire Festival . . .

Again, the thought caught, and her gaze went to her hand. There was a ring on her finger. Silver with red stones.

Where did that . . .

Father. Fire Festival.

“Moria?” she said.

“Shhh.”

Ashyn hesitated. Her sister sounded odd. Was her throat hurting as well? Ashyn struggled to rise, her hands gripping the coverlet. Only it wasn’t her silk coverlet from home. It was coarse hemp cloth.

She heard a distant noise. Men’s voices, speaking in a tongue she didn’t recognize. She pushed up on her sleeping mat and peered around, her heart hammering now, mind struggling to put the pieces together.

As soon as she looked around, she knew something was missing. Something she ought to be able to see even in the dimmest light.

“Tova?” she said.

No answering scrabble of claws. Ashyn blinked hard. She caught sight of a drawn curtain, moonlight seeping in on all sides. She scrambled over and yanked at it.

“No!” whispered a voice beside her. “Don’t—”

Ashyn turned and let out a shriek. A hand clapped over her mouth and when it did, she screamed all the louder, feeling that hand, covered in hard bumps that rasped against her skin. She struggled to get away, but another hand grabbed her by the shoulder, holding her fast.

“Be still,” the voice said. “I’m not going to hurt you. You need to keep your voice down, child.”

A nightmare. She was having a nightmare. Nowhere else could she wake to see such a thing and hear it speak like a normal woman.

As Ashyn struggled for calm, she looked up into that terrible face. It had the shape of a human head, but instead of skin, it had overlapping reddish scales all over its bald skull. Where there weren’t scales, there were warts—on the nose, the ears, the lips, even the eyelids.

Shadow stalker.