But he was a liar. All the little encouragements, all the advice – little tricks to worm his way into my heart and my confidence.

So why did I still feel like I trusted him more than I did Ragan?

Ahead of us, the lights swarmed closer. “Get ready,” I said.

Ragan lifted his hands, shaking them free of his oilskin cloak. Behind him, Lozhi cowered again.

It came to me in a flash. I knew where I’d seen that before. After I’d pulled Thrana from the water. She’d flinched each time I’d raised a hand. While she’d eventually gotten over that, she still flinched a little every time a man raised his hands around her. But while my love and dedication to Thrana had helped to pull her out of her shell, Lozhi remained in his. Ragan’s ossalen wasn’t shy; he had suffered, and almost certainly by Ragan’s hand.

I focused on Ragan again just in time to see him lift his foot, that smile back on his face.

“You—”

The foot came down and the earth shook. I couldn’t keep my balance on the muddy switchback. I tumbled down the path, slipping each time I tried to get my feet beneath me. It was too soon – I’d not given him the order. Part of me still dwelt in that confusion. But the rest of me knew, down to my bones, that Ragan had done it on purpose. My back slammed into something, nearly knocking the wind from me.

Thrana, stopping my fall. She curled her body protectively around mine, her hackles stiff as broom bristles as I grasped at her fur to bring myself to my feet. Cold, wet mud slid down my cheek. My hood had torn free and rain sluiced at the back of my neck. The scent of burning oil had faded, this far down.

I couldn’t see the expressions on the faces of the soldiers, but I could see them looking down on me. Ragan was following me down the slope, picking his way easily past the mud and the rocks. He spoke above the wind. “One thing the monks taught me was that history is not a line; it is a spiral.” He lifted a finger and then traced a spiral in the air. “We don’t repeat moments in time, but we come back around, echoing them. Your ancestors may have massacred the Alanga, but the Alanga are rising again. And here you are – from the bloodline of the Emperor and an Alanga yourself.”

“I’m – I’m not,” I said, though my denial sounded hollow even to myself. The soldiers were watching; they were listening.