One young man’s sharp fear stabbed through her misery. By this time, her legs, back, and knees blazed with pain. The man was being accused of selling water to the vagrants. Shyla read his thoughts and learned he was a vagrant and had been buying water for his commune when he was caught.

“I’m innocent,” he pleaded. “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Honest.”

The prince glanced at her. Here was her chance to do some good.

“He’s telling the truth,” she said.

“Captain, please show our sun-kissed what happens when she lies.”

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye before Yates’ fist slammed into the side of her face. Her cheek and jaw exploded in agony as the force of the impact sent her flying. Crashing onto the ground, she tasted blood as her vision flashed from dark to light.

Yanked up by her short hair, Yates set her on her knees then snapped the collar around her throat. She was half dragged back to her room and secured.

“The prince is disappointed,” Yates said. “You won’t be getting any food or water until he’s happier with your performance.”

She huddled on the floor for a long time. The young man had been a test and she hadn’t passed. The problem was she’d probably do it again. The Sun Goddess had instructed Shyla to stop her people’s suffering, not be the cause of it. Not everyone would be a test.

The next few sun jumps blurred into one long session of misery. The prince was not happy with her performance. Not at all. She grew weaker and more crippled as the pain in her body spread.

After one such session, she lay bloody and broken on the floor of her room. Even though ninety-six levels separated her from the sunlight, she sensed the distant heat and the pulse of disappointment from the Sun Goddess, no doubt regretting her choice of champion. She’d failed the goddess and failed the Invisible Swords who trusted her to lead them. Failed the entire city, which squatted above her like a velbloud too fat to fly.

Her body ached with the need for Rendor’s touch. For him to wrap her in his strong arms. She longed to curl up next to him, safe and warm for just a couple angles. And she worried about her parents. Were they suffering as well? Would the King send his emissary to demand their release?