We’re going to die. These people—they had suffered too many decades, ignored by their king, preyed on by witches instead of living alongside them in a wary truce like a few other towns had. They wanted someone to blame. They needed someone to hurt.

“Stop them!”

A hot red tide swept through Ranka.

“Burn them!”

Someone lit a torch, and then another.

The pressure filled up every part of her, feeding her anger, her hurt. Fury burned her throat and swelled in her mind. Terror shivered through her blood and into her hands, her legs, her heart.

Ranka reached for the ice-covered ropes and tore at them with her teeth. They fell to the snow in frozen chunks.

Fire at her back, fire all around. It would consume them both. They were just girls, but they were witches, too, and in this wide, cruel world they would always be the ones who burned.

Vivna tilted her head up to Ranka. Her pupils shrank, as if she saw something horrifying in her little sister’s face.

“Come on,” Ranka begged her, tugging at her hands. “Vivna, we gotta go now.”

Vivna crouched there in the half-melted snow, eyes wide, tears streaming down her cheeks. For Ranka, Belren had never been home. But Vivna had dreamed of it. Starved for it.

And it did not want her.

“I can’t,” Vivna whispered.

Ranka reached for her—and a villager grabbed Ranka by the hair, jerking her back so hard, it knocked Ranka off balance. Pain blistered through her scalp. The colors vanished.

“Burn them!”

Pressure in her skin, pressure in her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. The flames were gray, the humans were gray, everything was gray. It was as though all the color had been sucked from the world. What was happening to her?

A boot kicked her ribs. Ranka gasped, curling in on herself, trying to protect her head with her hands. Nails raked down her skin.

Somewhere, on the fringe, her parents watched and did nothing.

Pain, everywhere. Exploding across her ribs, sending starbursts through her eyes. The pressure, the pressure, the pressure. Her veins felt hot. Where were the colors?

Please, no.

Vivna shrieked as someone shoved her down to the snow.

My sister. Please, someone. Help us.

Someone had their hands around Ranka’s throat. Her lungs ached. She threw out a fist, an elbow, a knee. Something crunched under her hand. A woman screamed. Ranka fought back and it wasn’t enough; she was never enough. She was a child fighting adults.

They were going to die.

Please. I’ll do anything. I have to protect her.

Fire crackled gray just beyond them. Ash-colored blood slicked across Ranka’s hands, poured down her face. Someone kicked Ranka in the stomach.

Vivna—where was Vivna?

I have to protect her.