Mustering her courage, she walked over to the two of them, aware that Bones was shadowing her. The other guards barely glanced their way, too distracted by their own prisoners to care what was happening in the corner.

Upon reaching the Butcher, Kiva took stock of the situation. She’d thought it was just spirits in the room, that the guards and prisoners alike were inebriated, but up close, she saw the golden powder glittering on the woman’s fingers, under her nose, on her lips. She saw the same on the Butcher, his eyes half lidded, his hands still roaming, unaware that the prisoner he held wasn’t responding.

Because she couldn’t.

Kiva didn’t need to check her pulse. It was obvious.

The woman was dead.

Overdosed.

On angeldust.

Rage rose in Kiva, strong and true. These guards, they didn’t care—they just wanted their playthings, their entertainment, and then they would discard them again. The prisoners meant nothing to them, even their favored ones. Live or die, it was all the same to people like Bones and the Butcher.

“Well, healer?” Bones prompted. “Can you wake her up? We’re not done with her yet. It’s time for round two.”

“You mean three!” called another guard.

“Four!” came a different voice.

Bones chuckled, and this time Kiva feared she wouldn’t be able to swallow back all she was feeling. Fisting her hands tightly enough for her nails to pierce skin, she used the pain to ground herself. Only when she was certain she could open her mouth without risk did she answer, “I can’t wake her. She’s dead.”

The song of lament was still playing, the chorus echoing in the wake of Kiva’s declaration.

“My love, my love, I’ll wait for you, until we meet at last in the everworld.”

“What do you mean, dead?” Bones demanded.

Kiva’s voice was flat as she replied, “Dead, as in lifeless.”

“I know what dead means, you little—”

“What’s going on in here?”

Kiva could have fainted with relief at the sound of Naari’s voice, and she turned to find her standing at the entrance to the room, her eyes narrowed as she took in the space.

“What’s it look like?” slurred an unknown guard in the back, stroking the arm of the giggling woman wrapped around him. “We’re having a party. You should join us, Arell. Let down your hair.” He hiccuped a laugh and pointed to Naari’s cropped locks. “Oh, wait, you don’t have enough.”

There was nothing even remotely funny about what the slurring guard had said. Or what he was doing.

“Healer, you’re needed in the infirmary,” Naari said, her eyes flashing with anger, though Kiva knew it wasn’t directed at her.