“You should not have turned on us,” Lovats says in reply. “You should not have turned on me.”

Stix’s eyes meet Bastien’s eyes. “Blade,” he screams through the flames. “Use the … blade.”

The vision ended. The voices vanished. And Stix found herself on her knees with her face in her hands. She was weeping—but it was not her. It was the Old One. The one they adored here, patron saint of change, seasons, and crossroads. The one who lived inside of Stix along with so many other souls.

There was no time when the voices took control. Stix had learned that after the first intense memories had overwhelmed her—that whatever passage of time she might experience did not match the rest of the world. She might slip into a memory and half a day had passed, or she might drift off and it had been only breaths.

Right now, thank Noden, it seemed to be the latter. Stix dragged to her feet and faced the flame hawk again. Ice still covered its face; its body was still prone—though not for long. Smoke coiled into Stix’s nose.

She swung. Water loosed like an arrow, long and true. It hit the hawk’s feet, then circled and circled before finally cinching in place and freezing. The bird was stuck. The bird was masked. It could not even scream its defeat.

Stacia Sotar, the Water Brawler, had won her first Slaughter Ring.

Immediately after the fight, two guards escorted Stix to Kahina’s private box. Ryber was not allowed to join, and though she put on a good performance as a trainer offended by the separation, the guards were intractable.

When Stix arrived, she found Kahina alone, sprawled across her long chair. She seemed thoroughly disinterested as Stix was nudged to a floor cushion several steps away, as if she hadn’t invited Stix here at all. As if Stix was just another piece of furniture on her towering private space.

Minutes gusted past, and Stix silently waited. That blighted flame hawk had gotten her good at the end. Her shirt had burned through to her right shoulder, leaving pieces of cotton inside the damaged flesh. She’d gotten a stripe across her jaw too, and her white hair had burned to shriveled shortness around her right ear.

When Kahina still had not acknowledged Stix after several minutes, Stix cleared her throat. And Kahina sighed. The pipe clutched within her teeth snuffed out. She rolled languidly to one side.

“You do not look so good.” Kahina swung her legs to the floor. “But what an impressive display. You made short work of my pet.”

Pet. The hair on Stix’s arms shot high. “The … flame hawk is yours?”

“She is.” Kahina withdrew her pipe and smiled. It was a predatory grin. A powerful grin.

“You don’t treat it very well.”