Her life fit into a large canvas backpack. [i]Look how far you’ve fallen[/i], Samaire mused as she tightened the buckles. [i]No beautiful silks, no golden mirrors or paintings. No soft slippers nor golden ribbons.[/i] 

The thought stung no less than it had the first time. The bag creaked as she slipped it over her shoulders. Fastening her oiled cloak above the bag, she considered her little bed. It had been stiff and cold, but it was dry and it had been safe. [i]Safe no longer,[/i] she mused, securing her golden lily and scimitars above the clasp of the cloak. If she was no longer a Zarnofsky soldier, it only seemed appropriate that she wear her own colours. Her hand rested on the glittering emeralds and gold hilt of her blade, relishing their splendor. Samaire left the barracks without wishing it goodbye. It did not deserve the ceremony.


The rain was relentless. It was as if it had always been raining. Skyfire was only a distant memory, more a fevered dream than reality. And this close to the wilds, who could truly say what was real? Samaire kept her footprints solid as she trekked to the cell where her claws awaited.

The manthing was pulling at its chain. Samaire’s pulse quickened. It was [i]hers[/i], and she would not let it escape. Her pace quickened, mud spattering the edges of her cloak. She would not let it run, not when she had finally found her first weapon. 

The lock was old, the pins prone to sticking as she fumbled with the keys. [i]Breathe[/i], she reminded herself. Fingers turned careful and she was soon rewarded with the give of a creaking gate. It churned through the mud, catching on a patch of grass and sticking open. Samaire abandoned the keys. All that mattered was the manthing.

Its growl seemed to be a force all its own, rumbling like it was an echo from the Thunder Maiden’s drum. It sounded like the rage of sphinxes trapped in cages in the bazaars of Kivar. She had only been a girl of three and ten, trailing after her Uncle Jonas, desperate to mold herself into a perfect copy. He had been the First that all other First’s aspired to—until he had died and his Second had fallen.

Samaire planted her feet squarely, winding the chain around her gloved hands. Laboring with the guard had done her a service. Slowly, but steadily, she withdrew the pin from the earth. She winched it around her arm, shortening the chain to a more manageable lead. Emerald eyes turned on the manthing as she jerked the chain sharply.

“With me,” she insisted. It didn’t seem to know the words of men, and she cast back. Nymph tongues, perhaps. The dancing lilt of her voice was sharpened by the steel of a command, “[i]Uylpora[/i].”

Samaire jerked the chain more viciously, backing out the open gate. It was a battle to coax and drag the manthing away from the cage. It could not like its prison, she scowled, but it was reluctant to follow her. Strength and the metal snapped around its wrists served her well. Slowly—far too slowly—they approached the gate.

It stood open, waiting. Samaire noted the absence of guards with a sharp look before she noticed the hulking outline in the shadow. Confusion stole across her features before she could help herself. She grit her teeth, careful to yank the manthing further away from Jules. It would be too cruel to let it taste his blood again.

“You belong at the hearth,” she reminded Jules. There was something like softness in his eyes, but Samaire had never understood the look. She raised a brow in question. He shrugged, a smile touching the corners of his lips.

“Can’t truly leave if no one sees you go,” his voice was as gruff as ever. “Walk softly, lass. I’ll shut the gate behind you.”

Samaire swallowed, dropping her gaze. Her throat felt very small, eyes stinging. She took a deep breath, nodding when she could finally trust herself to be steel instead of silk.

“Spirits bless you,” she managed, voice thick and clumsy. Tightening her grip on the chain, she fought the manthing through the gate and down towards the winding path. Samaire paused as she heard the grinding of the gate, turning briefly to watch that life disappear behind heavy oak.