LYRA POINT OF VIEW.

“Foolish whore!”

They dragged her in at dusk.

I heard the noise first, boots scraping stone, a muffled sob, a sharp command from a guard. I was already standing by the window when the doors opened, watching the last light fade from Moonfang.

I didn’t turn right away.

I knew it was her.

“Bring her closer,” I said.

Syrah stumbled forward between two guards. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair dull, her face blotched red from crying. She wouldn’t lift her ...