The silence in the room was thicker than blood. I watched them, these so-called elders, these selfish old men who would trade their own flesh and blood for a taste of power. Gerald’s plea for mercy hung in the air, a pathetic, whining sound.

I let the silence stretch, letting their fear ferment. “Mercy is a currency you’ve never dealt in,” I said, my voice low and cold. “So we’ll use a currency you understand. Greed.” I turned my gaze from the cowering Gerald to the others lining ...