It had been three weeks since the fight with Lucian. Three weeks since Callus' leg cracked like old timber. Three weeks since the room had been reset by whatever magic governed Ashmoore’s cruel walls.

And still, every evening without fail, Azpen and Baron came for her.

Sometimes they made her clean the floor thrice on her knees, with the same rag. Sometimes, she’d be asked to sit still for hours after lights-out, back straight, holding a sword in outstretched arms until her muscles ...