to floor and wall, trembled.
"Hope you enjoyed meal," Sharik rumbled and smirked. "Sharik cook. Special recipe."
He chuckled, a deep sound, then slapped her face. Pain flared, and Mori felt her lip split. She tasted blood.
"Next time you eat silent," Sharik said and growled. "No more coughing. No more choking. Or Sharik hurt you more. Sharik cut your fingers and feed you them."
With that, he left the chamber and slammed the door behind him. Mori heard the keys jangle in the lock, Sharik chuckle, and his boots thump away.
For long moments, she could think of nothing but breathing; every breath that entered and left her lungs was a struggle. Her belly ached and her limbs would not stop shaking. But whatever foul concoction he fed her, it had kept her alive thus far; Mori tried to draw comfort from that.
Food gives me strength. Strength will let me escape. Strength will let me kill him.
Her hands were too weak to form fists, but she curled her fingers as far as they'd go.
"I will escape," she whispered. "I will kill him. I will find Solina and I will kill her too."
She kept inhaling deeply, struggling to calm the shaking of her limbs. She breathed in and out, focusing on the flow of air—rancid as it was—into her lungs, into her fingertips, into every part of her. She thought of the leaves on the birch trees back home. She thought of her friends and family. She thought of harps playing in Requiem's marble temples and of her stars. She nodded.
"All right, Mori," she whispered to herself. "It's time to try again."
Pain flared in her belly and spun her head. Every time she tried to shift in these chains, she ended up weaker, her wrists and ankles bleeding. She had come to dread these attempts, but she tightened her lips, inhaled sharply, and nodded again.
I must keep trying. I must. If I give up hope, I can only wait to die. Even if escape is impossible, even if my magic will forever fail me, I will keep trying. I will keep hope alive. Even a fool's hope is better than no hope at all.
With a deep breath, she summoned her magic.
It rose tingling inside her, bright as starlight, warm as mulled wine. She let it flow through her chest, into her limbs, and into her head, smooth and soothing like her breathing.
Help me, stars of Requiem. Light my way here in darkness.
Wings began to sprout from her back; she felt them scrape against the walls. Her fingernails began growing into claws. Her teeth began lengthening into fangs. Across her frail legs, golden scales began to appear.
I will find your sky, Requiem! Help me fly.
Her body began to balloon, and a tail began to grow beneath her, and Mori could taste the sky and starlight, and—
As her limbs grew, the chains dug into her flesh. Pain burst. Her magic began to fizzle.
No. No! Clutch it. Shift! Break the chains!
She clenched her jaw, growled, and clutched her magic, tried to keep shifting, to keep growing, to—
A yelp fled her throat.
Her limbs grew too fast. The chains tore into her. Blood dripped, and her magic vanished like birds fleeing a disturbed tree.
Her scales disappeared, her claws and fangs retracted, and Mori lowered her head. She sat shaking, and blood dripped from where the chains had bitten into her. She shivered for long moments, head spinning.
Try again. Shift! You can break the chains, you…
Yet the darkness clutched at her. She was too weak, too hurt. Too much blood had spilled. Her forehead hit her knees and Mori gagged, losing the gruel the jailor had fed her. She could not stop trembling, and she could barely breathe.
I'm sorry, Requiem. I'm sorry, stars.
She closed her eyes, wept quietly, and let the long, dark night draw her into its embrace.
SOLINA
The palace doors opened, and her guards dragged in a lanky man robed in muddy black. A hood covered his face; Solina could see only strands of dangling white hair. Sitting upon her ivory throne, she narrowed her eyes and watched as her guards, tall men bedecked in steel, shoved the man down upon the floor of her hall.
"My queen!" said a guard. His voice echoed behind his falcon visor. "We found this one skulking outside the palace, muttering strange spells. He claims he's a weredragon."
Fifty guards, ten generals of her army, and three Sun God priests filled her throne room. They all sucked in their breath. Solina leaned forward in her ivory