at before-someone whose mouth had been taken, not by rope but by ritual. He had guards for questions and

and a single narrow window for light. It smelled faintly of old bread and the tang of iron. He watched the men unchain her with clumsy, nervous hands. Whe

om. He'd meant it like an order. The men took the hint and shu

He expected silence to grow-the kind of silence that swallows you. Instead there was s

and tried to read a face that would not speak. Lyra's hands were bound in a way that let them move b

fell? What had the ritual taken and left? Why had she mouthed that one word-S

asked, softly. The word felt absurd in the empty room. He remembered his father's lessons

suring. He felt a strange heat rush under his skin. He wanted to reach out and touch the line of scar on her shoul

had no use for. His throat was tight. "You could be a spy," he said,

made him laugh-a soft, incredulous sound that surprised him. How could someo

cot. She used it to wash the ash from her face with motion that was careful, intimate motion. He watched the w

st noticed in the yard. It was softer here, like a note under the hum of a lute. It touched him in the middle of his c

a flood of stolen memories, a howl of wolf-sound. Instead there was a whisper, not in words but in feeling: tiredness, weathered, a hollow the size of a na

metal strap bit his skin. Her wrist was warm, the bones hard under the skin. He felt something: not a picture, not a word, but a s

that was what his tongue knew. He

uthed something, slow and deliberate, like a child learning a new alphabet. Brian leaned closer. He could not hear it-her m

a fire and a woman humming something low in an old tongue, a lullaby. He could not name the tune. He had never told anyone. He had never kno

en raised to obey explain the strange tenderness that the sound brought?

ainst her chest, then pointed, slow and careful, to hi

oning steps, orders like knives. He had two paths: the easy obedience that would buy him his father's approbation, or t

sed as a decision. He told himself it was sensible. He meant it in a way that scared him: h

bed like someone who had done it a thousand times. He watched the motion and wo

ed and a face he knew appeared in the gap: a thin-faced steward fro

voice a whisper like straw. "

e steward avoided Lyra's face like he might catc

o the training yard at first light. There'll be..

utral. He had seen Asher's 'demonstrations'-showings of strength and cruelty that made app

watched him with a patience that made him angry because he fel

a taste of metal. He could see the stewards lips tighten. He could hear the

d blinked.

e could feel the weight of the words like a ledger opened. There would be questions. There would be trouble. But h

a's hand went to the chain and he felt a small movement under his palm, like a bird finding his finger to rest on. She lifte

eir poles like fists. Down in the courtyard, Asher walked away from his father with a bea

m and in doing so had put himself in the crosshairs. He sat back down and watched

It was a simple, human touch. The chain was cool and smelled of

ght like a pebble tossed into a pond. It was not a full voice,

t said. Rem

He looked to the door. In the shadow, between slats of the wo