“Why should the heir of the Blackbeak Witch-Clan yield her life for that of a mere sentinel? Wing Leader or not, it is still the word of heir against heir in this matter. But the blood has still been shed. And blood must be paid.” Manon again gripped her helm. Her grandmother smiled a little. “The blood shed must be equal,” her grandmother intoned. Her attention flicked over Manon’s shoulder. “So you, Granddaughter, will not die for this. But one of your Thirteen will.” For the first time in a long, long while, Manon knew what fear, what human helplessness, tasted like as her grandmother said,
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