Final prayer / The light of your eye lives / Forgotten again.

It was raining. The sound on the crumbling roof woke her. Rain was dangerous. You couldn’t hear footsteps as easily. Slowly, she peered around the grimy attic. The piles of rotting furniture swayed in the darkness, moved by the wind or her imagination. Was that actually a basket or was it--?

A hand shot out and grabbed her throat. The floor groaned under the weight of her attacker. She kicked and scratched at every bit of flesh she could reach. Her attacker’s grip only tightened. She shifted to reach the shard of glass in her pocket and stabbed the arms that held her.

The assassin cursed, letting go. She gasped for air, only to have it kicked out of her the next moment. She blinked at him slowly. He knelt by her, fist raised. A hard man with the same hard look she’d seen before. Maybe it was the same man and they were doomed to play this death game for eternity. Val wasn’t here to save her now.

She barely felt the blow. He was already too far away. She could kill him—should kill him. He was going to kill her. But if she used magic now, the Fae would find her. Oh, but if she didn’t, they would still find her. They always did. She could never escape.

But she wouldn’t die. She refused. The blood roaring in her ears mixed with the sound of the wind. She kicked wildly. The floor groaned. That was why she had come up here. Distantly, something cracked. Then she was falling. The rain whipped against her face, the wind threatening to blow her away.

She blinked. The road stretched away into the treacherous night. How had she gotten here? Where had the man gone? He was one of the Hounds of Ammarna and he would find her again, if he was alive. Was he? Her memory was as irregular as the lighting flashes. But then it always had been.

The muddy road sucked at her feet. She couldn’t run in that, so she stumbled through the brush next to the track. Mile after mile the road wound endlessly. Like the night. Like the rain. Mud smeared her legs. Rain plastered her thin dress to her skin. And the hunger stuck her stomach to her spine. She almost couldn’t feel that particular pain anymore. Sleep was more important. When was the last time she had slept for more than an hour? The Hounds would find her if she stopped long enough to sleep.

The brush opened suddenly on a grassy field. She stumbled into a fence post. Rough wood tore at her, leaving splinters in her hands. She ignored them. There were lights across the field, twinkling, turning the rain path to them a pale gold. She would take that road. There would be people. Humans probably. Humans had food. And names. She didn’t have either.

She crossed the perpetual field, the lights always dancing beyond her reach. She wanted to snatch them, hold them close. She’d take the food and leave. No need to talk to them. They would tell the Hounds where she was, wouldn’t they? After all, the humans had killed the gods. Everyone knew that. Just like everyone knew to leave their shoes facing west at night. Kept the bad humans away. She paused. Where had that thought come from? No one knew that.

The lights were here. She reached out, letting the golden rain fall through her fingers. The light was beautiful. The dirt under her nails exquisite. She would keep them that way forever. Her own bit of color.

A woman’s scream snapped her attention back to the farmyard. The door to the house was open and a man was running towards her. He waved a stick as if it could hurt her. The stupid man clearly thought a stick was dangerous. She could show him want danger really was. Just a little magic and the Fae would obliterate that tiny house. Or the Hounds of Ammarna, they were almost worse because they enjoyed killing.

The man was almost to her. She reluctantly stepped out of the pool of light. The night closed around her. The man stumbled back, dropping his stick, saying something about “ghosts.”

She had never heard that word before. Maybe it would make a good name. She would think about it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she promised herself as she ran into the night. If she lived to tomorrow, it would be three days and she would be free.