Sky. Sarah Driver

outside, growing closer to the cell with every beat. Then a rider garbed in raindrop mail barges inside and stares at Kestrel. ‘What are you doing in here?’

      ‘Greetings, Pangolin Spearsister,’ says Kestrel breathlessly. ‘I was sent to shear the prisoner’s head and I thought, whilst I was here—’ Her voice trails off.

      I stare at her. Is she lying?

      ‘So why does the creature still have a headful of rat’s tails?’ spits Pangolin. ‘Our blessed Protector will be displeased when she finds out you’ve been treating an outsider.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Kestrel says quickly. ‘Please, do not tell anyone you found me here. Remember when I helped heal your wounds so you might still be chosen as a Spearwarrior?’

      Pangolin watches her coldly. Then she blows out her cheeks and rolls her eyes. ‘I won’t tell the Protector or Lunda this time. Probably.’

      ‘Oh, thank you, Pangolin!’ Kestrel stoops to collect her things. The light dims as she tips the moonsprite out of the glass jar, into her pocket. Ettler plops down from the chute and scurries into her bag. Then her skirts shush against the stone as she hurries off without looking at me. My heart punches my chest once, twice, and she’s sucked into the gloom.

      Pangolin’s brown eyes stare dully through her raindrop armour. ‘Looks like you’re alone again,’ she says calmly.

      When I rush at her, snarling, she brings her spear up to her chest to block me and then uses it to shove me roughly onto the floor. ‘I’ll be back for you tomorrow.’ Then she turns and leaves.

      Fright gnaws away my insides, leaving me with a gutful of shame. Once, I was fearless – or at least I made myself believe the lie that I was brave. Now it’s like my scars have cut so deep that all my hurt shows up on the outside, and I hate it.