The cords they tied around our wrists seemed to be made of the same brown material as their clothes and Archangel’s cloak. It felt both scratchy and sinuous, and as strong as rope. Any thoughts I had of trying to break free ended when they leveled spears at us, wooden shafts topped with evil-looking shards of black stone. But that didn’t stop Wali, who struggled violently as they searched him. “Give that back to me!” he screamed, and I saw that they’d slipped a cord off his neck, something gold glinting at its end. I recognized it instantly, and I knew why he was so desperate to get it back: it was the ring Korah had given him, partner to the one that had been destroyed when fire consumed her body. I hoped they wouldn’t find the red-handled pocketknife I’d inherited from Laman, the one that had belonged to his lost son, but their search was too thorough for that. They also found the book Aleka had given me just a week ago on my fifteenth birthday, a homemade book with a single charcoal portrait from when I was a baby.
