Colors flared over his skin, red to orange to gold, past white and into blue. The glass beneath him melted into slag, but the skeletal witch didn’t seem to feel the heat at all. She took a dainty, unhurried step away, letting the leash play out a little but not relinquishing her hold. Ember’s shout was the roar of the blaze at the stables—he didn’t need to be speaking her language for Yulla to understand his fury. He clawed at the sand, burning it beneath him as he fought toward Vedra. But he didn’t get far. “Amara,” said Vedra calmly, “control him.” The skeletal woman drew herself up, Ember’s light throwing harsh shadows across the angles of her face, making look even more like a skull left out in the desert sun. She twitched the leash, the slightest flick of her wrist, the kind of gentle warning you’d give to a rambunctious pony. A flash went up the line. A crimson knot worked its way from the witch’s fingertips to the collar around Ember’s neck. He crumpled, screaming, scrabbling at the collar.
