Nyra stilled beside him upon hearing his report, hardly daring to breathe. Inch by slow inch she lifted her hand to card her fingers through her hair as her eyes locked on the shadows near the water's edge. She could practically feel the ice beginning to flow in her veins, followed by the familiar burn of shame and helplessness. Part of her wanted to cry. What had she ever done to deserve any of this? What had her people done, except be in the way? If ever there was a good reason to cry she had plenty to choose from.

But she didn't. Savas enjoyed seeing his conquests reduced to tears, and she had long ago made a vow to herself never to give him that satisfaction again, even if he wasn't around to witness it.

"My name is Nyra," she said at last, voice tight and near mechanical. "And I am one of his wives. He won't stop until I am found and back where I belong."