The dragon-blooded servant slips her glove back on, carefully slipping the fabric over the ugly slash across her palm. The scribe testified to perverse blood sacrifice to dark powers. The Red Wolf handed down a judgment without a second thought. But where explanations, counter-points, the fatal blows to misunderstanding might fall, she speaks only silence.

The Legionnaires were not in the business of mercy. The fell on one and all, not caring for the weak, the injured, the unarmed, the innocent. Every act of rebellion was met with more chains, more humiliation, a faster march, yet the muffled whimpering of the priestess silenced her where these punishments could not. How long they spent trudging through the rain, she could not say. But where explanations, defenses, the vouching of character, given at risk of punishment, where these and more might have prevented it all, Giriel spoke only silence.

Han stands in the Chamber of Harmonious Arrangements; deaf, for a moment, to the gentle pleas of Emli. They truss up Giri in Dominon reds, bind her under the law of a land not her own. The injured dragon-blooded lays her hands on Melody and rushes her out of sight. Heat rises, building in her chest, washing through her face, her eyes, her heart, and all is red, and all is choking. But where rescues, defenses, the bold warnings to seize not what is [i]hers[/i] might ring out, she speaks only silence.

Even if she has to tear herself to pieces, she [i]will[/i] speak only silence.