Chapter 6

Pain gripped Link's heart, each thud feeling like a spike in his chest. It was as though grief itself was a beast, sinking its talons into the centre of his soul. Dawn's early light washed the night away, but it was not the cause for the red mist that the hurt young man saw in his vision; a blood-red coating that would flash into the blackest darkness, depending on whether his whirling emotions were focused on his anguish or his cold, cold fury. The muscles in his face and arm were tight, like ice transformed into steel, and his mind was ablaze. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was feel; the deep ache in his core as raw as his throat, driven hoarse by his continuous cries of rage.

He flew Bannock onwards through the near deserted streets of the Hylian Quarters as the people – his people, those who he had grown up with, played with as a child, shared their joys and woes with – gave chase, their faces haggard, their hands clutching rusty daggers. An early arrow had caught the bird as soon as he had emerged from his capsule, and was now unable to turn himself invisible. The familiar sights of the Quarter, the Hylian Meeting House, the baker's shop where he would buy flour for Mystral, the old tannery where he would go exploring when he was younger, sped past him, now looking cold and alien, a ghostly blur in his eyes.

Digging his nails into the Glimmer Bird's hide until he drew blood, Link spurred Bannock on, making him jerk left and right as he tried to shake off his pursuers. He'd left Servion and the first group of men far behind, but as news quickly spread through the small enclave like an alcohol-fuelled fire, more and more people joined the chase, eager to gain vengeance on the murdering turncoat. The bird, who made little protest, banked a little too sharply to the left while making a turn, and Link's shoulder crashed into planks of wood resting against a building, almost making him topple from his ride, and spraying splinters into his arm. He didn't even feel it.

Link threw a glance over his shoulder as he tried to fight the dark whirlpool of despair in the hollow centre of his heart, threatening to pull him under. It was tempting, almost comforting. He saw them, the wild-eyed Hylians driven on by their own madness, running underneath a canopy, on top of which were stacked steel poles, ready to be used by the traders in the morning for their stalls. Instantly, Link had his crossbow ready.

Bannock threw him a wary glance. "If you do that, you might kill someone," he said solemnly.

"Is that so?" Link spat, feeling a needle of anger jab into his finger as he pushed down hard on the trigger. The arrow hummed across the space between Link and his pursuers, before tearing through the canopy with a wet rip. The Hylians scattered, realising what was going to happen. Some were not fast enough, though, and the thick, steel poles rained in on them like a slow-moving grey waterfall. Link heard the sickening wet snap of broken bones and the accompanying shrill screams. He turned away, satisfied, and felt his mouth curl automatically into an insane, twisting grin. Somewhere deep inside, he felt his soul protest the action, but the dull, heavy weight of his personal grief drowned it out.

"Link," the Glimmer Bird said cautiously. "I know you'll be wanting me to fly higher and faster soon. I need to rest a moment. Just a few minutes."

The young assassin felt the angry retort rise to his lips. What was wrong with this stupid creature? How could it be so weak?

Bannock saw it coming. "It won't take long," he said quickly. "Then we can be free."

Link tried to control his breathing, as the raspy, frantic wheeze took hold of him. Finally, he closed his eyes, nodding. He relaxed, letting the bird control his own flight. Gently, Bannock drifted down towards a narrow, deserted pathway, sandwiched between two large buildings and smelling of decay and disuse. Link disembarked, faintly noticing the orange tinge to the sky as the sun rose. Bannock shuffled off to one side, hanging his head as he tried to recuperate.

Idly, Link remembered how old Horiartia, one of their neighbours, had reacted when her husband had been found dead one summer's morning. She had gone out just after dawn to buy some meat for a special meal she had wanted to cook, and had returned to find her beloved lying stiff and grey on the floor. Her screams had awoken the people in nearby houses, including Link's own. He had been small then, and had not understood what was happening, but the sight of the woman tearing out her own hair as Mystral and others tried to comfort her had chilled him to the soul.

Now, though, he understood her perfectly, and sympathised. He remembered Mystral's words that day. 'Death is a shadow's sword that will effect all of us, in some form or another, throughout our lives.' Link had found the words far too desolate, and it wasn't until he had received his assassins' training that he had been able to wash his heart of them. Now they returned to him, all too real, and all too true. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how Mystral had reacted to the death of their own parents, but the thought of his sister made the image of her ashen, unmoving face tear across his mind like fire. He had to push it deep, deep down under his soul as though he were hiding a pebble in a bundle of hay.

"Link."

He spun around, raising his crossbow. Fran was there, a thick, woollen cloak wrapped tightly around shoulders, watching Link with calm eyes.

The young man gripped his weapon tighter. "Keep away from me," he gasped. A sudden idea exploded in his mind, lacing his thoughts with suspicion. "How did you know I was here?"

Fran kept his gaze on him. "It's not hard to track a visible Glimmer Bird," he said, his voice oddly serene and thoughtful.

Link flexed his fingers on the trigger. He could hear his own breathing; too fast and too shallow just like his hammering heart. "Keep away," he insisted.

The older man's dark eyes smouldered, a hardness appearing on his face. "Put that down, Link," he said. "You must stay calm." He raised his arms in a peaceful gesture, readying himself to move forward.

Link dug his heels into the ground. "Take one step closer and, I swear, I'll shoot you where you stand."

Fran's eyes blazed, turning instantly into hot, black coals. Link saw his own face reflected there; saw his forehead and cheeks twisted and saw the madness in his own bloodshot eyes. In a blur, Fran reached back behind his cloak, pulling free an old, polished bow, one feather-tailed arrow already in place. For a brief moment, Link was distracted, taking a step back as the beauty of the intricately carved weapon took his breath away. He composed himself within seconds, idly wondering where and why Fran had learned to use such a piece of art as that bow.

They stood there, facing one another, weapons aimed. Neither man flinched; the steel tips of their arrows barely a few notches apart. The chill morning breeze played with their hair and pinched their cheeks. The air between them contracted, the intensity of their stares betraying no sign that either one of them would relent.

"I said," Fran continued, each slow word punctured by a moment of silence. "Put the weapon down."

Something welled up inside of the young man at that very instant. It forced its way to the surface like a hot spring and broke through his soul like the cracking of ice under a hot sun. His eyes burned as the tears came. The crossbow in his hand trembled.

"I killed her," Link said, his voice breaking.

Fran's eyes sparkled with understanding. Still, he did not lower his bow. "She's not dead, lad," he said softly, his voice thick with pity.

Link's whole body was shuddering now, tiny sobs escaping from his mouth. He grit his teeth. "I killed her."

"She's not dead." Fran sighed. "The word is that she's injured badly, but she's alive. You were tricked, lad. Servion called all the women to a 'special function' late last night. I tried to find you, but you were gone already."

The young man didn't even acknowledge the last few words. He cocked his head to one side. "Mystral is alive?"

"Aye, lad."

Link let his arm drop, and strode ahead, pushing past Fran. "I have to find her."

The old man shoved him back violently, catching Link by surprise. He slipped in a patch of dirty, black ice, almost twisting his ankle. He glared up at the elder man.

"Don't be insane, lad," Fran said. "They'll cut you to ribbons first."

A grin curled across Link's face as he pinned Fran with a hot stare. "I'll kill them all," he growled, his voice barely more than a whisper. He felt saliva trickle down his chin.

The elder man shook his head, sighing once more. "I know it's difficult, Link, but you must stay calm. You're not thinking clearly." His breath coiled into the air as steam while he waited for the young man to find his bearings.

Suddenly, Link lunged at him, his fingers curling around Fran's collar. "What do you want with me, old man?" he barked. "Why do you keep following me? Did Servion put you up to this? Did he?"

Fran snapped his arms up, breaking free of Link's grasp. The young assassin dropped back, surprised at the elder man's swiftness, and stumbled. Fran didn't waste any time, knocking Link to the ground with a punch to the side of the head, more humiliating than it was painful.

"Now," Fran said, rubbing his fist. "You're going to come with me. We need to find out why the Chief did this. I can't believe it was simply petty revenge."

Link looked up at him, breathing deeply. "Go with you where?"

"To my home," Fran replied, flicking his eyes down at the fallen young man. "You don't have to trust me, lad. I know that you won't. But you don't have much choice." He paused, frowning. "If I really wanted Servion to find you, I would have met you with a group of his own men." He held Link's gaze. "I have no loyalty to the Chief."

Link's head dropped, as he gave his response with a small nod. He was shaking even harder now, his breathing irregular and wild. His hands curled into fists, the nails digging into the palms and splitting skin. He could sense Fran and Bannock waiting in silence. The old man seemed to understand perfectly what was happening. His eyes aflame and his heart thudding with an almost malignant rhythm, Link threw back his head and screamed his rage at the heavens, pouring out his grief in a long, sustained roar.

...

Sheik and Kafei crouched beside the old, rust-encrusted duct, the metal-grille covering broken and bent. Moss encircled it, dirty brown-green in colour. It was at odds with the polished jade marble of the Castle's wall. Water, stagnant and yellow, dripped from the top to the bottom, the acrid stench almost making them both gag. Kafei had led her to this place, where the Castle faced a part of the city that wasn't so densely populated. Somehow he had known about this overlooked entrance to the inside.

The enclave here consisted of mixed races. The people who lived here were those that worked in the Castle itself, the carpenters, the bakers, the messengers, amongst many others. If they had no family of their own, or could not afford a dwelling, they were housed in this Quarter. Large wooden doors, frost stroking the surface, indicated the rear entrance to the Castle, the place where trade deliveries were made. Briefly, Sheik had tried to formulate a plan to enter through that way, but Kafei had said that there was a better way in.

Sheik looked at the dirty duct now, her face creasing into a grimace automatically. It was wide enough for them to crawl through, but it didn't seem a very pleasant prospect. An image of the Princess' face floated into her head and she felt a surge of determination mixed with love.

"After you," Kafei said dryly.

Sheik flicked a glance over at him. "Are you sure you can find the dungeons?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied quickly. "I'm familiar with the layout of the Castle."

She felt her eyebrow arch. "How?" she said. "When did you ever learn about the Castle?"

He looked away, peering forward to examine the duct. "A long time ago." He glanced back at her, smiling. "When you were a little girl."

Satisfied, she nodded, taking in a deep breath before she gripped the sides of the metal tube, ready to enter. "Let's go in."

Kafei laid a hand on her arm. "I'll lead," he said, the firm expression on his face contradicting his earlier jibe.

She relaxed, relenting, and he crawled in. Sheik tried to ignore the smell that wafted in the air around her and the icy slime that was now coating her gloves and tunic. Their shuffling movements echoed around them, and Sheik had to struggle to keep sight of Kafei in the murky darkness ahead. Sometimes she would falter, the reality of her surroundings breaking through the steely self-control of her mind, but then she would think of the Princess and love would bolster her heart and keep her going.

Without even a moment's notice, the world cracked around her, and the air contracted as the whispers returned with a burning intensity that racked her mind. They swirled around her head with a fierce strength that she'd never experienced before. It felt as though her heart was being sucked from her chest. Slowly, the whispers slowed, the disparate voices uniting into one word, a word that she was surprised to realise she could understand perfectly.

Revenge.

And then the world righted itself and the tunnel returned to her vision, the voices gone. She looked up to see Kafei gazing over his shoulder at her with an odd expression.

"Yes, exactly," he said, his voice sounding metallic in the enclosed space. "Revenge."

Her mouth dropped open and ice stabbed her heart. Had she said that out loud? The thought gnawed at her, filling her with dread. What was happening to her?

The immense weight of their task diverted her thoughts, and Sheik chastised herself for embarking on such a foolish undertaking. It was strange, though, that Kafei had not objected to the plan at all; indeed, he appeared to be very eager to go through with it. He probably wanted to find Anju and Hobert as fast as possible, and his mind had shut out any dissenting doubts.

Sheik couldn't tell for how long they crawled along those grimy ducts, before Kafei called for a halt, opening a hatch set in the floor. They dropped into a partly-darkened room, their boots scuffing the marble floor with a squeak. Sheik looked up, noticing the shimmering purple circles that were set into the wall, spaced in a regular pattern.

"What are those?" she asked.

Kafei followed her gaze. "Portals. The assassins use them to travel to various places in the country."

The cold efficiency of their enemies made Sheik shiver more than the temperature could, and she pulled her eyes away from the hypnotic swirls of energy as Kafei strode across the room. She felt strengthened now that they were inside, and her fingers trailed across the hilt of her daggers, her heart bubbling with anticipation.

"Where are the dungeons?" she said, her voice laced with keen expectation. Her fingers flexed, the prospect of seeing the Princess again making her edgy.

"This way," Kafei said gruffly, leading her down one of the corridors that branched away from the room.

Once again, Sheik was struck by the extravagance of the Castle. Walls draped with gold and royal-blue hangings, underneath which elaborately painted decorations struggled to peek out, bordered the rich, padded carpets. This time she felt no envy. To her, after seeing what these people had done to her family, all the pretty baubles and embellishments were coated with the blood of a people who had struggled to just eat day by day. She knew that those who lived in the Castle had no such concerns themselves, and the injustice of it all burned in her veins. Again, her fingers tapped on her daggers. She wouldn't kill anyone, oh no, but she could make them hurt; force them to share in the pain that she carried around in her heart like the crushing weight of a massive boulder. A sour taste flooded her mouth as the idea took hold of her.

She remembered the stories the Elders would tell her as a child to help her to adjust to their situation. They spoke of the evil men would do to others urged on by greed; the murders, the deception and the sheer callousness that would drive people to insanity just to possess shiny trinkets or glittering jewels. She'd never understood the people in those stories. She had always preferred the laughs and the simple companionship of her relatives than any cold, emotionless object, though, sometimes, she had found her family's presence constricting and irritating. Her heart sank as she realised that she would never have that problem ever again.

Her musings broke as Kafei abruptly turned down another hallway, one that ended in a flight of stairs leading down into the underbelly of the castle. The air was more stifling down here, and a damp breeze stroked Sheik's face. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she wondered why they hadn't met any people yet. It was still early morning, and perhaps people were still rising from their slumbers. Sheik could believe it. These people were probably as lazy as they were lavish.

Here, the Castle's beauty evaporated as stone walls ran alongside the dusty pathway. Hanging lanterns made up for the lack of natural light, but Sheik would have preferred the darkness as opposed to the sight that greeted her. Row upon row of dark, low-ceilinged cells had been built into the walls, the steel bars rusted, and the smell of waste clinging to the air.

Sheik rushed past Kafei, her eyes searching. Peering into each cell, she frantically tried to find the last remaining Harkinian survivors, but all she found were empty beds and forgotten meals, rotted and grey. Frustration itched at her mind. She needed to find the Princess. Custom and awe restrained her from mentioning her name, and now even her thoughts would not utter it. The Princess was high above the rest of them, the most important of all Harkinians. Any sort of filial relationship to her was ignored in favour of acknowledging her immense status. Sheik, lost in her thoughts, glanced back down the corridor to motion to Kafei.

Except he was no longer there. Grinning, and with their weapons drawn, the royal guards stared back at her, big, burly men with broken teeth and scarred skin.

Sheik spun on her feet, feeling strangely calm. She reached for her daggers as the four men stepped forward. Good, she thought. Let them come.

...

They made their way out of the town, heads hung low and hooded; their eyes and faces hidden from both each other and potential onlookers. Bannock was back in his capsule and resting in Link's belt. There were still groups of Hylians patrolling the streets searching for the young assassin, but more practical matters had come to the front as the sun had risen and the narrow pathways were now filled with traders, their flowery language exaggerating their wares. Townsfolk, eyes wary and questioning, drifted from stall to stall. Fran and Link mixed in with the latter as headed for the exit at the edge of New Hyrule Town.

The further and further they walked from the centre of the enclave, the less people they saw. The polished, well-constructed houses and shops gave way to old, rotting buildings with their painted walls buried under layers of dirt. The houses, in turn, gave away to the fields that hemmed the town in, and hills rose from the horizon, rocky caves sitting atop them. Grass, brittle and frozen, crunched under their feet as Fran led them onto a worn dirt path, rock solid from the cold. Dead trees lined either side of the trail, their branches bare and coated in frost. The path rose and wound its way around one of the hills as the two men trudged on in silence.

Fran did not expect Link to speak, but he was glad that the young man had not let his anger get the better of him so far. He glanced at the youth, noting the dull look in his eyes. At least, he had calmed down somewhat. This was, he knew, a delicate situation. There were a lot of differences between the Link he had known in the past to this 'new' youth. Fran hadn't understood how and why Link could exist here and now, until, that is, he had met someone with the knowledge of ancient matters that had told him about the Cycle. It was that man that he would have to take Link to next, but first, they had to get home.

Fran's little hut stood high upon a hill outside New Hyrule Town. He hadn't felt the urge to mix and live with these people, still feeling a stranger to them. His home was a modest place, and was enough to fulfil his immediate needs. Here he had watched as Link, as a child, had climbed to the caves up above, sitting at the edge, and gazing down with a pensive look. He had never disturbed the boy; in fact, Link hadn't even known he was watching. Still, Fran marvelled at how alike the youth looked to the Link he had briefly met and travelled with so long ago. Yet, despite their similarities in physical appearances, their personalities were quite different.

Finally, they reached the hut, and Fran unlocked and opened the door, making his way straight to the fireplace as soon as he entered. He crouched, brushing away the black and grey ash from previous fires, and piled up some fresh logs, sprinkling a tiny amount of the explosive powder upon them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Link shuffle into the house, this being his first visit to Fran's home. Igniting the fire with a flint, Fran moved onto the stove as Link pulled out a chair from the table in the centre and sat down.

The old man poured some water into a pot, watching as lumps of ice fell into the copper container, and then added some herbs. He lit the stove, and waited until the water boiled. Pulling a mug from the cupboard, Fran peered in, grimacing as he saw the stains that sat at the bottom. He found another, cleaner one and poured the steaming concoction into it. It hissed as it filled the mug, bubbling as it reached the rim. He placed it in front of the young man.

"Here," said Fran. "Drink this."

Link looked at the drink suspiciously. "What is it?"

"It'll make you feel a little better."

The young man pushed the mug away. "You drink some first."

Fran sighed. "Alright, lad."

He picked it up, Link eyeing him warily, and took a sip. The spicy flavour spread across his tongue and he smacked his lips, before returning the drink to the youth. Link looked at it for a moment, and then picked it up. Wincing as he sniffed at the liquid, he gingerly took a sip. After a moment's hesitation, he gulped the rest down hungrily. Fran grinned.

Link scratched at the table in impatience. "What will happen to Mystral?"

"I dare say she'll be safe," Fran replied. "If something happened to her, then the people would become too suspicious of the Chief. She's not a threat."

Shaking his head, Link leaned back in the chair. "Why am I a threat?"

"I don't know, lad," Fran said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "What happened to your friends?"

"Friends?" Link asked, as though the concept were unfamiliar to him.

"Aye. Your team mates."

Link paused, his face pinched with pain. The fire started to pop, sending out waves of heat into the room, and filling the air with the smoky scent of burning wood. "They left me," he said finally, his eyes distant. "I don't know why."

Fran sighed. "Then there's more than meets the eye to this little escapade," he said. "We need to leave. I have a friend who might be able to help. We'll pick up some supplies on the way there."

His eyes trailed across his little home, a dull spot growing on his heart. He'd gotten quite fond of the place, especially after he had proven his use as a hunter and raised enough funds to buy it. For the second time in his life he would have to leave behind everything he owned just to help a person named 'Link.' Fran didn't know why exactly he was so devoted to the boy, only sensing that it was the right thing to do. Wryly, he wondered if the 'Cycle' included a hunter that would always appear every one hundred summers to sacrifice everything he held dear just to lend aid.

He remembered their meeting in the tavern just a few nights ago. Link had said that the old man had latched onto him because he had little else in his life to concern himself with. With a twinge, Fran realised that there was some truth to the words. He looked up, noticing that Link was looking at him, agitated.

"What about Mystral?" the youth said, his voice rising in time with his emotions. "I'm not just going to leave her here. And especially not with Servion."

"Lad," Fran said, pausing as he tried to choose the correct words. "If you go back, you'll put her in more danger. Servion will use her as bait, and may even hurt her to draw you out. The longer we stay away from the town, the less the Chief will think about you." He winced, feeling the coldness settle on his heart. Fran wasn't exactly sure that he believed his own words. "Once we have some sort of idea as to what's really going on, then we'll find a way to get to her. I promise." He reached forward to place his palm over Link's now-ungloved hand. The skin was cold.

Link pushed away from the table, his face tight and his expression hard. Fran almost felt another wave of pity for him, but he pushed it away. This was better for the boy. Now it would be easier for him to grasp his destiny with both hands. He'd been taught a lesson about life, trust and the nature of death the previous night that Fran's many lectures had failed to do. It was painful, and perhaps cruel, but such was the way of the world. Most people were blissfully unaware of the true consequences of their actions until it was thrust into their faces. Even then, some people chose to hide and flee. Fran hoped Link wouldn't do that.

"So the sooner we find this friend of yours, the sooner we can rescue Mystral?" Link asked in a hollow voice.

Fran eyed him carefully, watching as the licking flames of the fire reflected off one side of his face. "Aye, lad."

Link's hands curled into fists. "Then what are we waiting for?" he said. "Let's get ready."

...

Still, despite all that they had done to her and her family, she did not want to kill them. This was the only thought in Sheik's head as she threw her daggers at the approaching men. She'd done it before, of course, but it had left her sick and the world around her had taken on an unreal texture, as though she were a floating body. One of her blades struck a guard on the shoulder, the cocky young man not expecting her aim to be so good. He shrieked, and she felt a sigh of satisfaction in her heart.

"Watch yourselves," one of them growled, obviously the leader. "Don't underestimate her."

Sheik frowned. How had he known that she was female?

She had no time to pursue the thought. They advanced more cautiously now, waving their swords ahead of them, ready for her to let fly her knives. Their eyes were narrow, and they yelled ancient curses in an attempt to unnerve her. She smiled under her face wrappings, and crouched, twirling a dagger into her hand.

"There's three of you boys left," she said, her tone confident despite her thudding heart. "And I have more than enough knives. Let's see how many of you can get close enough to me without getting yourselves injured."

Making sure that they could hear the self-assured smile in her voice, she straightened her posture to convey her strength. She had learnt long ago never to display weakness in front of an enemy. An encounter with a would-be rapist had taught her that one night when she was very young; the memory of the sickening, lecherous glaze in his eyes always reminding her to keep her guard up. She'd left that particular meeting with a fresh boldness with which to tackle the world; in fact, it had to led to her dissatisfaction with the Elders and gave her the impetus to take things into her own hands. He'd left the meeting with both his thin, weak arms broken and a dislocated jaw. She hadn't killed him though, but she did know that he'd never again attempted anything similar with anyone else.

She threw, and the spinning silver blade whispered through the air, before slicing one of the guards' tunics straight between his legs. He looked down at the near-miss and then up at Sheik, his face draining of colour. She arched an eyebrow. "Without getting seriously injured, that is."

That made them hesitate. They looked at each other, shuffling their feet, the deadly earnestness in her words making them ponder. She spun another dagger into her hand, and one of the guards swallowed, taking an involuntary step backwards. She feinted, and the guard jerked backwards. Her tinkling laugh filled the air.

The leader snapped his head towards them. "Cowards," he spat. "You're letting yourself tremble because of a mere girl." He looked in disgust at the guard that she had almost emasculated. "It's a shame her blade missed. Because I don't think there's anything down there anyway."

The guard's face coloured in shame and, spurred on by the taunt, he charged, bellowing in fury. Sheik stood her ground, knowing that his anger had pushed him into making a mistake. She waited until his contorted face and blazing eyes filled her vision. He lunged forward with his blade, and she spun away easily, slashing at his arm with her dagger. A sharp kick to the back flung him into the wall violently, where his head bounced twice, plunging him into unconsciousness.

Sheik had no time to revel in her small victory as the other two took advantage of the distraction to launch an attack. She swung her blade out in a wide arc, but it was too small to have any effect. The leader cut through her hand with his sword, slicing the skin, and making her drop her weapon. As she reeled backwards in pain, the other guard kicked her knee, driving her to the ground. A punch followed, and she felt blood pour into her mouth. Her body burned with pain.

"Stop this," a voice called. Sheik thought she could recognise it, but the splintering ache in her hand and leg was making her head whirl. She looked down at the thin, red slit that ran from her fingers to her wrist, and was glad to see that the injury wasn't serious. Dust coated her tunic, sticking to the slime from the duct as the trio surrounded her, the tips of their swords aimed at her neck.

"As you wish," the commander said, stepping aside. "She will be taken alive."

The newcomer stepped into her line of sight, and Sheik looked up. As she saw him, her fury ignited, and one word, hot and loaded with hate, sprang its way into her mouth.

"Traitor!" she spat, as Kafei gazed down at her.