Later that night, I snuck out of the camp they had put us in and ran back to the lyceum, to my mother's ravaged body, broken and bleeding on the harsh marble floor. I knelt beside her, blood soaking through my gown. Her eyes were closed, as if she was sleeping, but even in death, she wasn't peaceful.

I touched her hand, feeling the coldness of the smooth skin, then a shot of warmth up my fingertips. Startled, I looked down and saw the thin, pure diamond circlet on my mother's ring finger. I slipped it off her slender finger and slid it onto my own. It fit perfectly. I sighed and admired the warmth of magic emanating from it.

Astrid's fingers grazed the slender band, the heat of it soaked through her skin and warming her to the core. Her face softened and she sighed as she remembered her mother. She was unaware of her surroundings as the memory kept playing in her mind.

I closed my eyes and breathed, trying to dispel the tears pooling behind my lids. Then I heard the heavy footfalls and shouts behind me, demanding to know what I thought I was doing. Quickly, I stood and turned to face two Blood Elves, one holding a torch, the other held one of their thin short swords.

I tucked my hands behind my back, and slid the ring off my finger. When they jerked my hands forward to bind them, I lost my grip on the ring and it flew out of my hand into the shadows on the opposite end of the lyceum. It made only a faint tinkling sound as it bounced across the floor. I knew better than to draw attention to it as my hands were bound tightly.

Marching swiftly to the arched doorway, I saw a flicker of movement between the marble pillars where my mothers ring had been thrown, but dismissed it as I was shoved roughly through the doors.

Chilling dampness soaked into the thin fabric of her leggings as her knees hit the blood slickened leaves of the forest floor. Her breath came in shallow bursts and her cloudy, unfocused eyes fixed in space and never blinked. Eyes streaming, she allowed herself to remember.

My knees hit the ground hard, my gaze following. Before me sat the Crimson Council, in all their scarlet glory, ready to decide if I was to die here or there. The council spoke to me, demanded to know why I was in the lyceum at that time. I didn't answer so the guard behind me did. He told the council that I was trying to raise the two women from the dead.

I just scoffed, appalled that anyone would say such a thing. Then I was smacked and told to 'mind my place slave'. The council listened to the guard tell his story then the head councilman called a name.

Ryruil.

My dear friend came hurrying from behind one of the flaps of the large tent, head bent, fingers twitching. The head councilman asked him what he thought my punishment should be and after a moment, Ryruil responded with twenty lashes, to which the other council members agreed.

Throughout the whole ordeal, he never met my eyes once. Just by that I knew he was the one who let these monsters into the tower. I only glared as I was dragged to my feet and pulled from the tent to the temporary holding cell where I would be kept until dawn.

Astrid put a hand to her neck, fingering the delicate spirals of her necklace as silent sobs wracked her body, her eyes shut tight. Ryruil knelt next to her, stretching a hand out to her then pausing and pulling it back, looking down at himself with a look of disappointment.

Across the clearing, Will and Alyss were watching them, rooted to where they stood, watching the glittering tears fall from Astrid's face. Several minutes later, she looked up, her pale eyes still overflowing. "Will," she said, her voice rasping slightly, "if you know where we are, please go back to the restaurant with Alyss. I wouldn't want to worry anyone anymore."

There was concern written all over his face as he looked her over; she was bloodstained and dirty, her clothes were torn in places and she had leaves sticking out of her hair. There were bloody welts across her back and one on her chest and the skin on her ankle was torn and bleeding from Ryruil's whip. All in all, her wounds weren't fatal at all, but what made her look so derelict were the tears streaking down her face and her expression. Her face was the look of one who had been betrayed, abandoned, and hurt then after the wounds had healed, had been ripped open once more. Her face was angled down, her shoulders hunched, and he could tell she was trying to be strong, but she had no strength left. Will nodded silently, taking Alyss's hand and leading her away with out a backward glance.