“Murder!” a shrill voice shouted from across the square. It was Kendra, Beohur of Love and the worst person to see what Hilda had just done. Kendra was Wymond’s mother and had been the queen of the Feohur before the Beadur had defeated them in the First War.

“Murder!” Kendra screamed again, voice tolling across the entire city like a bell. “Confess and repent!” The sound made Hilda wince. As one of the oldest Beohur, Kendra was also one of the most powerful, and Hilda felt an overwhelming urge to obey her command. Kendra’s magic-laden words made her feel like everything would be okay if she was just honest. Usually, Hilda would have resisted, kept her composure, but she was already so confused, so shocked. If Kendra believed her, maybe they could sort through the events together. So she let Kendra’s order pull the truth from her, taking quite a few tears with it.

“I killed him,” Hilda said as Kendra drew close. “I didn’t want to. I wasn’t trying to. He was being bothered by visions, and I wanted to help him. But he...he tried to stab me. I have no idea why. I caught his arm and turned the blade back on him. It was a reflex, I promise. My training took over. Besides, I thought he would heal. He can heal from anything. Anything! That dagger...it has to be cursed!”

Kendra was taller even than Hilda, so when she drew close, looking down at her with gold-speckled eyes, Hilda was forced to look up. To look up and squint, as Kendra stood with the sun directly behind her head, its halo bestowing her with blinding grace and beauty.

For a long, uncomfortable minute, Kendra stared into Hilda’s eyes. Kendra didn’t blink, so Hilda couldn’t either. She was entranced by the older Beohur’s gaze.

“I don’t believe you,” Kendra said, each word dripping with scorn. “You had more reason to murder my son than most and you have every reason to lie about it now.” From the folds of her dress Kendra drew a long, thin, menacing stiletto. “I will give you one more chance. Confess and repent!”

Kendra’s closeness made the command stronger, giving it a physical force. Hilda sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face and mixing with Wymond’s blood on the tiles. She couldn’t resist if she wanted to. But she also couldn’t give Kendra the answer the matriarch clearly wanted, because it wasn’t true.

“Please,” Hilda gasped. “Please. I told you what happened. I’m sorry for my part in it, but I didn’t set this in motion. I didn’t--”

“Silence!” Kendra punctuated the command with a slap that stung almost as much as the word. “I gave you two chances to be honest. Your refusal only reinforces your guilt.”

Some part of Hilda, the part that wasn’t pouring out through her eyes, thought that Kendra’s words didn’t make much sense. But then, she usually led with emotion over reason, and why should grief change that?

Kendra held the blade of the stiletto against Hilda’s throat, drawing a drop of blood that ran down her neck. “Do you have any final words?”

Even if Hilda did, she was in no place to say them. Kendra’s magic, fueled by grief and rage and total righteousness, had broken her. There would be no winning this fight. There would be no fight at all. Hilda’s night had gone from peaceful to fatal in no time at all.

“Do you have any?” asked a familiar and welcome third voice. Cynefrith stood behind Kendra, her blue robes flapping in the wind. The Beohur of Death held her bone-sword over Kendra’s shoulder so its edge pressed against her neck. “Would you trade your life for Hilda’s?” Cynefrith asked in her smooth monotone.

The weight of Kendra’s magic lessened, letting Hilda breathe deeply and blink away her tears. Her thoughts cleared, letting her assess the situation with her tactician’s training.

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Several thoughts flashed through Hilda’s mind in a moment. The first was that she wouldn’t put it past Kendra to trade her own life for that of her son’s killer. The Beohur of Love was full of pain, and pain demanded action. The second was that if Kendra hesitated enough, Hilda could summon a sword and shield of her own and possibly get out of this alive.

The third, and most important, was that a few minutes ago there hadn’t been enough wind to twitch the tip of Hilda’s braid, much less make Cynefrith’s robes flap.

Willem, Beohur of Sky, and his beloved Dagwin, Beohur of Sun, floated down on Willem’s summoned winds, landing softly a couple of yards away. Dagwin’s skin glowed softly like always.

“Cynefrith,” Dagwin said, “step away from Kendra.”

“She’ll kill Hilda.”

“Kendra?” Willem asked.

“She murdered my son!” Kendra said.

“And we can make sure she is punished,” Dagwin said. He stepped toward Kendra, his light throwing her shadow onto Hilda. “But if you kill her, we can’t help you.”

Hope gathered in Hilda’s chest. Maybe reason would prevail and she would have a chance to make her case to all of the Beohur. She might survive this yet.

“Wait,” Willem said, winds flaring around him. “Hilda killed Wymond? How?”

“He came at me with--” Hilda started to say.

“Silence!” Kendra shouted, voice laced with power, and Hilda’s speech deserted her. “She used a troll dagger. She claims he tried to use it on her first and that she was defending herself, but Wymond would never have tried to harm one of the Beohur.” Kendra blinked away tears as her voice cracked in pain. “He was too good.”

“A troll dagger?” Willem shouted. Storm clouds began to gather above him. “How depraved are you, sister?” he asked Hilda. “I knew you loved weapons, but not so much that you’d bring a cursed one into our city!”

Hilda kept her mouth closed. Willem had always thought himself more important than her, and their father Ryland had only reinforced that. Rain and wind were necessary, he believed, but war was not. He hadn’t relented even after she’d practically won the First Beohur War for him.

Dagwin rested his hand on Willem’s shoulder. “Willem, please. We need to handle this carefully. It’s been thousands of years since--”

“I know!” Willem shouted. “None of us has died in millennia, and she goes and kills the purest of us!” Gusts spiraled out from him so forcefully that they made the water crash over the side of the fountain. “It’s more evidence Father has gotten soft. If spent more time ruling he would have seen this coming and stopped it.”

Willem’s gusts had also, Hilda noticed, pushed Kendra’s stiletto a couple of inches away from her neck. It wasn’t much, but it was an opportunity, and maybe the only one she would get.

Hilda threw up her arm, summoning a round steel shield to block Kendra’s blade. Kendra reacted quickly, but she wasn’t a warrior, not truly. Hilda was faster. Her shield came up just in time, knocking Kendra’s arm away. That gave Hilda a chance to roll backward and jump to her feet.

Kendra made to step toward Hilda, but Cynefrith’s sword drew a thin line of blood down the Beohur of Love’s neck.

“Don’t you dare,” Cynefrith said, just before a bolt of lightning struck her in the back.

The Beohur of Death dropped to the ground with a scream. Behind her, Willem stood, his arm extended. “Hilda,” he spat. “Surrender and I won’t hurt your lover any further.”

Hilda ground her teeth. She wanted nothing more than to summon her sword and show her brother which of them was truly stronger, but her heart ached at the thought of Cynefrith coming to any more harm. She lowered her shield.

A man and a woman appeared in front of Willem as if out of thin air. The man’s hands moved faster than Hilda could follow, and Willem skidded backward as if smashed with a hammer. Dagwin fired a beam of focused sunlight, but the woman reflected it, knocking him onto his back.

“I’ve seen enough,” said the male newcomer: Firth, Beohur of Time. “Hilda had an opportunity to fight back and she didn’t. The only people escalating this are the accusers.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t jump in until now,” said Anita, Beohur of Moon, who had turned her brother Dagwin’s attack back on him. “We wanted to be certain we knew what was happening.”

“Put down the knife, please, Kendra,” Firth said. “Ryland is on his way.” As one of the oldest Beohur, he was also one of the few who was neither scared of Kendra nor deferential to her.

“No!” Kendra shouted. “She’s his daughter! He’ll be too easy on her!” She lunged for Hilda, dagger aimed at the Beohur’s heart.