The two guards on the prison gate heard footsteps come out of the courtyard dark.
Bare feet on stone. Unhurried.
The older one raised his spear. "Who goes there?"
No answer. The footsteps kept coming.
"I said who—"
She stepped into the torchlight, and the challenge died in his mouth.
She was tall, and she was mostly bare. Black-red symbols curled over her pale skin, up from her hips, across her stomach and chest to her throat — script in no language either man knew, written on flesh like scripture. Dark silk and thin gold chains covered what they covered and moved when she moved. Behind her, folded like a cloak, were wings the colour of blood drying on glass. Two small black horns curved out of her hair. Her eyes were red, with a ring of gold around each pupil.
From a distance, her smile looked gentle.
The younger guard's spear dipped without him noticing. "Bloody hell," he said. Then he grinned. "Are you lost, love? Because if you're lost, I'll walk you anywhere you like."
