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conjured up rats with such perfection. Their fur was coarse and slightly damp as it brushed against her flesh. An odor of rot clung to their twitching whiskers.
    They were eating her alive.
    “Barrata! I need her.” Vibora’s shout went ignored. She seized a rat by its tail and flung it into the woods, but two more clambered into its place.
    Knives, irons, pliers, were all things Pira was prepared to face, but having hunks of her flesh torn away and consumed was the worst torture she could imagine. “Please,” she moaned. “Make them stop.”
    A sharp-tipped paw clung stubbornly to her cheek as she whipped her head from side to side, trying to dislodge its owner.
    A tongue clicked. “No, no, no,” said a male voice. The animal was plucked from Pira’s face. “She has to be able to see. All of you, off.”
    One by one the rats slid off her body and disappeared into the trees, leaving a trail of bloody prints.
    Pira tried to still her shuddering, to take deep breaths, but her flesh burned with a hundred open wounds, then Vibora crouched over her.
    “Damn it, Barrata.” She pressed a hand against Pira’s chest, and the bleeding began to slow. “I don’t want to waste essência healing her.”
    “You weren’t getting anywhere. All this ‘Tell me about Jacaré’ nonsense,” the man said, imitating Vibora’s pitch. “Good Goddess, no one cares if he waited five minutes or fifty years before he moved on. He’s here. He’s powerful. And he’s keeping us from capturing the heir and taking down the wall.”
    A face appeared in Pira’s line of sight. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but like Vibora, there was something striking in his uneven features. Dark hair, darker than most Keepers’, was held down by a braided cadarço . He had a long nose that hooked to one side. His eyes were narrow, but even in the half-light she could tell they were a light color.
    Under one arm he held an enormous rat and stroked its blood-mottled fur like it was a beloved tabby. A flash of silver ringed its tiny ankle. “Though I can see why you were asking.” He leaned closer to Pira and studied her. “She does bear a remarkable resemblance. Prettier, certainly.”
    Vibora finished the healing and leaned back. “Why are you here?” She sounded weary, though the power she used had been stolen. “We were supposed to meet in Cruzamento.”
    “You were supposed to trap the heir in Santiago. I was supposed to make sure she couldn’t escape. There weren’t supposed to be other Keepers in Santarem.” He dusted off a log before he sat down, spreading his tunic wide and crossing his ankles. “There are many, many things that were supposed to happen, and we failed on every count.”
    “We’ve been searching for sixteen years. There was no guarantee we were going to find her now. Or ever.”
    Barrata sighed, his whole body slumping dramatically. “Sapo will know we got close, and that’s just going to make him angry, and then I’m going to lose fingers and maybe some toes—”
    “Enough,” Vibora snapped. “Sapo’s not going to injure either of us. He can’t do everything on his own.”
    Pira’s head rang with blood loss, but she tried to hang on to consciousness and focus on their conversation.
    Who’s Sapo? Why are they so afraid of him?
    “He gets a little closer every day.”
    “He loves me too much to hurt me.” Vibora raised a trembling hand to her throat, belying her claim.
    Barrata laughed at her words. The laugh rolled, continuing on and on until tears dripped from the man’s chin. “He doesn’t love anything like he loves his ideas. What’s worse is that you’re continually making yourself inconsequential. Every time you give him a collar, every time you bring him a new slave, you are bringing yourself one step closer to your grave.” Barrata wiped away his tears with a flick.
    “He’s had years to figure it out,” Vibora said, her posture small. “He hasn’t done it yet.”
    “Why would