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choice.”
    “Come on, Qayna,” Abil splashed into the water after her. He was laughing, but Qayna didn’t think there was anything to laugh about, and his mad chuckle did nothing to break the rising wall of tension in her breast.
    She backed away from him, towards the edge of the spring.
    “You know me. You know the Messenger’s teaching, and the Way, and what Father and Mother have done.” He swam towards her.
    She splashed out of the water on the far side, staring down at her brother. He stared up at her, his eyes on her naked body, and now his look truly became the hungry stare of a wild animal. Qayna felt vulnerable and threatened, the more so when she realized that the Messenger was staring at her, too.
    And the Messenger’s eyes, always so patient and mechanical and full of rote wisdom, were now full of something else. Something animal, something that burned.
    Abil splashed for the bank. He was a fast swimmer, faster than Qayna, and her heart and mind raced in fear. She ran around the edge of the water, brambles and sharp stones cutting into the work-toughened skin of her feet, running for her clothes.
    “Stop!” the Messenger roared, but he didn’t move to intervene.
    “Stop!” Abil cried, and he sloshed out of the water on her heels.
    Qayna scooped up her scant belongings in both hands and kept running. Along the bank of the spring she raced, into thickets of long-spined thorn trees that grew where the stone raced above the water higher and higher in narrow ledges and steep slopes. Abil had longer legs than she did, and heavier muscle, but she thought she was more nimble and might be able to evade him if she could get to where agility would make a difference.
    Abil caught her in the trees. She dropped her clothes as her brother slammed her against a stone wall cluttered with dried tree branches. Stray thorns dug into the flesh of her belly and thighs and her blood marred the virgin rock. Though her sandals and tunic fell into the thicket, she kept possession of the knife, and as Abil pounded her against the stone again, she tightened her fingers around it.
    “Stop!” the Messenger cried.
    “This is the First Precept!” Abil raged, and threw his body against hers. He was awkward and animal and he approached her from behind and butted her, like a ram subdues a recalcitrant ewe.
    “I …” the Messenger hesitated.
    Qayna fought back with her ankles and elbows, and Abil pushed her harder against the rock.
    “Obey!” he snapped wolfishly.
    She wiggled around and pushed him away with both feet, feeling the rough stone abrade the skin of her back with the force of the blow. “Abil!” she cried. She was trapped by the thorn trees and the stone, and the knife in her hand seemed both pitiably small and laden with doom. “I am no beast!”
    “You must! ” Abil snarled. “It is the will of Father and Mother! It is the will of Heaven!”
    “It is not my will!” she shouted back.
    The Messenger was silent, and Abil threw himself forward—
    Qayna swung the knife fiercely, aiming for Abil’s chest, willing the blade to wound and subdue her brother—
    but the weapon had darker plans.
    The point of the small knife sank into his throat and Abil’s blood gushed over her, surprisingly hot on her water- and wind-chilled body. Abil thrashed and jerked, and pulling himself off the blade only opened the wound and caused his blood to spill faster.
    Qayna stared in shock as her brother, and would-be Bond mate, staggered away from her clutching at a gaping hole in his neck, fell backwards into the embrace of a tree of thorns, and crashed to the ground.
    Qayna still held the knife, slick and warm. For long seconds, it was all she could do to focus her entire will on not fainting.
    Slowly, she looked up at the Messenger, uncertain how he would react. The Messenger looked back at her, and in his clear, translucent eyes she saw deep reserves of will and sudden, terrible insight.
    The Messenger drew himself up to his