"Catch the jewel!" someone screamed. Water slammed over me. Ice ground against my scales. I spat a shard that tasted like tin and old snow. "Down! Down!" a man's voice barked from above. The surface broke again. Fingers, leather, and the hard edge of metal hit the pond and slid away. I waited. Predators around Windward Manor knew I was red and small. The cold kept fingers slow. The sound of boots thudded, then a heavier breath cut across them. "Did it sink?" another voice asked, shouting through the cold. "Something hot hit the water!" a younger guard said. "Glowing—like a coal." A glow passed over me before the light swallowed. Heat slapped my throat from the other side of the ice. Heat that did not belong in frozen water. I turned my head. A bead hovered, floating with the current, a wounded sun no bigger than a child's eye. It burned brighter when a shadow loomed above it. "By the gods—there!" the first voice swore. "Aim for the bead!" Hands dove again. One reached down and missed. A boot scraped the bank. A man cursed and crashed the edge hard enough to make the pond shudder. I moved. My mouth opened because mouths are for taking. The bead slid toward the gap a guard's arm had left. I closed on it. Hot. Hot the way a brand is hot. It cut through my grip and slid inside. I bit again, not on jewel—on