Rage engulfed me. How dare they imply—yes, I was a criminal, but I have never coerced anyone in my life, let alone a person who wasn’t of age. I took many lovers, yes, but I would never force anyone. Consent is everything to me.

My rage flared black, and viscous, and endless. With clouded eyes I beheld these people as outlines of heat; all their magic and spears would be as nothing before me.

Something else occurred to me then.

Kimi’s sister defended them.

At that moment, my vision clouded with envy and my throat as painful as shards, I saw my futures diverge. I would fight this crowd—kill them all—leave only the youth unharmed. Then I would wander the desert wounded and silently screaming until I came to Ladder’s court and threw myself into the Orphan.

Or I could refuse to do violence.

I bit my cheeks bloody before I was done, then turned on my heels and retreated into the desert, my deepnames obscuring my steps in the whirlwinds of dust and the darkening sky.

Only later I realized that I still held the rolled-up carpet. Later yet, I learned that it could fly, not too high above ground, but it carried me.

So I floated southeast, and came to the ancient city of Che Mazri, the capital of the Great Burri Desert, and met my lover.

Everyone wants something from me. Even you, Stone Orphan, even though I’m not sure yet what it is. Except Kimi. I think they did not want anything, that youth with their gaze of wonder who saw only soulbirds and flowers. My lover in Che Mazri certainly wanted something from me, and they made every excuse under Bird’s wing to brush away my crime. To cut those parts of me off.

Perhaps my lover wanted to care for me when others would not, but I do not want it. Not like that.

Nobody understands how every moment I must fight myself, how I must guard myself against my own rage, and in this place—Ladder—he feeds it. I told him I do not submit, but he knows me. At his command, I have killed. “To train,” he says. “is to learn.” Is it right to kill at his command when it’s wrong to kill out of anger? He says we kill only the people that the Orphan already marked as its own.

I had sought every lore that meant I would best my enemies and live. But now I ask myself, do I truly want every learning? At what price? My thoughts tangle, dripping blood. So I put this carpet under my head every night, to remember the soulbirds.

“That’s it,” I say. “That’s how he told it to me.”

Ulín’s eyes are closed when she asks, “How did he leave?”

“Oh, there was a training battle, in the second circle. Students who make it this far rarely kill each other, but Ladder was in a mood that day.”

An exit is made

When the Raker defeated his opponent, Ladder told him to finish the job.

The Raker kicked the other student away from him. Looked up at the Headmaster.

“No.”

“You will do as I say.”

They stood bristling at each other like they did on the day they met. The Raker’s fists were clenched. Again he said, “No.”

“You are a student. If you are too soft to learn . . .”

The defeated student chose that moment to hoist himself up and launch himself at the Raker, which halted the conversation for the few brief moments of battle. The other student did not get up again, but the Raker still would not kill. And he kept his focus on Ladder. He said, “Call me soft if you must. I don’t care anymore.”

"You think you’ve done him a favor by keeping him alive in his shame?”

“Not my problem,” the Raker spat.

“I should have known you were hopeless by the company you keep.”

“Stone Orphan has nothing to do with this,” said the Raker.

“Not Stone Orphan. Your lover in Che Mazri.”

The Raker’s face twisted in frustration. “You goad me. It doesn’t matter. I will no longer kill for you.”

“Weakling,” Ladder snarled. “Coward.”

“Neither,” the Raker snarled back. “I restrain myself. By choice. I could have taken your place if I wanted to. Done your job better.”

“You think you are better than me?” Ladder’s voice was rough. “Is that why you’re sniveling here and I’m still starkeeper?”

“You keep a star you didn’t want, and which does not want you—”

“Sure.” Ladder grimaced. “You think you’re better? Five nights, and in the end you did not want it at all. Second-chosen or no, I have kept the Orphan Star for two thousand years. What do you think the Court of Despair is about? A big happy family? Dancing and butterflies?”

“Pluck you. Despair is one thing, but you send your assassins after old flames for sport just because you’re jealous or bored. I will not be a part of this. I will not kill so that others may devour.”

Ladder loomed closer to him, tall and broad and overpowering. “Ah. Is that it? You decided to kill for yourself, devour for yourself—is that why you are suddenly rebellious?”

“Pluck you, not this again,” the Raker said, his malice barely constrained. “What I do from now is my choice. I do not owe you or anybody else an accounting.”

“You think you’re too good for me, for this court? Too good for the world?” Ladder sneered. “Remember what you are. A criminal. Your crime festers. You cannot undo it. And if you—”

The Raker interrupted him. “All my life I was pushed out of places, exiled, kicked out. Well, not here. I quit. And I’ll take my crime with me when I go. Fix your own Bird-pecked house.”