It was the sound of Elide's weeping-that girl of quiet steel and quick-silver wit who had not wept for herself or her sorry life, only faced it with grim determination-that made Manon snap entirely. She killed those guards in the hall. She saw what they had been laughing at: the girl gripped between two other guards, her robe tugged opened to reveal her nakedness, the full extent of that ruined leg- Her grandmother had sold them to these people. She was a Blackbeak; she was no one's slave. No one's prize horse to breed. Neither was Elide.