Dakshana flinched the first time one of them touched her; they were real. The shamans made quick work of binding the girls together on one side of the room, and suddenly Dakshana could smell it, the scent of burnt human flesh. She wanted to retch.
“Who are you?” Ashoken demanded.
Dakshana gazed into his eyes and tried to remember the last time she’d seen him, what she knew about him.
“The door’s gone,” Minka muttered, and Dakshana followed her gaze. The wall was blank.
How would they escape now?
Ashoken sketched a rune; fire blossomed. “I said, who are you?”
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