Despite myself, I felt a pang of pity for Night Lover. He looked small and vulnerable on that stage. His pale skin was marked with what I could only guess were bruises from rough handling.

From my vantage point, I could see Piercing Gale making his way closer to the stage, moving parallel to the crowd. Death-Bringer was a bit harder to find as she blended in surprisingly well. Once I was satisfied that I knew where both of them were I settled down and watched.

The man on stage started speaking in another language. The crowd grew restless and uncomfortable. While I didn’t know the words. I had heard enough of the demon language through Ves’hil’n to recognize it. And Night Lover seemed to understand. His head snapped up, eyes wide. He wiggled his shoulders and arms, trying to work his way out of the rope keeping his hands bound behind his back. All the while trying to talk over the man in the demon’s tongue. The crowd grew even more restless as their voices rose, ‘arguing’ in the deep, guttural language. The man pulled a knife from his belt, raising his voice until it was hoarse trying to continue louder than Night Lover.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Piercing Gale getting closer to the stage, hopefully unseen to everyone else.

The man grabbed a fistful of Night Lover’s hair, cutting off his voice by forcing a hiss of ‘shit’ out of his mouth. At the same time, Piercing Gale grabbed the edge of the stage with both hands.

My own fingers ached as I dug my fingernails into the roof.

The man, still shouting in the demon’s tongue, began to carve into Night Lover’s skin.

The murmuring of the crowd grew louder, a few people gasped, and some adults covered children’s eyes.

As Night Lover screamed, Piercing Gale flipped over onto the stage and rushed in.