Chapter 4

"Let the games begin!" the host declared.

"First lot: a set of ceremonial Silverwood carvings."

He held up intricately carved wooden figures, used by our Elders to teach the children.

"And the first question for Elara," the host turned to me, his smile wide and false.

"What is Tiffany's favorite brand of champagne?"

I stared at him, then at Tiffany, who preened under the attention.

The question was trivial, insulting.

My people's sacred items for this.

I remained silent.

My throat was too tight to speak, even if I had an answer, even if I wanted to play their sick game.

"No answer?" the host said with mock disappointment.

"A pity. Let the bidding commence!"

The bidding was swift, driven by bravado and too much alcohol.

A boorish man with a loud laugh won the carvings.

He picked one up, a beautiful rendering of a spirit owl, and without a second glance, held it to his cigar.

The ancient wood caught, sputtered, then flared.

He lit his cigar with our history, then tossed the burning carving into the fireplace.

Laughter erupted.

Tiffany clapped delicately.

I closed my eyes, the image seared into my mind.

The smell of burning cedar, once sacred, now just fuel for their amusement.

My spirit cried out, a silent scream in the face of their barbarity.

Jax watched, impassive.

This was his victory lap, built on the ashes of my world.