Ilithyia looked down for a long moment, watching the man die on the floor of her bedroom, the knife still held in one hand. He looked up at her and she held his gaze, no regret, no remorse. He was intruder, he had threatened her child, he needed to die.

There was a dark streak of blood on her gown, drops on her face, though she paid them little mind. "What I wouldn't give for slaves at such moment," she admitted, finally turning to face Meg once again. She lifted her hand, pushing hair back from her face, leaving a smear of blood on one cheek.