The divine has two rules. One, see the object. Two, make a hand gesture. But when someone is unconscious, the divine can slip out in unforeseen ways, without any regard for the rules. That was how, on the morning of the job, I awoke to the divine equivalent of wetting the bed. 

Every object not bolted down floated through the air, like my chamber was underwater. My hairbrush hung over my head, my dirty laundry drifted past my window, and my bed, with me in it, was halfway to the ceiling. I yelped. The bubble popped, and everything fell, crashing with a huge boom.

"Good gods!" my landlady shrieked, her voice piercing from three floors down.

I paused, then slammed my fist into the wall. 

"Who did that?" I yelled. "It's the crack of dawn, you cur! I'll have your head!" 

As the bottom floors dissolved into accusations and yelling, I surveyed the damage. My room lay in destruction, my furniture cracked and strewn across the floor. Good. Better to screw up now, before the stakes become fatal.

I used my divine to levitate a broken mirror shard in front of my face, then tied my hair back with a bandana. Drax's divine left a faint rash on my neck, angry pink bumps in the shape of fingerprints. Good thing I had divine. If I didn't, Drax could have burned clean through my body, bones and all.

Once I was dressed, I took two stairs at a time, slipping past my landlady and another tenant's screaming match unnoticed. The raiders met deep in the woods, as the first rays of sun pierced through the pines. 

All were dressed identically, head to toe in black, except for their weapon and mask. Each mask had something to do with their alias. Chick' mask was white. Viper's had fangs. Mine had nine dots.

They gathered in a circle, talking in low tones as they waited for the captain to arrive. When Drax got here, there would be no grand speeches or final run-throughs. He would confirm the presence of each crew member, hand them a horse, and send them on their way. 

At this point, if anyone didn't know the plan like the back of their hand, it would get branded onto the back of their hand. Which was all swell and good with me. Having no desire to listen to Drax or talk with the group, I hung back in the shadows of the pines, hoping to go unnoticed. 

No such luck. Twitch nudged Viper in my direction, and the conversation stopped. Viper's mouth curved. "I know a better alias than Nine. How about Coward?"

"Traitor," Clawhand said.

"Worm," Slicer said.

"I bet your third escape attempt will work," Viper said. "But you won't be free of Drax. Drax will free you of life."

I ignored the taunts. I expected as much from this lot – the bottom of the barrel left behind after Drax took over. His first act as captain was to cut anyone he suspected had lingering loyalty to Sammy. I was the only exception because Drax refused to lose my skill with the divine. I'm not as strong as Drax or Sammy, but I'm still worlds ahead of the other raiders.

"What's it like?" Viper continued. "Praying to a dead man each night?"

"Sammy is not dead," I snapped before I could think better of it.

He tilted his head, his eyes glittering. "Is that how you fall asleep at night? Chant it like a prayer ten times before bed?"

The raiders snickered. One laugh was more familiar than the rest, the slightly higher pitch easy to pick out from the crowd. Chick. A new sword glinted from his belt, its hilt encrusted with rubies and sapphires. 

Well if it wasn't clear before, it was now. He was no friend of mine. Chick stopped laughing, and the group went quiet, anticipating a fight.

"Nice sword," I said.

Chick regarded me with a cool stare, as if we were strangers. "It didn't cost much."

There was half a beat of stunned silence, then the raiders burst out in hoots and hollers, clapping him on the back. My eyes sparked, and a bitter reply rose to the tip of my tongue. 

If I'm gone, who's going to carry your lumbering arse through quota? I always knew you were helpless, but I didn't take you for a moron, too. 

But the burns on my throat throbbed, staying my hand.

"Nine!" Drax shouted, emerging from deep in the woods. Behind him, three raiders led a herd of horses by the reins, and Rauuk lurked somewhere deep in the trees.

The stories always describe dragons as stunning, mystical creatures, but if all dragons were beautiful, then Rauuk was the exemption to the rule. His hide had no real color, and his limbs were short and misshapen, like one of the mutts running wild down the burrow's alleys, the result of too many generations of careless inbreeding. 

But even with his wonky snout, his teeth could tear through steel like it was paper. My divine made me powerful among humans, but it was nothing compared to a dragon. No one wanted a reminder of what happened to those who angered Rauuk, least of all me. My new alias was reminder enough.

Drax offered me the reins to the smallest of the herd — a yellow-brown horse with a lazy eye — only to pull them back as soon as I reached. "Have you been behaving yourself?"

I stared at him, my heart pounding against my chest, and for one wild moment, I thought I would finally snap. That I'd strike him no matter what it cost me.

"Ay," I forced myself to say.

"Good." He snatched my hand, rubbing a calloused thumb over the stump where my ring finger should have been. "It'd be a hassle to learn another alias. Don't make us call you Eight." 

Then he dropped the reigns, making me pick them up myself.

By the time I wrangled my horse into a gallop, Drax had taken off. He rode Rauuk like a horse, wings tucked against its sides, weaving between the trees on all fours – a necessary precaution. 

The Balthasar family would be away from their manor to make appearances at the various qualifying tournaments spread across their lands, but any wandering maid or guard could spot a dragon flying through the sky and raise the alarms.

Soon, the woods gave way to a black spear gate stretching across the vast expanse of the Balthasar's property, patrolled back and forth by twelve guards. Ghost had stolen a map of the layout, so I knew exactly where to turn my head to see the manor – just behind the horse stables. The building looked even more intimidating in person, more like a castle than a home, its four-story towers filing into dagger-like points.

We stopped a few yards shy of the gate, lurking in the shadows of the trees, so we could see the patrolling guards without being seen ourseleves. I slid off my horse and removed my bandana, letting my pale brown hair fall in messy waves over my face. 

Drax threw me a flowy white dress – one of those let's-sacrifice-a-virgin dresses – and I tugged it over my sweaty raider garb without questioning where he got it. The blood stains splattered across the hem said enough.

Dressed, I put an arm around Drax's shoulders, and he slung his arm around my hips. As we approached the guards, I leaned heavily into his side, twisting my face in pain. Being this close to Drax, his meaty hands digging into my ribs, did wonders for my performance.

"Thirty seconds," Drax whispered.

"Thirty?" I hissed back. "It takes ten seconds to knock someone out. Thirty could kill them."

"Thirty," Drax repeated in a tone that didn't leave room for argument. Then he turned to the guards. "Help!" Drax commanded. Even playing a character, he couldn't resist giving orders. "My niece is injured! Help! It's her heart!"

I shifted from clutching my ribs to clutching my chest. The twelve guards spread across the width of the gate rushed to the entrance, but they didn't open it. They hovered warily, looking to the head guard for orders.

"You take the six on the left, I'll take the six on the right," Drax whispered. Then he turned back to the guards and shouted, "Hurry! She's losing blood fast!"

"You have a name, lad?" the head guard said. "What's your business on my master's grounds?"

Drax paused, his hands curling into fists. But before he could strike, I threw my head back and screamed like a banshee. The guards recoiled and scrambled for the lock. As soon as the gate opened, Drax and I sprang apart, thrusting our hands forward. 

The guards jerked a foot off the ground. As air leached from their lungs, they kicked their legs and clawed their throats, but divine can only be fought with divine. They could do nothing but wait for Drax to count to thirty.

At ten seconds, one of my guards lost consciousness. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his face turned white, then blue. He was older and weaker than the others, and he would die if I did not stop. 

I glanced at Drax, whose eyes were fixed on his guards, watching them choke with undisguised excitement. No doubt Drax would have preferred grabbing their bare skin instead of the high collars of their uniforms. He liked leaving a scar on his victims like an artist signs a painting.

I turn back to my guards, my heart hammering against my chest. I didn't have time to think; I just moved. At eighteen seconds, I dropped my hands, releasing the knights. Their unconscious bodies hit the ground in unison. Drax turned to me, his eyes bright and wild. 

I had half a second to fear, and then in three strides, he closed the distance between us, towering over me.

"Viper!" Drax shouted, without taking his eyes from mine. "Watch Nine as she guards the entrance. Make sure that if the knights wake, or any other rotations arrive, she handles them properly." 

Then he dropped his voice to a menace, wrapping his divine around my throat. Not to hurt me. Just a reminder that he could. 

"One more time," he hissed. "Disappoint me one more time, and I will kill you. I don't care how far you run. I don't care how long it takes. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if it is the last thing I do."