In Luana, during the ninth year of Hanish Mein's rule I t should have been him. Just him. Ravi shouted this again and again. He jumped to be seen above the crowd. He pushed through the other children and grabbed at any of the red-cloaked soldiers he got near enough to reach. They ignored him or shoved him back into place or brought a crop down on his head and shoulders. Ravi would not stop shouting. They were making a mistake! He would go with them wherever they wished to take him. He would behave. He would do whatever they asked, but Mor should be no part of this! She was their parents' only other child. They needed her. Their mother could not live without her. He had heard her say so more than once.

"Please," he shouted, "let her go! Let her go home!"

A squat soldier rounded on him. He was shorter than most of the men, thick around the waist, with leathery skin and hair that bristled like a spiny rodent's. His crimson shirt stretched tight across his belly. He grabbed Ravi by the chin and spoke close to his face, the man's onion-scented words hot on his skin. "You're both quota," he said, his accent strange to Ravi's ears. "You understand? You've both been given. Two peas from the same pod, two pups from the same litter. That's just the way it is, lad. Accept it, and your life won't be so bad."

The man tried to push the boy away. When Ravi clung to his arm, the man growled that he had been patient enough. He balled his hand into a fist and smashed the boy on his nose. Ravi saw black for a moment. When his eyes cleared he stood sputtering, stunned, his lips and chin and chest splattered with blood.