Draema squeezed closed her eyes, threw her head back, and gulped down the bitter draught in one choking swallow. She staggered back against the rock wall of her cavern prison. The foul taste of the poison alone would have been enough to bring an ordinary female Khaliff to her knees, but Draema was stronger than the average Khaliffiene. She felt the drug moving through her limbs, numbing, chilling, and she bent forward, gripping her small carven table with both hands. Her long blue-black mane spilled forward into her face as she fought to remain conscious. If she could hold on, fight the irresistible need to sleep for the critical three minutes it took for the poison to circulate through her system, she would be free. Seconds ticked by. Her limbs went weak. Dream-like images rolled through her mind as she fought to remain standing. She saw her home, the high arches of white marble reaching into the clouds, green fields, grasses stirred by warm breezes, and the distant shadow of black smoke, rolling toward her kingdom, burning all she knew to ashes and ruin.