The Edict
They came in carts, with horses, with spears that caught the morning sun.
Miriam was nine years old. She heard the carts before she saw them, a low rumble down the dirt road, a sound her body knew was wrong before her brain caught up. Her mother heard it too. Her mother dropped the bowl she was holding. The bowl shattered on the floor, and the sound of it shattering was louder than the wheels.
"Get the baby," her mother said. Not loud. Not panicked. Just clear.
Miriam moved. She had been trained for this without ever being told she was being trained. She crossed the room to the cradle, lifted her brother, three months old, warm, sleeping, and pressed him to her chest.
Outside, the carts kept coming.
— end of chapter one —
The story keeps going.
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