Freya

My breath is rugged and raw by the time we get back to camp. Killian marches straight over to Sanaa, crouching low by her side and shaking her gently. Casimir, constantly on guard, bolts up from his seated position as we burst through the trees, shoving to his feet. Beside him, Jaycee simply shifts his posture.

His eyes dart between Killian and I.

"What's wrong?" He marches over to me, puts both hands on the sides of my face, inspecting me from injury. I shake him off.

"Killian and I were by the stream," I say, my cheeks warming. "We were..."

"Somebody shot at Freya," Killian finishes for me, rising to his feet beside an awakening Sanaa. Casimir's grip on me tightens. "Where's Lei?"

"Who shot at you?" Casimir demands.

"It was an arrow."

"I'll get the prisoners." Jaycee takes a dagger from his belt and disappears through the trees.

"Where's Lei, Casimir?" Killian asks again.

"What's going on?" Lei emerges from the trees a moment later.

"We're under attack," Sanaa announces, power sliding through her voice as she surveys each of us. She turns to Killian, offering an affirmative nod. "We don't know how many of them there are or how close they are."

Killian snaps into action, pulling the end of the snapped arrow in front of him, handing it to Sanaa.

"Hana?" Casimir asks.

"Not likely," Lei responds. "They weren't using bows."

"The King's guards," I say, trying to conceal the tendril of fear in my voice as I eye the feathered ends. A memory sparks in my mind from my time in the Palace. "The red tails... they're his."

Silence falls over us at the possibility.

"We can worry about who they are later." Killian tucks the arrow away just as Jaycee emerges with a wide-eyed Alaric and disgruntled Harris. "For now, we need to get out of here."

When Alaric looks at me, I can't help but think of Killian's words by the stream. I wish I could take the thought back, hide it away in the depth of my mind as soon as Alaric's gaze meets mine.

The makeshift camp is packed up in less than a few minutes, the horses snorting softly as we load their saddles with bags. I help Sanaa collect the water, tucking the bottles into hidden pockets. Every inch of my body remains on guard, the hairs standing on end. I can feel the brush of the arrow as it kissed my ear, hear the thud as it sunk into the tree.

Had they been trying to kill me? Or warn me?

Killian marches over to me while the others mount their horses. His dark eyes capture mine, sending my heart into overdrive as he stops inches away, holding out a long, sheathed dagger.

"You shouldn't be unarmed."

I hold my hand out, breath catching as he places it in my palm and draws his hand away painstakingly slowly. His warmth, touch, eyes—they remind me of what the arrow interrupted.

"Thanks," I say shakily, tucking it beneath my cloak.

"While I'm glad so many people are hell-bent on protecting you," he comments, eyes drawing over my shoulder at Casimir, "I'd much rather you ride with me."

My cheeks warm, remembering the last time I rode with him. I'd been adamant I'd hated him, then. And yet the proximity of his body, the hard lines of his chest, strong legs around my hips were impossible to ignore.

"All set," Sanaa says. "Lei, Killian, you ride ahead. Keep Freya in the middle of us, with enough space that we can split if we need."

I take the cue, half turning back to the horse.

Killian grabs my arm before I can draw away, stepping dangerously close despite the people around us. Leaning his head in, his breath brushes my cheek.

"I meant what I said in that cave in Torinne, Freya." My breath hitches. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

Dropping my arm, he marches over to Lei and expertly launches himself onto the horse. My heart races as I meet Casimir, taking his hand to help myself on the horse's back. His arms settle around me, mouth by my ear.

"Half of me wants to scold you for wandering off on your own," he murmurs.

"And the other half?"

"Doesn't want to have to think about what the hell the two of you were doing when you were attacked."

I glance at Killian from the corner of my eye, heart pounding in my chest. His strong arms cave around Lei, taking hold of the horse's reins as it backs up. I can't help but think about how they felt braced around me.

Killian and Lei gallop ahead, only dust and dirt in their wake. Casimir tugs on the horse's reins, turning it to the left before digging into its side, saving me a response. Wind rushes through my hair, the light of the moon guiding our ride as we gallop away from the clearing.

Away from or towards our attackers. There's no way of knowing. But as we fly through the night, Killian floods my every sense. His lips, his fingers, his eyes, his words. Both in the cave in Torinne and here in the forest.

Casimir

I slow the mare from a canter to a trot as the sky begins to lighten, the trees growing familiar. My thighs ache from the long ride, but nowhere near as much as my arms, gripping Freya much tighter than necessary for her to stay on the horse.

She leans back into me, body relaxing at a slower pace. It took an hour of riding before we lost Killian and Lei up ahead, but their presence ahead somewhat eased my anxieties. They could warn us of any danger or ambushes.

But the ride was uneventful. Somehow, that raises my guard even more. Was Freya's assailant alone? And if they were one of Ereon's like she thought, where was the rest of their unit?

"We're close," she murmurs. I sense she, too, notices the familiarity of the trees and our impending arrival. I hum in confirmation.

We haven't been able to speak for much of the ride. Though the forest was much too dense to ever develop much of a gallop, the wind made it too difficult to converse.

"I still don't understand," Freya says, "why Trina agreed to help you. Everything she stands for is against Killian and Sanaa. And she hated me since the day we met."

She doesn't mention Trina's disgust in me, her own son. But I know she's thinking about it, too.

"We struck a deal."

"And what's that?"

"She helps us, and in return, we kill King Ereon."

Her shoulders tense at the mention of him, the same way she always does. I wish I could shield her from it; I wish I could go back in time and erase the moments she spent with him in the Palace, ease her fear.

"How do you know she's not going to change her mind once we meet her again?"

"Killing Ereon has been the goal from the beginning. Like Sanaa's group, the deserters have been heavily impacted by more frequent guard patrols and the cloud. She needs us just as much as we need her," I tell her. "Trina always does what's best for the deserters,"

"Do you truly believe that?" Freya asks, turning her head to stare at me, her dark eyes seeing right through me. "Even now?"

I turn her question over in my mind. There have been moments, sure, where I've thought her judgment was clouded by her hatred. But in the moments it mattered, truly mattered, she always chose what was best for the deserter clan.

Even at my expense.

When I don't respond, Freya reaches forward to take hold of my hand. I squeeze hers in response as we continue, my eyes drawing to the black marks that snake from her sleeve onto her palm.

"Do they hurt?" I ask.

She follows my gaze, self-consciously tugging her sleeve lower. "Not right now."

"But sometimes they do?"

She glances over my shoulder, to where Sanaa and Alaric ride behind us, Jaycee and the other prisoner in the rear. I try to read her expression as she glances at him, but she's turned around too quickly for me to get a measure.

"Not hurt, exactly... It's hard to explain. But whenever something happens, they burn."

"Something like summoning in the cloud."

"That's not all, Cas." She lowers her voice, leaning deeper into me. "That shifter was trying to attack me, and before Killian killed it, I... I stopped it."

"Are you sure it was you?"

"I felt it," she assures me, changing her voice to a whisper. "I... I think maybe they're right. Maybe if I can control it, I can save them. The shifters infected with evocian."

Horror pools in my stomach, thick like acid. She wants to help. She probably could. But Myers' warning flashes like wildfire in my mind. Her markings, the weakness that overtook her when we found her in the cave, after she'd stopped the infected shifter.

"I don't know if we can trust him," she continues. "But Alaric knows how to help me control it. He can help me." She catches my expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I shake the feeling off, tightening my hold on her as the clearing widens. Ahead, Killian and Lei have dismounted their horse, waiting in tense silence aside Trina and three deserters by her side. "We're here."

This distracts her gaze forward as I halt the mare, dismounting. Trina's gaze follows every movement, her expression a mask of steel. There's no sense of relief that we've returned, that we're alive, not even that Jaycee has made it back.

"You're alive," is all she says.

When I was young, I fooled myself into thinking it was because she couldn't publicly show that she cared for me. That I could be her weakness. Now, I don't believe in those fairy tales.

Her eyes shift to Freya, clambering down from the horse. "You have your girl back, I held up my end of the deal." She eyes Sanaa as she dismounts, eyes drawing to Alaric, who, still with bound wrists, dismounts as gracefully as she can. "And who is this?"

"Prisoners," Sanaa responds cooly, no emotion in her voice. Harris still lingers at the back, behind Jaycee. "Betrayers of Torinne."

"Be rid of them," Trina demands, the deserters on either side of her starting forward. "Your politics are not my concern. We do not care to house your prisoners."

"No!" Freya protests, stepping in front of Alaric. "You can't kill them."

"I can do as I please. Step aside, girl."

When she doesn't, the male deserter raises a hand to her shoulder. Before I can intervene, Killian flashes across the clearing, catching the man's hand midair.

"If you want to keep this arm, back the fuck away," Killian warns, voice low.

The deserter glares back, ripping his arm from Killian. I take a step forward to stand beside Freya. As much as it irritates me, we need Alaric. If what he's said is true, that we'll need a Kinjri to help Freya, we have to keep him alive.

"She's right, you can't kill them," I say. "He is invaluable to our cause. He can help us kill the King."

"He's kinjri," Freya urges. "He has the ability to use force fields. To protect people."

Trina tosses the information over in her mind, eyeing Alaric. None of us mention his other ability, the one that makes my skin crawl. That's a sure way to put a death warrant on him. Nobody wants a mind reader around. Not unless you have to, like we do.

Her steely gaze shifts to Freya, and my grip tightens on her arm. I never wanted Trina to know about Freya.

And when Killian waltzed into Veymaw and led her right to the deserters' doorstep, well that's the first time I actually wanted to kill him.

Informants aren't supposed to make friends. They're not supposed to find family. The rules were drilled into me from a very young age.

But it was never the lecture I was afraid of, nor the judgment. It was bringing her into this world—somewhere so harsh I wanted to protect her from. But as I glance at her, standing beside me with her chin raised and expression stoic beneath Trina's piercing glare, I know deep in my bones that she doesn't need my protection.

"Clean yourselves up," Trina says eventually. "We'll meet at noon to discuss our next steps."

I pull Freya closer to me as the others shift and move. Jaycee yanks the other prisoner by the arm, but he protests, his eyes trained ahead. "Let me go," he demands. I restrain his other hand. "Joyre," he says, "you're alive."

I follow his gaze to Trina, backing away. "You're mistaken."

"No." He shakes his head. "No. Joyre!" he calls.

Trina freezes. Half turns. Her eyes zero in on the prisoner, her eye twitching as they meet gazes. Then, she looks at me for the briefest moment, restraining the prisoner.

"He is Kinjri?" she asks.

Sanaa shakes her head, no.

"East wing hole," Trina orders her guards. "Bound and gagged. We'll execute him in the morning."

The prisoner's face contorts as he shouts at her, the same name Joyre over and over, before Jaycee gags him with a cloth and drags him away.

Trina raises her chin. "See you at noon."