“Lord Alvred is a strong man. The blow crushed the bones of your hip and caused you to bleed in your abdomen. We had you change shape so the bone fragments would go back to their proper place, but it does not always work, especially in someone who does not share all our blood. We’ll have someone cut you a staff to use while you recover. In the early days, you might find it easier to move around in your fur.”
Someone shouted in the distance just then. It didn’t sound like an alarm, more like a sentry’s report. Havel looked toward the sound. “We may have more news now.”
There was someone coming through the trees—someone tall, who walked like a soldier. He carried a long, rolled blanket across his arms, and a horse trailed behind him. Kyra squinted. Was that…
“Tristam!” Kyra shouted. Only at the last minute did she remember that she couldn’t run to him. His eyes fixed on her, and his entire body sagged with relief.
It was awkward, standing and waiting for him to get to her. She found herself leaning forward, impatient to talk to him. Tristam couldn’t walk very quickly because of what he carried, and as he came closer, Kyra felt a rising dread. Tristam’s steps were heavy, and his eyes did not signal good news. Kyra turned to Havel, only to realize that the man had slipped away.
Tristam came to a stop in front of Kyra and laid his burden on the ground in front of her. For a long moment, they stared at each other. She longed to throw her arms around him, but it was too strange, with all the Makvani around.
“I heard you were injured,” he said.
“Alvred’s got a deadly mace arm,” she said. “But Flick got me out alive.” She gestured weakly toward herself. “I…can’t walk very well at the moment.”
“I’m glad you’re alive,” said Tristam. He started to reach for her but curled his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side as he stared down at the ground in front of him. When he spoke again, the words came out deliberately, as if he had to push them out before his resolve failed. “We had a unit waiting outside the gate for your arrival.” he said, his voice low and even. His eyes were clouded with anguish. “Pashla made it to us with Willem on her back. But when she tried to return to the forest, she ran across a group of Edlan horsemen.”
He stopped then, and Kyra felt something cold grip her chest. She looked down at the rolled blanket on the ground. She’d known what it was. But still she’d hoped…
“I’m sorry, Kyra,” Tristam said. “I tried to help her, and several of our knights as well. But we were too late.” He kneeled then and pulled up one edge of the blanket to reveal Pashla’s face.
Pashla’s eyes were closed, her skin pale and bloodless, and Kyra found she couldn’t breathe. She started to kneel down beside Pashla but stopped when pain shot through her hip. Tristam reached out to steady her, and slowly, she eased herself onto the snow.
The battle at the enemy camp played over and over in Kyra’s mind. The arrow in Adele’s back. Lord Alvred’s mace coming down on Kyra’s hip. The chaos that had led to Pashla taking her place.
“It should have been me,” Kyra said. There was a lump in her throat that didn’t move when she swallowed.
“The tides of battle cannot be predicted by any of us,” said Tristam. “Don’t blame yourself for the hand of fate.”
He spoke the words as if he knew the grief they addressed. And Kyra supposed he did. His fellow knights had probably told him the same thing when Jack and Martin had died.