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“Ryon,” Salem pants, swaying as he drops the barrel. “Thank the fuckin’ Mother.”

But the guard is shuffling backward with Gerrot. Ryon can see blood blooming beneath the old man’s tunic as the guard stumbles. Beneath the helm, the stranger’s eyes shine with terror. “Stay back!” the man spits, panting heavily.

“Who sent you?” Ryon demands, advancing slowly.

“H-Her Majesty,” he says. “The Queen.Stay back, I say!”

Gerrot lets out a strangled whimper, and Ryon halts, holding his hands up. Gerrot’s watery eyes plead with Ryon. Beg of him. How many times did he pass by this human in the Glacian palace, unable to help him? “Let the man go.”

“Leave, beast!” the guard shouts. “Now!”

“Let my friend go,” Ryon bids carefully, watching as the blood drips from Gerrot’s shirt. “And you can go back to your Queen. You can tell her you found yourself a Glacian in the woods.”

The guard retreats further, pulling Gerrot with him. “Y-you’ll kill me.”

“I won’t,” Ryon says firmly. “You have my word.”

Hesitation. But a Terrsaw guard will never take the word of a Glacian. “It ishimthat I want,” he says, nodding to Salem. “He is a wanted man.”

Ryon gives the soldier some credit for his boldness, but there will be no negotiation, and Ryon does not take his eyes off him. “Do you have a family, soldier? Someone you love?”

A flicker of contempt. “A woman.”

“A good woman you’ll never see again if you act rashly today,” Ryon tells him slowly. “You can go back home to her tonight. Tell her the tale of how you escaped a Glacian today. Give your knowledge to your Queen. Let her hail you a hero.”

Gerrot whimpers again, his wide eyes imploring Ryon. Eyes that have seen each version of this world and still manage to be gentle.

“Let him go,” Ryon begs. “And I’ll letyougo in kind.”

The guard errs. His sword eases an inch, though his grip on Gerrot’s neck remains. “How can I be sure?”

“You can’t. I can only swear that I have no desire to kill you now.” Ryon marks the guard’s feet angling away, desperate to flee. “But if you kill this man, I will hunt you to the darkest corners of this world and rip you apart.”

The guard hesitates again, his armour clanking awkwardly. He looks away, down the road, and then back to Ryon. “Get me my horse.”

“Salem?” Ryon calls.

Salem makes a noise of assent, his stare not leaving the guard’s. He walks slowly to the side of the road, where a horse trots restlessly in place, its reins ensnared in the bushes.

“You’ll have your horse,” Ryon addresses the guard. “You’ll release our friend and be on your way.”

“You won’t follow?” the guard asks, and Ryon hears the immaturity in his voice. He wonders if the guard is any more than a boy.

“I’ll have no need,” Ryon says placatingly. “Unless you give me one.”

The guard hesitates a moment longer, then, blissfully, mercifully, he nods, just once. His grip on Gerrot relaxes by degrees.

A clamour from the woods. Tasheem, Rivdan, and Dawsyn come hurtling onto the road, the Glacians with wings extended.

The Terrsaw guard shouts.

Dawsyn lifts her ax.

The horse bucks.

And the sword against Gerrot’s belly plunges.

Gerrot topples.