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What next? Where would I go? What about Mother?

Too many questions. Too soon.

We spilled from another doorway and melted into an orchard at the back of the castle. The plump fragrance of apples tickled my nose. From there, Lyrik took the lead, heading toward the rye hills beyond.

I could backtrack the long way and fetch Mother. We could tuck ourselves in an outlying village until they stopped looking. We could—

I slammed into Lyrik’s back. Nicu slammed into mine.

Hooves thundered around the bend, half a dozen steeds plowing our way. At the helm rode a knight with a halo of golden hair. Furious blue eyes galloped closer.

Who had we been kidding?

He wore no cloak, only a shirt untucked over hose, the neckline split low and unbound. He’d gotten dressed in a rush.

How had he known? That prophecy brain of his? That intuition?

That shifting curtain overlooking the courtyard?

In one fluid motion, Aire sprang from the courser. He held up his hand, staying the other knights. “She’s mine.”

“My lord, she’s unarmed,” one of the women said.

Aire locked gazes with me. “No. She is not.”

Whipping a sword from the scabbard at his hip, he glided toward me.

Trapped in his path, I stumbled backward. “Aire—”

He curled his gloved fingers in invitation.Try it. Show me what I’ve taught you.

The hatchets felt differently, propped against my flesh. Even if they hadn’t, I couldn’t fight him. I couldn’t take up that gauntlet. I would lose.

He gave me no choice, spinning the sword in his grip. I elbowed Nicu out of the way and shoved Lyrik aside as he’d been yanking out his dagger. Flashes of the glade returned, every twist and turn, every strike and block.

I reached behind, tore the axes from the strap, and flipped them in my hands. A little clunkier because of the new skin, the new weight.

Aire must have seen pleading in my eyes because, for an instant, his hands faltered. Then he lunged at me. I yelped, swinging the hatchets to block him, the force bringing me to my knees. I’d crafted short hatchets that did an unexpected amount of damage, but I just wasn’t strong enough, nor competent enough yet, to wield them against a knight and his sword.

How could he think otherwise? What did he see in me that I didn’t?

On the other hand, he’d taught me a few tricks to compensate.

I ducked a second thrust and surged to my feet. Steel clanged, sparks flew.

I crossed my axes to thwart another blow. The action brought us nose-to-nose over the weapons. The scent of clouds and mist and sweat curled around my heart. Another inch, and our lips would brush.

We once sparred like this—and you kissed me.

His pupils ate up the blue, as though he’d heard me. He could end this, with my strength faltering, my arms beginning to shake. It would be effortless to drive me into the ground, to make me yield.

Matter of fact, he could have done so from the beginning, but he’d been holding back. I knew the difference. I knew how he fought.

Aire’s temple pounded. His jaw locked. And then...then.

The sword flew away from me. He wheeled and put his back to me. Shielding me from the soldiers, he withdrew his second blade, both of them poised.

Shock delayed the knights. “Sir Aire—”