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Darian hesitates for a fleeting moment. “No. I’ll be the one to deliver her to the King.”

“I command you to,” Cole rumbles, ripping the rope from Darian.

Darian snatches Cole’s wrist, flicking a glance down at Cole’s fist, then back up at him.

Cole’s eyes darken as he growls, “Need I remind you of your place here?”

“As I’ve told you before, I don’t take orders from lowly bastards,” Darian spits.

Carlisle slinks through the crowd and stops beside me, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The movement draws Cole’s attention in our direction. His anger falters when his eyes connect with mine.

Cole tears his wrist out of Darian’s grasp and takes a step toward my direction, the rebel woman in tow. “Take her.”

Carlisle strides forward to retrieve the rope as the woman flings like a caught fish, fighting with every step.

Cole shakes his head at Carlisle. “No. Kat, take her.”

As our gaze locks in on each other, we have an unspoken understanding—I’ll free the rebel woman. She’ll lead the way to the Dragon Lands, eliminating any risks of rebels attacking Daeja and me.

“If we don’t clean and stitch her up, she may either bleed out or die of infection,” Cole explains aloud.

Darian’s gaze travels over to me, his fisted hands relaxing. His attention darts back to the rebel woman, but he doesn’t move when I take the rope from Cole.

Cole tosses a glare at Darian over his shoulder. “Darian, you and I will take a group to assess our perimeters to make sure there are no others lingering around. Archie, go with Kat and assist in any way you can. Carlisle, find Marge and station a few guards outside of the healer’s quadrant.”

We all break off into our assigned groups. Archie unsheathes a dagger as he approaches me, pointing it at the woman in warning. She stops thrashing against the rope momentarily but still digs her heels into the ground as I lead her back to the healer’s quadrant. Once we get to there, I give Archie the rope. Squinting through the darkness, I dig through shelves with the bottles and vials, trying to figure out what to use when Marge walks into the room holding a candlestick.

“Sit!” Marge commands the woman.

The rebel glares at Marge and jolts for the door, taking Archie with her. Slingshotting forward, I dive for the rope and join Archie and the woman on the floor as she fights to escape. After a few scrambling moments on the floor, Archie regains his grip on the rope, tugging the woman until she slows.

Marge gathers materials while we wrestle with the rebel. She then crouches near the woman, her voice harsh. “Are you going to cooperate? Or are we going to have to just let you die?”

The woman peers up at Marge with a burning hatred.

Marge asks again, “Do you speak?”

Nothing.

Marge holds out a vial to her, and the woman’s eyes dart to the scars lacing her hands. The woman smacks the vial out of Marge’s grasp. The vial flies across the room and shatters on the ground. Archie and I both flinch.

“Spoiled!” the woman hisses and recoils.

“Listen, girl. You either let us help you, or you will bleed out by morning. What’s it going to be?” Marge growls.

The woman glares at Marge, and Marge holds her gaze.

After an uncomfortable stretch of silence, Marge relents with a sigh and hobbles back to her bottles and vials, plucking a new one and handing it to me. “Maybe you’ll have better luck. Rebels won’t trust Spoileds.”

The rebel woman watches Marge hand me the medicine, and her narrowed eyes widen, if only slightly. She stops fighting against her binds.

Marge exits the healer’s quadrant, and a sadness sinks into my chest to think that it may be the last time I ever see her.

“What’s a Spoiled?” Archie inquires.

I feign confusion and shrug. “Maybe she thinks this medicine is spoiled?”

We both turn our attention to the rebel. In the candlelight, a wildness shadows her eyes, her hair matted with blood. The flickering light catches a shimmer of an image engraved into her necklace. It’s subtle, but I’d know it anywhere—the insignia of an A with a dragon perched on top of it.