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There was no time for finesse. At any moment, his heart could stop or enemies would pour from the stronghold to hunt them down. She called on her magic, pressed her hand to his chest, and shoved her magic into him as if she intended to keep him alive through sheer brute force.

Brute force might be what healing him would take. Through her magic, she could see the concussion and slight crack to his skull, the multiple bullet wounds piercing his chest and shredding lungs and organs, and the broken ribs and other cracked bones. With the bullets still inside him, she could not heal him all the way, but she could at least keep him alive.

More gravel slid down the slope, and Zavni stumbled to a halt beside her. Blood coated his side and his face. “I closed the stone again, and Rharreth took out the repeater gun. But Drurvas will get through my magic in moments.”

“I know. We need to get him out of here.” Melantha gripped Rharreth’s arm, as if she could physically pick him up herself.

Zavni knelt, grimacing as if even that small action was painful. Then he rolled Rharreth, lifting him across his back, gripping his arm and leg. With a grunt, Zavni shakily pushed to his feet.

He would not have the strength to haul Rharreth far. Melantha stood, swaying and willing away her sudden dizziness, and pressed a hand to Zavni’s arm. She shoved magic into him, healing and strengthening. With her magic in him, he would feel physically stronger than he actually was, enabling him to do more.

He grunted and glanced to her. “Where to now, my queen?”

Where should they go? Where would they be safe?

Rharreth was in no shape to go back into the stronghold and try to rally those still loyal to him. Drurvas had planned well, setting up an ambush in case the attack in their bedroom failed.

The only weapons they had were Zavni’s ax and Rharreth’s elven dagger still secured to his belt.

They needed a place to heal and plan. They could trust no one, and she was still a stranger here. Who could she ask for help?

She straightened, remembering a day weeks ago walking the streets of Osmana. Perhaps Melantha could not trust any of the troll warriors, not even any of Rharreth’s shield band except for Zavni. But she could, maybe, trust a family who owed her their son’s life.

“This way.” Melantha set off along the wall, sticking to the shadow the moonlight cast at the base of the wall. She avoided the sections of unblemished snow, trying to walk only on the stones or patches of ice where they would not leave footprints. There was nothing she could do about the drops of blood Rharreth and Zavni were leaving.

Melantha hurried along the dark, empty streets. She had only been here once. During daylight. What if she picked the wrong house? What if she remembered the wrong street?

She simply could not make those mistakes. Rharreth’s life depended on them finding shelter, and soon.

She turned down the side street, walked a few houses down from the wall, and glanced around the street, trying to picture it as she had seen it, the sides of the street packed with people and her and Rharreth’s guards surrounding them.

This had to be the right place. It simply had to be.

With a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

Nothing happened. The street remained empty and dark. She could not hear anything besides her and Zavni’s heavy breathing.

She knocked again, harder this time. She did not dare raise her voice to call out. While the people in this home—assuming Melantha found the right place—were probably trustworthy, the others on this street might not be.

Another few long seconds passed. Melantha raised her hand to knock again when shuffling came from inside.

The door cracked open. Just wide enough to show a sliver of face and the shine of a knife clutched in the male troll’s hand. “Who goes there?”

She could not see enough to recognize the face, and the voice was gravelly with sleep and muffled by the door. But, at this point, it was too late. This male troll had seen them, even if he did not yet recognize them thanks to the darkness.

“Please, sir. There has been an attack. King Rharreth and I need sanctuary for the rest of the night.” Melantha kept her voice low, and she gestured to Zavni behind her.

Zavni turned, putting Rharreth’s face more in the light. It was difficult, with him hanging across Zavni’s shoulders.

But the eye peering through the crack between door and jamb widened, and moments later, the door was flung open. “Come in, Your Majesties.”

Melantha hurried inside, then stood aside to give Zavni room. As soon as they were inside, Melantha yanked the door from the male troll’s hand and shut it, barely stopping herself from slamming it.

Lights flared deeper inside the room, and a troll woman appeared in the tunnel, a candle in her hand. She stood there, blinking, as if she could not understand what she was seeing.

Melantha sagged against the table set in the center of what she could now see was the kitchen, complete with a fireplace molded into one wall and cupboards along the other. This was the right place. This was the home of the troll woman whose son’s arm Melantha had healed.

Then, Melantha bolted upright. “We need to cover the windows. Please. No one can know we are here. And no use of magic. We cannot give any indication that we are here.”