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Kylabet is calmly unconcerned beside me, wiping off her dripping blade casually on the edge of the dead man’s clothes.

Then, with real annoyance in her voice, she calls out to her brother, “Well, my blade is notched from hitting bone, BloodLetter. Ruined .” She might as well be discussing a lame horse or a cracked vase rather than a dead Rider bleeding out into the earth below us.

Her indifference to his body is chilling.

“I liked this one,” she continues, clearly irritated, and clearly speaking about her weapon rather than the man at her feet.

There is a quick scuffling of the Riders in front of us, and several step forward at once, a variety of swords and weapons being offered to her, hilts extended.

“You’re welcome to mine, Commander…”

“This one has an excellent balance, Flank Commander…”

“...made by Harald, so you know it’s a strong steel, Commander…”

Voices overlap as Kyla stares down at her apparently damaged weapon and huffs in aggravation.

Then, with careful consideration, she takes her time looking over the many, many pieces of sharpened steel gleaming in front of her before choosing one.

“Thank you,” she says quietly to the man, who straightens with pride.

“I’ll return it as soon as I’m able.” Fastening it to her belt, she addresses Axton, displeasure lacing each word.

“I expect mine to be fixed, BloodLetter. What a waste.” I’m not entirely certain if she is speaking about Dagan or her blade.

“Of course , Flank Commander.” And if there is a hint of sarcasm in his tone, all are wise enough not to call attention to it.

“Commander?” An almost cheerful voice, completely at odds with the current situation, draws Axton and Kylabet’s attention immediately.

Whomever is speaking is someone they value, that much is clear.

Axton nods sharply, giving permission for the speaker to continue.

“Why didn’t the Binder move? Or defend herself in any way?

He must have nicked her at the least — I can see the blood from here.

A disastrously poor Binder if she can’t even keep herself from death’s door.

” And it’s true; Dagan had sliced the thin flesh over my collarbone deep enough that the fabric below it is damp, though not soaked.

Perhaps it would be fully wet if Lorcan’s bones weren’t tight against my skin under my clothing, if they weren’t pulling my seeping blood into them as though drinking from a cup.

Kylabet laughs in response, rolling her shoulders and stretching, turning her back to me if I posed no more threat than a fledgling bird that fell from its nest. She does it naturally, no theatrics in her movements, but it sends a wordless message to those watching.

Axton raises a dismissive brow, shrugging in apparent apathy.

“That one? Defend herself?” He snorts. “She’s blind, and, as I said, doesn’t know what she is.

A baby kitten, complete with kitten claws.

That’s not to say not to take care around her, Riders.

” They straighten at his suddenly somber tone.

“Do. Even children can harm unintentionally. For now, we have captured a nestling mountain hawk, still downy. Be wary of its talons, but let’s see what we can do to hood it and tame it.

And if we need to cage it, then we will. But honey catches more than vinegar.”

There is a murmur of agreement; it seems to be enough for Kylabet and her brother, because she immediately turns to me and tells me to mount back up on the horse beside me.

I try to, truly I do, embarrassment writhing in my stomach like snakes, but the horse is less patient now with the crowd pressing around us, and skitters away from my ungainly attempts over and over.

“Oh for stars and sky,” Kylabet bursts out in exasperation after multiple failed attempts. The Riders are too well disciplined to laugh, though several clear their throats in obvious attempts to avoid doing so. “You need a different mount. This is ridiculous.”

“See to it,” Axton commands, waving his hand dismissively in her direction.

“And take care of that in whatever way you see fit.” He points to the body on the ground in front of us, then turns and walks away.

Kylabet’s face is set in an inscrutable expression watching her brother go; none of the Riders around us move though, obviously waiting for her orders.

When Axton is out of eyesight, she directs her attention towards me, brow raised, lips twisted in wry amusement.

“We need a matron’s mare for you, Binder.” With Axton gone, several of the men closest to us laugh openly at her words.

“No ponies available, Flank Commander. And no mules. ”

She grins back, though it is more savage than smile.

“Perhaps a child’s saddle?” Shaking her head, she rubs a hand across her eyes, and studies me again, before sighing. “Or do we just give up and put her in a wagon?”

The last sends a wave of astonished amusement through the Riders, relieving the tension that has built around us. Even those with suspicion still covering them like flesh over bone snort in response.

“A wagon ,” one calls, mirth and ridicule dancing in his voice, mirrored on the smirking faces of the men around me, and they all laugh again.

Evidently riding in a wagon is an unheard of insult, and the fact that she is even considering putting me in one has me bristling, though I try not to respond.

I understand, or at least think I understand the game she is playing to keep me safe.

But like everything else here, I am unsure.

“What would you like us to do with this one, Flank Commander?” One of the men approaches respectfully, edging away from me but not obviously so, and motions down to Dagan.

Staring down at his body consideringly, she nudges it with a toe, then shrugs dismissively.

“Leave it,” she replies carelessly. “We don’t honor those who don’t keep the code.

He did little good in life, in death at least he can give the beasts of the land full bellies.

But strip him of anything useful before we go. ”

Nodding, the man and several of his companions make quick work of it, and it’s only a few moments before the crumpled form is left almost bare to the sky and the Riders leave without a second glance to their fallen companion.

“Too much time wasted now,” Kylabet says, suddenly serious, looking around at the Riders.

“Mount up and move.” Around us is a flurry of activity, of instantaneous response.

As the gathering dissipates, she purses her lips thoughtfully, then calls out, “Teo, you have your packhorse maybe?” I can’t see the Rider she’s addressing, but there’s an answering sound of assent, and she nods.

“I’ll take it if you’re not using him, and figure out some compensation should anything go wrong.

Come along, Binder. Leave your ride. Someone will take him and bring you an easier creature.

” With all the grace of a dancer, she swings up into her saddle, and smiles coldly down at me.

“You’ll have to walk a bit until we have time to waste on you. ”

She waits for me to walk to her stirruped foot, until the Riders have all disbanded, until the area around us is humming with movement and motion, then drops her voice, bending her head toward me.

“Well, Binder,” she says, satisfaction barely disguised in her tone, “you’ve managed to make it through the first hour, more or less.

If we can keep you alive until the end of the day, it will be a miracle.

But the BloodLetter has said you’re to be taken to the Elders, so I have my marching orders, whether or not I agree with them.

Still, you’re entertaining if nothing else.

Just try to avoid being stabbed next time.

I didn’t like Dagan much, so his blood on my blade was a welcome whetting.

There are others I won’t move so quickly against, you understand? ”

“I understand,” I reply tightly, and she laughs again.

“You really are a curiosity, SoulBinder. It’s almost a shame you have Demon blood. Things will be boring once you’re dead.” She is so certain, so sure, that the panic from earlier returns, and I stare up at her, waiting until she focuses on me, a single brow raised in curiosity. “What, Binder?”

“My death doesn’t release you from your vow, BloodLetter’s sister,” I say as firmly as I’m able, and her eyes widen in surprise.

“My vow?”

“To keep Rannoch and Kaden from harm. Sworn in blood, so you are not released from your word even with my passing.”

She tilts her head, staring down at me consideringly, then nods once, sharply. “Just so, Binder. But you should be more worried about your neck than theirs at the moment.”

Shrugging, I look away from her. “That is not my way. As long as you hold your promise, I am content. Death is an old friend. It doesn’t scare me.”

“Does it not?” she asks thoughtfully. “Then I suppose we shall have to find something which does.”

And I suddenly, terrifyingly realize I’ve made a disastrous misstep.