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Elyria shook her head. Well, she tried to shake her head. It ended up as more of a kind of limp bobbing against his chest as he carried her toward Raefe, who had darted back inside the doorway with a grim expression.

“There’s a fuckton of them,” he said. “They clearly don’t know their fearless leader turned tail and ran. Can you still fight?”

Cedric looked down at Elyria, the weak grip of her fingers around his doublet, and shook his head. “Not like this.”

Raefe pursed his lips, his gray gaze flicking between the two of them, then down to Sid.

“Can she carry her?”

Sid huffed as though the question was insulting and flared her wings wide. Cedric nestled Elyria between them, but dizziness, fatigue, and blood loss made it impossible for Elyria to stay balanced on the shadowcat’s back. She immediately slumped to one side, and Cedric was quick to catch her.

Raefe sighed. “Can she carry you both?”

Cedric blinked. “What are you⁠—”

“Take her now.” The fae sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth. He reached for Elyria, brushing a stray lock of bloodstained periwinkle from her forehead. “Maybe now you’ll believe I’m sorry, yeah?”

And then he soared back into the hallway with a victorious whoop, fire leaping from his arms once more, and disappeared from sight.

Cedric cursed but did not pursue him. If this was the choice Raefe was making, it was clear her knight would honor it.

He climbed onto Sid’s back, one arm secured around Elyria’s waist, the other fisted in the shadowy fur at the nape of Sid’s neck. Elyria felt the mix of sadness and pity and heartbreak and rage that flitted down the bond as he took in the sight of her back, surely a mess of blood and cuts and—oh.

Right.

Scars.

She leaned against him, her head lolling onto his shoulder. “You came for me,” she said, her voice a soft, whimpering thing.

And the world went dark.

PART II

DUSK

15

NOBODY’S DAUGHTER

TENNY

Kingshelm was quieter than she’d ever known it.

Not in terms of noise. There were still the everyday sounds of life echoing from every corner of the rebuilding city. But it was quiet. Exhausted. Grieving.

Or perhaps that’s just me, Tenny thought from her balcony, hands resting on the railing. From this height, she could see over the palace walls and into the main thoroughfare of the city. She could even make out part of the Walk from up here—could see the tangle of narrow streets, the rooftops much in need of repair.

More than two months had passed since her father’s mutinous attack on King’s Keep, and finally the king and his council seemed to be righting itself. Still, it was clear that whatever small efforts they were making to actually rule over this city—let alone the kingdom—had yet to reach its most vulnerable citizens.

Tenny had been trying where she could, when she could. Which, lately, felt like always. Better to spend her time visiting the children of the Walk, bringing food and provisions and at least some modicum of relief, than to let her thoughts dwell on everything that had happened though. On just how lonely it was here lately.

On the ground below them, workers were rebuilding one of the garden walls that had been destroyed during the attack. They swung a large beam into place with a thump. A few children who had gathered at the gate beyond the courtyard clapped, delighted.

Kingshelm was healing.

Slowly. Messily. But healing.

Tenny wished she felt the same.