“I’ll take her,” Kit said, and she was there. She waved a hand up the hill. “Go on, it’ll be hard enough with your foot like that.”

Anji scowled. “Like what?”

Kit’s nostrils flared, but she only coiled the reins in one gloved hand and threw the two bags over her shoulder. “You’re limping. We need to get you off that ankle.”

Anji stared at Kit as though seeing her for the first time. Whoever the Hawk—Kit—had been, she was no longer under Senate or Warden control. Whether outcast or gone of her own volition, she was a wholly different woman from the Hawk Anji had sung about in her youth. One who’d killed royal guards on the road to Silverton, who’d shown such disdain for Hectate and Alphoronse and an absolute resolve not to let Anji fall into the Menagerie’s hands, even if it meant killing people she’d known for decades. The Bear, who had seemed so stoic at Sheertop’s altar, had been beside herself with anger at Kit, at the betrayal she had endured at the hands of an old friend, all to spirit Anji away for a bounty Kit likely wouldn’t even have the chance to spend.

There has to be a reason.

“Kit,” Anji said, “why are you—”

“Not here,” said Kit, shaking her head. Then she clicked her tongue at the horse and heaved herself forward. Anji limped up the hill after, drops of rain just beginning to fall.

Chapter 33

33

The lighthouse looked ready to collapse at any moment, but Anji hauled herself inside anyway. She felt along the inside wall of the darkened, circular room and let herself slide to the floor, legs crossed. Her shirt hung heavy with sweat, freezing where it touched her skin. The wind was kinder in here, at least.

Kit rustled through the empty doorway, blotting out storm-gray light. She dropped the bags to the floor and lowered herself across from Anji, onto the first steps circling to the tower’s top, where giant fires had been stoked so long ago. With a ragged sigh, she bent forward, hands reaching for her toes.

“What is that,” Anji said, her voice scratchy and dry. She pointed at Kit, rolling a finger in the air. “That thing you’re doing?”

“Stretching,” Kit said, bending one wrist, then the other. Her arms were so thin, shaking from shoulder to forearm to fingers. Kit’s whole body quaked with the effort, whatever it was, but she continued. Eyes closed, she let an uneasy breath out through her nose once, twice. The third sounded smoother.

“What does it do?”

“It relaxes me,” Kit said.

“Doesn’t look relaxing.”

Kit opened her eyes and dragged the brown sack toward her. After digging around, she threw Anji a dried piece of meat and a hunk of brown bread, and set to her own with quick, greedy chomps.