She hates doctors, Gyre told himself. She screamed her head off when she cut her hand and Dad took her to get it sewn up.

But something was wrong. The way his father stood, hands clenched into fists. His mother’s eyes, brimming with unshed tears, her hands clasped to her chest. It’s wrong. Why are they letting him take her?

Gyre stepped into the doorway, trembling, as the centarch turned to leave. Maya saw him first and screamed again.

“Gyre! Help, help, please!”

“Let her go,” Gyre said. He wished his voice didn’t sound so small, so like a little boy’s.

“Gyre!” Gyre’s father took a half step forward. His mother turned away, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Ah,” the centarch said. “You must be the brother. Gyre, is it?”

Gyre nodded. “Put my sister down.”

“It is commendable, of course, to defend one’s family,” the centarch said. “But I am afraid you have made a mistake. My name is Va’aht, called Va’aht Thousandcuts, a centarch of the Twilight Order.” His free hand brushed across his haken.

“I know what you are,” Gyre said. “Put her down.”

“If you know what I am, you know that the Order helps wherever it can. I am going to help your sister.”

“She doesn’t want to go,” Gyre said.

“I don’t!” Maya wailed. “I’m not sick, I’m not.”

“Children don’t get to make those decisions, I’m sad to say,” Va’aht said. “Now, if you would stand aside?”

Hand trembling, Gyre reached for his belt. He drew his knife, the knife his father had trusted him with the day he found all the vulpi. It was a wickedly sharp single-edged blade almost four inches long. Gyre held it up in front of Va’aht, heart thumping wildly.

“Gyre!” Gyre’s father shouted. “Drop that at once and come here!”

“I see,” Va’aht said gravely. “Single combat, is it? Unfortunately, boy, I’m afraid I don’t have time at the moment. Once you’ve grown a bit taller, perhaps.” The centarch turned. “If there’s—”

Gyre moved while he was looking the other way. Va’aht’s torso was armored, and Gyre’s steel blade wouldn’t even scratch the unmetal. But his legs were protected only by leather riding trousers, and Gyre swung the knife down as hard as he could into the man’s thigh. It sank to the hilt, blood welling around the wound.

Va’aht shouted in pain, and Maya screamed. Gyre’s mother was screaming too. Gyre tried to maintain his grip on the blade, pull it out for another stab, but Va’aht twisted sideways and he lost his hold. The centarch’s knee slammed into Gyre’s stomach, sending him gasping to the floor.