She had barely taken three steps before something huge slammed into her—a wall of fur and teeth and meat-stink. She hit the ground hard, and rolled, teeth snapping an inch from her face. The winter wolf’s momentum carried it straight over her and Widge. It scrabbled to turn back, blue eyes gleaming, tongue lolling manically.

Cursing, Twelve sprang back to her feet, ignoring the pain blossoming down her side. Her axe hafts were slick in her grip, but if there was one thing she’d learned from A Magical Bestiary it was that you never fled from a winter wolf. They were always faster. She faced it as it circled her, watching every ripple of muscle, every flicker of its eyes, trying to read when it would pounce. Her life depended on it.

Now.

The wolf sprang and Twelve threw herself aside, her axes ready. From nowhere, a Hunter dived in front of her, two sword blades carving a deadly curve across the wolf’s throat. An arc of shining blood spattered over the training ground and up the wall. Twelve’s heart leaped as Silver spun to face her, eyes wild.

“Twelve,” Silver cried, shouting over the cacophony. “You’re alive! When I saw they came through the dungeons, I . . .” Her grip on Twelve’s arm was very tight. One of the buckles on her armor hung loose and blood smeared her face, but her relief was unmistakable. “You can’t be here—you’re not trained. Get to the resthouse. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Silver!” Victory screamed her name, gesturing across the training ground to where a circle of Hunters was backing another creature against the wall. She was needed. One of the ogres roared again and the ground shook.

Silver glanced from Victory to Twelve, torn.

“Don’t worry about me,” Twelve said quickly. “I can look after myself.”

“To the resthouse, Twelve,” Silver said, her grip tightening further. “Don’t let me down. Stay in the wall’s shadow. Low and fast. Don’t attract any attention.” There was an urgency to the woman’s voice that Twelve couldn’t ignore and beneath that something else—fear. Silver was afraid for her. Twelve nodded silently, her heart pounding. The Hunter stared into her face, then was gone, her lithe form racing straight between an infuriated ogre’s legs to rejoin her team.

Battle frenzy tainted the air. Twelve stepped back into the darkness at the base of the walls, her breath shuddering. Widge gave a high-pitched squeal of alarm: the splash of wolf blood was right next to them. Her stomach lurched at the sight of it. Then, slowly, the blood seeped into the rock—and vanished.

In the very same spot, the rough stone . . . there was no other way to say it . . . rippled. Like the surface of a puddle disrupted by a pebble.