I stuff my hands into my pockets and blurt, “I need to apologize. For the last time we met. I shouldn’t have raised my swords to you.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “You shouldn’t have, no. But I understand why you did.”

“I wouldn’t have killed you.” I cringe at how that sounds, but he only laughs. How he can forgive me so easily baffles me. In his place, I’m not sure I’d be as understanding.

“You couldn’t have, anyway,” he says. “But you’re a natural warrior. Kendara used to say that you try too hard, that you’re too afraid to fail. I don’t think that’s it, though. You simply fight with all the fire in your being.”

I flush a bit at his praise. What does one say when the prince of Evewyn compliments your skill after you’ve committed treason?

“You only won because I gave up one of my swords to save Kudera,” I point out. “Otherwise, the fight could have gone either way. We do share the same sword master.”

Prince Meilek doesn’t look surprised. “Of course you’d notice. You were her star pupil, after all.”

That’s not true. Sadness and anger surges within me. She never meant for me to be Shadow. She only trained me because of a promise she made to my mother.

“Back in the Prince’s Company, you always attacked first. That doesn’t seem to have changed.”

“There’s no point letting my opponent make the first move. If I attack quickly, I can end it quickly.”

“Kendara always cautioned me to attack only when absolutely necessary.”

“That’s because you’re you,” I say. Still, I consider the implications. Prince Meilek must exercise caution because his loss would devastate the kingdom. I need no such restrictions. Because I am expendable.

I shake my head. I have to stop thinking this way. Kendara pushed me to fight my hardest so I would have the skills to survive.

As we pass the last few stalls in the market, something catches my eye. Nearly hidden by the growing gloom and a stack of small crates is a man washing dishes. It’s not him I notice; it’s the distinctive tattoos stretching from the ends of his eyebrows and into his hairline.

Confusion washes over me. “What’s he doing here?”

Prince Meilek follows my gaze. His feet slow and then stop.

The wounds I’d given Eyebrow Tattoos are gone. He’s dressed in common clothing, sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he dunks dishes into a tub of soapy water. A lightwender must have tended to his hands, although I can’t imagine him allowing a shaman to perform magic on him.

“Was he dismissed from the Valley of Cranes?” Maybe he’d been fired for allowing the prison break.

“He wasn’t dismissed,” Prince Meilek says.