“And you won’t. I killed him.”

He shakes his head as if he misheard. His brown eyes quickly take in the state of me, like Theyen did—the fresh blood streaking my arm and leaking from my thigh, as well as Ronin’s blood, which stains the front of my shirt.

“You’re not going to reprimand me as well, are you?” I ask.

“I haven’t said a word,” he says without inflection.

“Please just … wait to do so. I’ll tell you everything later. Where’s Saengo?”

Prince Meilek jerks his head for me to follow and then steers his drake away. He doesn’t go far. A wagon lies on its side nearby. Upended barrels and crates rest in piles, their contents scattered across the grass. Hidden behind the crates, curled into the corner of the wagon, is Saengo.

A soldier hurtles from the haze of smoke, weapon swinging. I raise my swords, but he stops when he recognizes his prince as my companion.

“Soldier.” Prince Meilek stares him down until the soldier lowers his sword. “Gather who you can and return to Evewyn.”

I leave the soldier to the prince and rush to Saengo’s side. Her face is flushed red with fever, her hair soaked through. The blue veins have spread over her jaw and up her cheeks, bright and menacing.

“No,” I whisper, smoothing away strands of dark hair from her forehead.

Behind me, the soldier stutters, “Y—Your Highness.”

Something glints at the edge of my vision. I look up to see the soldier bow deep just as an arrow pierces clean through his throat.

A second arrowhead flashes in the smoky dawn light. I leap in front of Prince Meilek, my swords snapping the second arrow in half before it can pierce his chest. Prince Meilek jerks back, watching the soldier slump into the earth. A Nuvali sun warrior thunders up on a dragokin, another arrow nocked and pointed directly into Prince Meilek’s furious face.

“Stop,” I shout, pointing my swords at her. “He isn’t your enemy.”

Jewel-blue eyes narrow in distrust. She regards me first, the unmistakable evidence that I’m a shaman. Then she studies Prince Meilek and the gold circlet fitted against his dark hair. “The Evewynian prince who warned us?”

“Yes,” I breathe, lowering my swords. “He—”

A low groan interrupts me. Abandoning the sun warrior, I return to Saengo’s side. I gently cup her face. Her eyes are unfocused, her pupils tiny pinpricks. Her breaths are thin and hoarse. Tremors of anguish rock through me.

She can’t die now. I defeated Ronin. I burned the Soulless’s body to extinguish whatever power still connected him to the Dead Wood.

“How can this be?” the sun warrior asks. She’s dismounted and is now peering over my shoulder. “She has the rot.”