Instead, he stabs blindly at me. The bone of his middle finger snaps. Screaming, he drops the dagger.

“Agree to let us go, and I’ll let you keep your other fingers intact,” I say, twisting his arm enough to get his attention again. Naming Saengo’s House might persuade them, but the Company might yet find a way to shield House Phang from disgrace, and I’d hate to risk exposing Saengo’s involvement if I can help it.

“Release him, shaman!”

I look up. The third soldier must have fled to retrieve a bow, because he has an arrow nocked and fixed on Saengo. Saengo, about to deliver a kick to the other soldier’s face, freezes. The archer’s cheek is mottled and bleeding, cut open where Saengo must have struck him with the branch. The other soldier stands, panting and red-faced, favoring her right leg. Her arm shakes as she points her sword at Saengo.

If they hurt her, I decide, then Evewynian soldiers or not, I’ll kill them.

Saengo’s eyes fix on the archer’s weapon. She could disable all three within seconds if she had his bow. But she doesn’t, so I release Eyebrow Tattoos with a shove. He trips away, cradling his broken finger to his chest. Then he snarls and rounds on me.

“Tie her up!”

The archer keeps his arrow trained on Saengo as the other soldier disappears into the trees. Their drakes must not be far off, because she returns before long with a length of rope. I sneer as she approaches me, taking satisfaction in the way she hesitates, but I allow her to yank my arms behind my back and bind my wrists together. The rope pinches my skin, and the troll bone digs into my forearm.

Nearby, Yandor stomps and snarls. His clawed feet rake the dirt, tearing up earth as he tries to break free from where Saengo tied him. I hope the reins hold. While drakes are as vicious in battle as their riders, that archer could easily shift targets. I couldn’t bear it if Yandor were shot.

“You’re going to regret this,” I say lightly, at odds with the way my heart wants to fling itself against my ribs.

“I doubt that.” Eyebrow Tattoos bends over so that his hot breath assaults my cheek. “Shamans and deserters all deserve to meet the end of a blade.”

The soldier behind me gives the knot a final, spiteful tug. Then she plants her boot into the back of my knee. My legs fold, and my knees strike the ground hard. Eyebrow Tattoos glares, probably hoping I’d fall on my face. He holds his bad hand tight against his side. The broken finger sticks out at an unnatural angle.

I smile, and he backhands me. Pain bursts through my jaw. The blow nearly knocks me off my knees, but I recover my balance.