He touched a hand to his bruised cheek. “I’ll live. It’s done nothing for my looks, and less for my mood . . . but there was no saving at least one of those.” He paused. Words seemed so inadequate at times like these. “I owe you my life . . . my family’s lives.”

The smile wasn’t much, just a small crook of the lips. “You owe me nothing. In a way, I’m grateful to the kernclaw. I’ve been directionless since Kas died. I’d forgotten my purpose. My duty. He gave that back to me.”

Malachi laughed, though its tug at bruised ribs made him wince. “Next time, perhaps don’t involve me in your quest for enlightenment?”

Now there was nothing half-hearted about Rosa’s smile, nor her soft laughter. “And Lilyana? The children?”

“Lily has a bump on the back of her head the size of an egg. Constans slept through the whole thing.” Malachi shook his head in wonder. “Sidara . . . Sidara declared this morning that she wants to go to the chapterhouse as soon as she’s of age. You made quite an impression.”

“Lilyana can’t be pleased.”

“She isn’t, but she’s keeping her distaste hidden.” He twisted away to hide a blush of pleasure. “Wouldn’t let the physicians touch my wounds either. Insisted that she and Sidara do everything, and they did their work well. I think my daughter has a talent for this. I’ve no other cause to feel as hale as I do.”

Rosa offered a wry smile. “So you’re well enough to spar?”

“I’m never that well. And Lily would not approve.”

“I think perhaps that she loves you, however little you notice it at times.”

“I’ve not done well by them of late. By anyone. Last night brought that home to me, quite literally so.”

Rosa grunted. “They do say we are only truly ourselves in moments of crisis. It’s why old soldiers can’t put down the sword. It means setting down a piece of themselves alongside.”

“And you? What did you learn of yourself?”

She flexed her fingers, holding them in a fist before spreading them wide as Lumestra’s rays. “That I’m still Roslava Orova, Knight of Essamere and Reaper of the Ravonn – though Lumestra knows I hate that nickname. Elzar was right. This is a gift. I’m stronger than I used to be, Malachi. Faster, too. And that’s to say nothing of . . .” Her voice snagged on the next word. “. . . of the rest. I can put that to use.”

Malachi frowned, his mood soured by wariness. “You must be careful. If others learn how you are . . . The church’s provosts won’t care for what you’ve done, only what you are.”

“You worry too much, old friend.”

Just as she worried too little. Malachi decided not to spoil the moment with argument.