Proud? If there was one thing she didn’t deserve right now, it was Bella’s approval. That had always been Bella’s mistake, to see good in Kyra that wasn’t there.

“We need to get you a healer,” Kyra said. Her voice was sharp with urgency. “We need a healer,” she called. Around her, people stared, and she realized her foolishness. If there had been a healer in the room, she would have helped Bella already. Did Kyra expect another one to walk through the door?

Bella coughed and Kyra clutched her hand. The cook’s eyes closed again, her breathing shallow and labored. Occasionally, her eyes moved in agitation beneath her eyelids. Kyra stroked Bella’s arm and face, as the cook had so often done for Kyra after her childhood nightmares. She felt a familiar pressure on her shoulder and knew without looking that it was Flick, just as she knew that the two shapes that pressed up next to her were Idalee and Lettie.

They stayed there, holding each other for comfort while Bella’s breathing grew weaker, fading from low gasps to the barest flutter. Kyra didn’t know when it actually ended. Just that at one point, Flick checked Bella’s pulse and arranged her arms in the final resting pose. Kyra let it all out then, clutching the girls as she sobbed into Idalee’s hair, leaning into Flick as he held on to all of them. Perhaps she needed to be strong for them, but she just didn’t have it in her.

Bit by bit, sunlight replaced the fire’s red glow. She was dimly aware that the soldiers’ shouting became less urgent. Eventually, she stopped hearing demon cat roars, and the market building began to empty. Kyra still didn’t move or speak, just stared at Bella’s now peaceful face and let her mind go numb.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Kyra.”

She turned with a start. It was Tristam. He looked much the worse for wear, with a bruise beneath one eye and blood splattered over his tunic. There was pity in his eyes.

“We need to go back to the Palace.”

She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to do anything but stay here, still as stone while the world crumbled around her. How many weeks ago had it been, when she’d sat in Bella’s kitchen and made foolish plans to care for her when she grew old? She’d been so naïve.

“Kyra,” Tristam tried again. She still didn’t respond, and Tristam took her arm, gently pulling her up.

Another hand closed over the knight’s wrist. “You’re not taking her,” said Flick. “Not like this. Not without any explanations.”

“Flick, no,” Kyra murmured. He was no match for an armed knight.