“The world is not an easy place, Kyra. We all do what we must. If you have any doubts, do not speak of them to the others. It would not reflect well on you.” Pashla stood, dusting herself off. “How are your injuries? If I hunt, can you keep up with me?”

It was a purposeful change of subject. “I can’t sprint,” said Kyra, “but I can follow you.”

“Are the geese still there?” Pashla asked.

“Aye,” Kyra said after a pause.

“Well done. I’ll go after one now. Try to keep up.”

Pashla handed Kyra her clothes and her pouch before changing shape. Once in cat form, she started upwind toward the geese. Kyra tucked Pashla’s things under her arm and gathered the kittens to follow, but then Pashla stopped and turned around, running back toward Kyra and then past her, speeding up as she went. Despite Kyra’s best efforts to keep up, Pashla disappeared into the forest, only to reappear a few moments later as she scaled a particularly tall tree. In a flash, she jumped from that tree to another, then another, before she dove toward the ground.

Kyra heard a scream—a man’s scream—and sped up, weaving through the trees as quickly as her healing body would allow. She heard a scuffle, growling, and more screams. Kyra burst through the foliage to see Pashla, still in cat form, dragging a man by the arm through the dirt. Next to them, another man lay on the ground, bleeding from a head wound. She couldn’t see his face, but he looked to be a guard from the Palace. Kyra stood there, frozen in indecision, until another movement distracted her. The first man, the one whose arm was still between Pashla’s teeth, raised his head and looked directly at her.

It was Tristam.

Thirty-five

T H I R T Y - F I V E

Kyra! For a moment, the elation of recognition cleared Tristam’s head of pain. But then, they locked eyes. Horror flashed across her face, and then panic. It was unmistakably her. But why was she healthy? And free?

The demon cat tightened its jaws, and once again Tristam couldn’t think about anything except the pain. He heard Kyra shouting in the background. The forest was overrun by a chorus of snarls and snapping branches. Another demon cat landed in a shower of leaves. Martin moaned.

No, not Martin. Tristam gritted his teeth and twisted his head. His companion was covered in blood. More demon cats arrived, followed by their Riders. Suddenly, the cat released his arm, and Tristam fell face-first onto the dirt. There was a shadow as the cat stepped over him and walked into the trees.

“Did you see this?” a man asked.

Tristam spat sand out of his mouth.

“No.” Kyra was speaking to them as peers, not as a prisoner. “I only caught up to Pashla after it happened.”