Kyra chuckled bitterly, wondering if Tristam had any idea what the question meant. She didn’t regret her decision to run. There was no way she could have stood by as they killed Tristam. But at the same time, there was still so much she didn’t know about the Makvani. Would she ever go hunting again? Was that side of her lost forever? “I need to speak with Malikel,” she said. “James is planning another raid. I found ten vials of blueflower extract in his study.”

“Blueflower extract?” Tristam’s half-closed eyes fluttered open. “That’s strange. Who do you think he’s after?”

“I don’t know. The Council perhaps?”

“The Council only has twenty members. He could poison five times that number with ten vials.”

“The Palace guards, then?”

“Not enough for that. We have a regular force of two hundred.” Tristam closed his eyes. “You’re right. We do have to tell Malikel.”

Minutes ticked into hours, and Kyra lost track of time. Their hiding place was damp. The dirt was moist, and occasional sprays from the river carried the promise of a chilly night. The sound of Tristam’s breathing next to her became labored and shallow. She took his hands and tried to rub heat into his icy fingers. He acknowledged her efforts with a glance, but otherwise lay back against the dirt wall, unmoving.

She climbed to her feet. “I’m going to look around.”

Kyra didn’t smell the cats as she made her way up the bank. Perhaps the search had moved on. But the scent hit her again as soon as she topped the slope. Kyra bit her lip and climbed back down. She needed some way to make them leave.

“Do you have bandages under your tunic?” she asked Tristam.

“Yes, why?”

“Let me look at them.”

Tristam looked confused, but peeled off his tunic, grimacing when he had to move his injured arm. Spots of blood seeped through the top layer of his bandages.

Kyra scooted closer and unwrapped them, careful to keep the cleaner layers free of dirt. She had to look away briefly when she unraveled the rest. The muscles of his shoulder bore deep, ragged wounds, and she definitely smelled infection.

Noticing her reaction, Tristam gave a wan smile. “I’d hoped you’d be more impressed at my battle-hardened brawn.”

It would have been funnier if his voice hadn’t been quite so weak. Kyra squeezed his arm. “Once we get you sewn up, you’ll be plenty impressive.”

She briefly wondered if her saliva had any healing properties, but her stomach flipped and she dismissed the idea. The Makvani only cleaned wounds in cat form anyway. Her best bet was to get Tristam back to Forge.