“The knight will ride the horse,” said Pashla. “I will carry you, and the prisoner will walk. He is yours to deal with as you choose, since you defeated him.” Pashla indicated James with a flick of her head. The assassin was conscious now, bound and under guard by another Demon Rider. He shot Kyra a look of pure hatred. She turned away.

“You’ll carry me?” she asked Pashla.

Pashla nodded. “It’s unwise for you to change your shape with prey nearby. It takes time to learn control, to keep your cat instincts from overwhelming you. Dealing with the shift takes weeks of practice and guidance.”

“Guidance? Where would I get that?”

“The clan is closed to you now. We cannot help you.”

Again, spoken so unfeelingly. And again, it hurt. Kyra turned away. In the corner of her eye, she saw Pashla remove her clothes and transform. The tawny cat knelt in front of her. Kyra grabbed the loose skin at Pashla’s neck and pulled herself onto her back. Stiff fur dug into her palms.

Pashla moved differently than a horse. Her gait was smoother, for which Kyra was grateful. As they traveled, a profound sense of loss filled her. She’d made her choice. Kyra couldn’t give up her humanity to be part of the clan, but still, she wished her departure didn’t have to be so complete. Eventually, the trees thinned, and Kyra recognized the guardhouse by the road where she and Tristam had stopped on their first trip into the forest. With a soft roar, Pashla signaled them to stop and shifted into human form.

“We part ways here.” She gestured toward one of their Demon Rider escorts. “Czern will stay and help you watch the prisoner until you can put him under proper guard. Don’t underestimate this one.”

Tristam eyed James grimly. “We won’t,” he said.

Pashla nodded and then looked straight into Tristam’s eyes. “The things I have done, I did in service of the clan. I have my loyalties, as do you.”

Kyra didn’t know what she meant, but Tristam’s jaw clenched and a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. “I understand,” he said, though his tone belied his words. Kyra wondered if the two of them had a history she didn’t know.

The clanswoman turned to Kyra. Kyra swallowed, suddenly feeling a lump in her throat.

“Thank you,” she said. “For saving my life. And for teaching me to—” She fumbled for words. Between the Guild, the Palace, and the Makvani, Pashla had been the only person who hadn’t wanted to use her. The clanswoman had risked her own life for Kyra and asked nothing in return except that Kyra find a home amongst the clan. Yet this was a home in which Kyra could never belong. “I’m sorry I let you down.”