I ignore him. The Shidadi braces herself for my charge, and then our swords clash. It’s like striking a rock. I attack furiously, looking for some opening, but she doesn’t leave any. Then our swords lock, and the woman’s boot connects squarely with my ribs, sending me flying.

I roll head over heels twice before skidding to a stop. I can’t breathe, and I feel the throbbing imprint of sharp rocks on every limb.

Someone drags me up by the collar.

“You imbecile!” Walgash shouts in my ear. He points up toward the ridge, and I see more rebels coming down the hill. “Help me get Naudar to safety.”

Naudar’s just a few paces away, pale and clutching his wound. Walgash and I grab him under his arms and drag him down toward the others.

“Watch out,” Naudar whispers, his eyes on the soldiers coming down. His feet leave trails in the dust. All this jostling can’t possibly be good for his wound. We’ve barely laid Naudar down by the boulder when we’re set upon again. I turn to fight, but I can tell I’m weakening. My muscles feel heavy, and I’m slow to react. When I lock blades with one man, my feet slip out from under me. The rebel’s sword comes down, and all I can do is hold my breath.

Another blade stops its descent with a clang, and then the rebel drops. I scramble backward as Arxa takes my place.

“Tend to Naudar,” he shouts as another rebel moves in. “Now, soldier!” he adds when I hesitate.

I climb to my feet and look at Naudar. He’s even paler than before, and there’s a puddle of blood underneath him. He barely reacts when I pull him further into the crevice.

“Stay with me, Naudar. We’ll get you bound up.”

Kiran is there, though I don’t have the time or the desire to pay him the proper respect. I’m too busy cutting Naudar’s tunic away, trying to get at the wound. There’s too much blood, and all my bandages are with my bags, somewhere on the side of the mountain.

Naudar’s eyes drift closed, and I slap his cheeks to keep him awake. “Don’t you dare sleep, you lazy bastard.” It’s hard to speak over the lump in my throat. “Don’t you dare.”

Kiran thrusts something under my nose. It’s a stack of handkerchiefs, expensive ones. I stare for a moment before mumbling, “Thank you, Your Highness,” and pressing them to the wound. If only Zivah were here right now. She would have some magical herb or poultice to stitch Naudar back together. I reach into my pocket, hoping for some leftover puzta flower, but all I find is dirt.

“Dineas,” says Walgash softly behind me.