“Mal—”

Suddenly his head jerked up and he put a finger to his lips.

“Hands above your heads.” The voice came from the shadows of the trees. Mal dove for his rifle and had it at his shoulder in seconds, but three people were already emerging from the woods—two men and a woman with her hair in a topknot—the muzzles of their weapons trained on us. I thought I recognized them from the convoy we’d seen on the road.

“Put that down,” said a man with a short goatee. “Unless you want to see your girl plugged full of bullets.”

Mal set his rifle back on the rock.

“Come on over,” said the man. “Nice and slow.” He wore a First Army coat, but he looked like no soldier I had ever seen. His hair was long and tangled, kept from his eyes by two messy plaits. He wore belts of bullets across his chest and a stained waistcoat that might have once been red but was now fading to a color somewhere between plum and brown.

“I need my boots,” said Mal.

“Less chance of you running without them.”

“What do you want?”

“You can start with answers,” the man said. “Town nearby, plenty more comfortable places to hole up. So what are a dozen people doing hiding out in the forest?” He must have seen my reaction, because he said, “That’s right. I found your camp. You deserters?”

“Yes,” said Mal smoothly. “Out of Kerskii.”

The man scratched his cheek. “Kerskii? Maybe,” he said. “But—” He took a step forward. “Oretsev?”

Mal stiffened, then said, “Luchenko?”

“All Saints, I haven’t seen you since your unit trained with me in Poliznaya.” He turned to the other men. “This little pissant was the best tracker in ten regiments. Never seen anything like it.” He was grinning, but he didn’t lower his rifle. “And now you’re the most famous deserter in all of Ravka.”

“Just trying to survive.”

“You and me both, brother.” He gestured to me. “This isn’t your usual.”

If I hadn’t had a rifle in my face, the comment might have stung.

“One more First Army grunt like us.”

“Like us, huh?” Luchenko jabbed at me with his gun. “Take off the scarf.”

“Bit of a chill in the air,” I said.

Luchenko gave me another poke. “Go on, girl.”

I glanced at Mal. I could see him weighing the options. We were at close range. I could do some serious damage with the Cut, but not before the militiamen got off a few rounds. I could blind them, but if we started a firefight, what might happen to the people back at camp?

I shrugged and pulled the scarf from my neck with a rough tug. Luchenko gave a low whistle.

“Heard you were keeping hallowed company, Oretsev. Looks like we caught ourselves a Saint.” He cocked his head to one side. “Thought she’d be taller. Bind them both.”

Again, I locked gazes with Mal. He wanted me to act, I could feel it. As long as my hands weren’t bound together, I could summon and control the light. But what about the other Grisha?