While she’d been trained in battle healing, Ashyn was much better at it. Moria had spent most of her lessons grumbling that, in a battle, she was supposed to be on the front lines with the warriors, not tending to the wounded. That was woman’s work, and it seemed that’s why she was being trained in it—a sign that they might give her a blade, but they didn’t truly expect her to be much use on the battlefield. So to prove them wrong, she’d thrown her focus into fighting instead of healing. A foolish choice, motivated by pride.

She dragged Gavril by his tunic to drier ground. Daigo tried to help, but when she snapped at him for ripping Gavril’s breeches, he stomped off, offended. As she reached the edge of the mud, it seemed to make one last effort to keep Gavril, and she had to dig her boots in, hands wrapped in his tunic, and heave—

Gavril’s arm shot out and struck her, the blow so unexpected she let go as he scrambled to his feet, his hand going to his empty sword scabbard. Only as he pulled out his dagger instead did he look up.

He stopped. He squinted. He brushed a hand over his face, smearing mud.

“Moria?”

Beside her, Daigo chuffed and rolled his eyes. Who else would bother? he seemed to say.

Gavril staggered up, dagger raised. “You’re a spirit.”

“A spirit couldn’t have hauled your arse out of the mud.”

“You followed us.” He cursed under his breath. “You child. Your duty is with the village, Keeper—”

“The village is—”

“Your duty, one you’re far too immature and foolish to—”

All the fear and the grief poured out again, and she whipped her daggers. They whistled through the air, one on either side of Gavril, no more than a hand’s span away, embedding themselves in trees.

“The village is gone,” she said, her voice thick with rage and tears. “Everyone’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Dead and turned into shadow stalkers. Now go on back to the village. Do your duty. Bury them. And then tell me what a foolish child I am.”

His mouth worked. Nothing came out. Then he shook his head sharply and retrieved his fallen sword. As he pushed it into its sheath, he said, “You’ve drunk infected water. You’re fevered—”

“I’m fine,” she snarled. “The villagers are dead. My father is dead. Turned into—” She stopped fast. “He’s gone now. I freed him.”

“Freed him . . .” Gavril stared, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend her meaning. “If you thought you saw shadow stalkers, then I’m sure that was terrible, but your father cannot be dead.”