The thing rolled into a ball, and its fur seemed to shoot from its body. Moria lunged on top of Daigo, her eyes closed as she shielded him. The “fur” rained down like arrows. One jabbed her hand like a needle. Daigo yowled as another struck him. She heard Gavril’s boots as he thundered past. A noise, like a snarl of rage. Then a high-pitched squeal.

Moria opened her eyes. Gavril stood over the beast. His sword skewered it.

“Don’t move,” he said when she started to rise.

There was a long dark pin stuck in the back of her hand. She looked to see more embedded in her tunic, hanging there harmlessly.

“What are those?” she asked.

Gavril pulled his sword from the creature. “If you don’t know, then you shouldn’t have leaped out. Were you going to protect your cat’s life with your own?”

“It’s the same thing.”

He snorted. “You don’t believe that superstitious foolishness, do you? That your lives are bonded? My father said—”

He stopped abruptly. She’d never heard him mention his father before.

Gavril bent and fingered the long needle embedded in her hand. “It’s called a quill. It’s barbed, and if you move when I’m pulling, it’ll only make it worse.”

“What did your father say?”

He worked at the quill. “Just that my grandfather once met a Keeper whose bond-beast died in battle. She was fine.”

“She lived?”

“For a while. Then she took her own life. Apparently, she decided that would make a more tragic tale. You ought to appreciate that.”

“Perhaps that means we don’t die if the other does, but we cannot bear to go on living.”

Another derisive snort.

“So you’ve seen those things?” she said.

“Quills? Yes. In the south there are creatures that bear them on their tails. But that’s not the same beast. It’s . . .” He glanced over at the dead thing. “Not like anything I’ve seen.”

“Sorcery,” she whispered. Then, “Oww!” as he jerked the quill free.

“I told you to be still.”

“It must be sorcery,” she murmured. “To make such a creature.”

“You’re as superstitious as an old nanny. Sorcery didn’t make such a creature. Necessity did.”

“Necessity?”

“Quills for protection? Jagged teeth for tearing? Claws for climbing? Large eyes for seeing in dim light? That makes the beast perfectly suited for living in a place like this.” He eased a quill from her tunic. “Anything new is frightening to the superstitious mind. There are villages in the south that have never seen a Northerner. They would think pale skin and reddish-yellow hair a sign of sorcery. Your coloring is a product of your climate. As are your slow wits.”

She twisted to snarl a protest and yelped as a quill jabbed into her side.

“Didn’t I tell you to be still?”