Jared was too tired for Randolf’s moods, but he couldn’t quite dismiss the man’s animosity for the broken Warlord.

“We should pay more attention to Garth,” Jared said quietly as they neared the building.

Brock made an exasperated sound. “Garth’s not that bad. It could’ve happened to any of us.”

“He knew about those protection spells before the rest of us did.”

A brittle silence followed Jared’s words.

“He was the last one,” Jared insisted. “Nothing started to happen while he was still on the path, so I’d guess there’s something built into those spells to make sure all the rogues have time to get into the clearing. It’s the last person in who has to rekey the illusion spell in order to stop the defensive spells from triggering. If I’d paid attention to his distress, we would have had more time to figure out the key before the storm came down on us.”

“You don’t know that,” Blaed protested, keeping his voice low.

“All I’m saying is Garth seems to understand some things. Maybe it’s a holdover from his training. Hell’s fire, I don’t know. But we’d be fools not to pay more attention to what sets him off.”

“All right,” Brock said. “I’ll—”

The door opened.

Brock and Blaed released their supportive hold on Jared’s arms.

Jared walked toward the Gray Lady, alone.

In the light coming through the open door, her gray eyes looked almost black from exhaustion. Her voice quavered when she quietly asked him if he was all right. She looked frail, and he suspected her pride was the only thing keeping her on her feet.

Her frailty made him want to push her until she struck out and proved she was still strong and powerful.

“Thank you, Warlord,” she said solemnly.

“I live to serve, Lady,” he replied, his voice lightly laced with bitterness to hide another emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Tears filled her eyes. She turned and retreated into the room as quickly as she could manage with her injured knee.

Jared rocked back as if she’d slapped him. Shame filled him until he wasn’t sure he could stand beneath the weight of it. He tried to dredge up enough anger to burn away the shame, but it wouldn’t come.

Swallowing hard, Jared looked behind him. Brock and Blaed had discreetly disappeared to finish the chores.

“Jared?” Tomas stood in the doorway. “You coming in or you going to stand there letting the rain in until Thera gets mad enough to hit you with a skillet?”

“Maybe it would help,” Jared muttered as he followed the boy inside and firmly closed the door.