Johnis nodded, knowing it was the best he could hope for. “Fine, with you, then. But before you bring out Thomas.”

The cover of darkness made it easy for Johnis to remain hidden when they reached the village outskirts. As tempted as he was to rush in and spill his guts to Thomas, he remained still on his stallion, cursing the impossibility of the situation.

Jackov returned an hour later with Kiella on his horse. She slid off and ran up to him. “Johnis! What happened? The whole village is looking for you. Papa is worried sick!”

He dropped to one knee and embraced her. “I’m sorry, Kiella. It’s okay.”

“You had me so worried.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to be worried now. I’m just . . . Let’s just say I’m trying to sort things out. Everything’s been a bit crazy—I’m sure you’ve heard all the rumors.”

“Are they right?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t heard them myself. What are they saying?”

Jackov hurried them. “Enough now, Johnis. We have some other business.”

He eyed the large lad and stood, mind jerked back to the hopelessness of what he now had in mind.

“I’ve learned some good news, Kiella. Mother’s still alive.”

Kiella gasped. “What?”

“It’s true. And someday we’ll get her back. She’s a Horde, but that’s not as bad as you might think. Scabs can wash and become clean again, right?”

“A . . . a Horde?” She was reeling, eyes as round as the moon. “Mother’s a Scab . . . but how’s that?”

“I’ll tell you how, but not now. Tell Papa and Darsal, so they—”

“Watch it!” Jackov hissed.

“It’s harmless, Jackov!” Johnis snapped back. Then to Kiella again, “Tell them not to worry. I just have to fix a few things, and I’ll be back to report to the Council. Okay?”

She didn’t respond, maybe couldn’t respond. It would take her more time than they had to deal with this sudden revelation. Johnis gave her a hug.

“Come on,” Jackov ordered. “Your brother will be just fine. Let’s go.”

“Mother is a Scab? You’re sure?”

“Yes. But she’s alive, Kiella. There’s hope. I’ll get her, I promise you. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get her.”

“It will be,” Jackov said softly, wheeling his horse around and into the forest.

THE WAIT FOR THOMAS WAS SURPRISINGLY SHORT. THE supreme commander of the Forest Guard galloped with Jackov into the moonlit clearing; he was dressed for war despite the late hour. Whatever Jackov had said to make him come had clearly worked.

The commander pulled up, horse stamping, and drilled Johnis with a glare. “What’s the meaning of this, recruit? Or should I say ‘sergeant’? No, I think I should just say ‘recruit’ for all this foolishness.”