He arrived in time to see her slam herself against the ice-trapped door. The sound of breaking ice filled the massive stone room. Chunks of the fire-hardened door split off and fell to the ground, but despite that, the giant frozen wall stood firm.

“No more games!” she screamed. “Where’s your uncle, Aeyan’arric? Tell that arrogant horse’s ass to come out and face me!”

Behind Janel, Arasgon whinnied and pawed the ground near her, angrily tossing his black mane. Whatever the fireblood said to Janel, the words fell on deaf ears.

She set both hands against the door.

It exploded into flame.

Kihrin thought Janel intended to melt her way out, but he was less certain what she thought she could do against the dragon outside.

In any event, he couldn’t reach her with a screaming, parental fireblood standing in the way.

“Hey, Arasgon. Let me try.”

Arasgon spun to face him. Kihrin remembered … something. A flash of fire and hooves, the feeling Arasgon had blocked his path before, somewhere else. Kihrin thought the fireblood might strike out at him, but instead, Arasgon retreated toward Scandal and Talaras.

Janel’s fingers clenched around charring wood as she continued to burn her way through. “I won’t be Relos Var’s game piece! Do you hear me?”

Kihrin put his hand on Janel’s shoulder.

The fire died.

She spun around, swung at him, but she was suddenly no stronger than any woman her size and weight. Urthaenriel wouldn’t allow her magically increased strength to affect him.

Kihrin caught her wrist. “Janel,” he said, “stop. Please stop.”

Fury and tears filled Janel’s eyes. Her breath was ragged as she leaned back against the charred door, forcing a quiet sob from her throat.

“Father Zajhera used to tell me stories,” she whispered. “He’d sing me to sleep at night.”

Kihrin’s throat tightened, but he tried for lighthearted, anyway. “Wait. He can sing?”

Janel stared at him in despair. “No,” she said. “He really can’t.”

She burst into tears.

He put his arms around her, drew her to him, and let her cry into his misha. He knew this wasn’t easy for her—crying was embarrassing, messy, a sign of stallion weakness. Kihrin was beginning to understand Jorat put the same expectations on its men that the Capital did; they just allowed some of those men to be female.

He held her as if none of that mattered, because it didn’t.

Janel made fists against his chest and sobbed with all the anger of someone betrayed by a loved one. Which is what Relos Var had almost certainly been.

After a while, the crying slowed, and Janel pulled away enough to wipe her nose and look embarrassed. She seemed seconds from excusing herself and retreating to a more private location.

Kihrin didn’t let go.