He flinched. “That was uncalled for.”

“If my father were alive, he’d disagree. My grandfather would disagree. You failed the Theranons. When we needed you, you deserted, thinking of yourself—”

“No!” Sir Baramon’s eyes were wet. “That’s not true. Frena ordered me to go. Your mother begged me to take you and get you to safety. She said the gods demanded it. The demons couldn’t be allowed to have you under any circumstances. You were the hope of the world. I—” His voice broke off in a choking sob.

Dorna handed the man a handkerchief and patted him on the shoulder, her expression unreadable.

I blinked and stepped back, not saying another word. My mother had ordered Baramon to take me to safety? If true, then on some level, she’d known fending off the demons was hopeless. She never would’ve sent me outside the castle’s walls if she thought we’d repel the demonic onslaught. It implied something terrifying …

I’d grappled with this guilt for years, you understand; the suspicion that my capture by the demons, my possession by Xaltorath, wasn’t coincidence. That Xaltorath had searched for me, rather than picking out a little girl at random. I know, I know—we all want to think we’re special. But this sort of “special” would have given me nightmares, if I dreamed. I found the idea as horrible as it was arrogant: that half of Jorat and Marakor combined had fallen to the Hellmarch as demons searched for one girl. And only ended when Xaltorath decided she was done playing.

I didn’t outrun the demons, you see. Not even close.

But I couldn’t let myself be distracted.

“Now I need your help,” I said. “You were my grandfather’s best knight, and now? You’re my grandfather’s last knight. I need your aid. I call you back to serve the House of Theranon. I call you back to repay your debts.”

He wiped at his eyes with the handkerchief and scowled. “I serve—”

I shook my head. “No. You don’t. Not anymore. Tamin isn’t worthy of you. You’re my man now, as you always should have been.”

His jaw tightened, and he stared at me until I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake.

Sir Baramon held out the helmet. “The strap’s a little loose.”

Dorna intercepted it. “Well, now. Just you let me take care of that.”

9: THE CONTEST

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since the last day of Gadrith D’Lorus’s reign