“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Does it matter? I don’t want you in the city alone.”

“Why do you care?”

Ranka’s throat threatened to close. Why indeed? Even with her new, brilliant plan of trying to convince Ongrum to spare Galen’s neck, she didn’t need Aramis alive. Yet the thought of Aramis alone in the city, defenseless save for a too-small knife she’d never been taught how to wield and a tiny dart shooter she’d likely never practiced with, sent ice through Ranka’s veins.

“What’s the harm?” Ranka pressed. “We’re a team now, right? That means we do this together.”

“I’m not interested. Go back to moping in your room or whatever it is you do in your free time.”

Ranka took a long, patient breath. Even after a near-death experience, Aramis Sunra was still genuinely one of the most irritating people she’d ever met. She’d hoped eventually they would simply get along, click together as allies, the way she had with Galen and Percy. But it seemed they’d traded being outright enemies to getting on each other’s nerves at every turn.

“Fine,” Ranka snapped. “You want to do this the hard way? You either let me come with you, or I will literally carry your ass back inside and tell Galen exactly what his sister is up to.”

Aramis’s lip curled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You are very small,” Ranka said. “And I am very strong.”

“Honestly, this is so childish—”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Ranka stepped forward, picked the princess of Isodal up by her waist, and threw her over a shoulder like a cranky sack of potatoes.

“Ranka!” Aramis shrieked. “Put me down!”

Ranka didn’t move. She stood there, holding the princess’s legs firmly, face burning, heart beating harder than it had any right to. Aramis could whine all she wanted. Ranka was not going to let her die out of stubborn recklessness. Not after everything they’d been through. Aramis let loose a particularly interesting string of profanity and pounded a fist against Ranka’s back, but it was no use. Even if they’d been the same size, a witch outmatched a human in strength any day—and Ranka had at least a foot of height and an extra fifty pounds of muscle on her.

“I’m coming with you,” Ranka said flatly.

Aramis made a noise that could only be described as sheer rage.

“Screech all you want. You’re not going by yourself.”

“I don’t care if you’re the Bloodwinn,” Aramis seethed. “I am literally going to have you strung up by your toes in the courtyard—”

“Uh-huh.” Ranka started walking toward the stable doors. “Do you think Galen is in his room at this hour?”

“Okay! Okay, fine, you can come with me, just put me down!”