Amon looked awful. He might have come straight from hell to the Matriarch Lodge, with the memory of that place still engraved on his face. He looked years older, and yet dreadfully young. The gray eyes were clouded with pain and grief, and his face was layered with weariness under a stubble of beard.

“Sweet Lady of Grace,” Raisa whispered. “Thank the Maker you’re safe.”

She wanted to throw her arms around him, to tell him how sorry she was, to tell him how his father saved her life, to tell him that none of this was his fault. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions. She wished she could banish everyone else from the room.

“Corporal Byrne,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from the effects of the toxin. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

She took a faltering step toward Amon, stumbled, and would have fallen, save that Averill leaped forward and caught her in his arms.

“He already knows, Briar Rose,” her father said. “Nightwalker brought us the news.”

“Nightwalker?” Raisa looked past Averill, toward the door. “Is he…?”

“He stayed on, in the city, to…to…” Averill’s voice broke, and he cradled her close, kissing the top of her head as if she were a young child. “Thank the Maker you are alive. You have no idea what I…When Nightwalker told us what had happened, that you were badly wounded, I was afraid we had lost you too.”

For a long moment, Raisa allowed herself to be Averill’s daughter, to slide her arms around her father and press her face into his leather shirt. To rest there a moment, safe.

I’m finally home, she thought. Things have to get better from here on.

Averill set her down on her feet, carefully, as if she might break, keeping one arm around her shoulders for support.

“Corporal Byrne,” Raisa said, struggling for calm composure. “Your father was one of the bravest and wisest men I have ever met, and he was so proud of you—justifiably so.”

“Your Highness,” Amon said. “I am so sorry. I should have been there. It should have been me.”

“No,” she said, raising her hand to stay him as tears streamed down her face. “Had you been there, I would have lost you too, and I could not bear that, to lose both of you.” She faltered, trying to regain control of her voice. “As it is, it is a grave loss to the line, and to me, personally.”

Amon nodded once, looking straight ahead, his eyes pooling with unshed tears. A muscle moved in his jaw, and she knew he was clenching his teeth. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he managed to say. He swallowed hard.

Raisa mopped at her face with her sleeve. It’s all right to cry, she told herself. Soldiers and queens are allowed to cry, aren’t they?

She was half Demonai. Demonai don’t cry.