A slight noise broke into her thoughts. She looked up to find Nightwalker standing in front of her. “They’re bringing Queen Marianna’s body in procession up the mountain,” he said. “It’s time for us to go.”

Raisa stood, and Nightwalker put his hands on her shoulders, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Be safe today, Briar Rose,” he said. He shifted his eyes to Han and Dancer, then back to her. “Be wary.”

“All will be well, you’ll see,” Raisa said, looking into Nightwalker’s eyes, willing him to believe her. Willing it to be true.

“I hope you are right,” Nightwalker said. “This is difficult for me.” He smiled faintly, bowed his head, then turned away. The remaining Demonai warriors mounted up, then clattered over the hill and out of sight, leaving Willo, Han, Dancer, and Raisa alone.

Raisa geared up for the war ahead, knowing that when it comes to politics, looking the part is often half the battle.

Willo had sorted several garments into piles. She gave Han a bundle of black-and-silver fabric. “It is not my best work, Hunts Alone, since it was done so quickly,” she said. “But I think it will serve.” Her dark eyes studied him as if trying to divine his purpose.

Han only nodded, clutching the garment in his arms. “Thank you.” He turned and strode away, toward his horse.

Raisa had little time to be curious. Willo handed her a thick quilted jacket—armor padding of a sort. Raisa removed the shadow cloak and put the jacket on over her clan garb.

Dancer unbuckled the breastplate, then held it open as Raisa slipped her arms through. He fastened it down the front, shifting it so it sat squarely on her shoulders. She poked her arms into the gauntlets, and he fastened those as well. He did good work—they were lightweight and well finished. The magic in them buzzed against her skin.

Willo draped a crimson cloak across Raisa’s shoulders. It carried an image of a snarling gray wolf in intricate stitches. “I hope you know what you are doing,” she said, shifting her gaze from Raisa to Han to Dancer. “This will mark you out like a banner.”

“So Lord Bayar won’t need his magic glasses to see me,” Raisa said. “Perfect.” She ran her fingers over the stitches. “This is beautiful,” she breathed. “How in the world did you…?”

“I had made it ahead to honor your coronation,” Willo said. She smiled sadly. “I had no idea I would be giving this gift so soon.”

“Thank you,” Raisa said, and embraced her, the armor a barrier between them. “What will you…?”

“I will stay here and wait for you,” Willo said quickly, as if she’d been anticipating the question. “I have already mourned Marianna according to the Old Ways. I’ve spoken to Averill. He understands, as I hope you do.”

“Of course,” Raisa said, confused. “But…”