Which makes what comes next inevitable.

There’s a pause, a moment when no one breathes and tension pulls tight in the air.

Then, without warning, Isolde bounds forward.

She doesn’t get far before the quarterstaff is solidly in her path, swinging to strike. Isolde dodges, but it’s a near miss.

How did they find us?

Olani slides easily into another pose, swiping her quarterstaff sideways into Isolde’s ribs—

Even if we wanted to, how can I give them something that’s embedded in my skin?

—and narrowly missing, as Isolde ducks under the blow and presses closer to her. If she can get in close enough, the staff will be useless.

Olani seems to realize that. She backpedals, feet steady in their stance. Her face scrunches slightly as she and Isolde size each other up.

My sister and I are both the same size, built like dollhouse miniatures, so no one ever expects her to be able to hold her own. She might not have size or strength to her advantage, but she has something better: an uncanny and almost psychic ability to simply not be wherever her opponent expects her to be.

At least, usually. The girl she’s facing now is clearly a gifted and experienced fighter.

I watch Isolde dodge swings, sending the girl reeling off-balance, and kick with the grace of a dancer. She pounces like a cat, blades flashing. The quarterstaff meets her midair with a blow that doesn’t manage to hit her square in the chest but does knock her wrist hard enough to make her release one of her knives.

“Ow!” The yelp is bitten off swiftly. Isolde lands crouched, waiting for her next chance to spring.

I want to yell for them to stop, but I can barely breathe, and it’s pointless for me to make myself a target without some kind of plan. I need to do something, ideally before Raze realizes that he should be doing something instead of standing by with his mouth gaping.

At the same moment I think that, I see Raze reaching for a knife at his belt, even though he doesn’t seem sure what to do with it. Isolde and Olani are moving too quickly to get between them without endangering both.

I sprint forward, but Raze is already moving, surprisingly swift for someone his size. It happens so suddenly that I don’t even see the blade move, and I don’t have time to make a new plan before he’s bearing down on me with its wicked, silvery point.

“Listen, changeling, I don’t want to hurt you!” he says, which seems strange for someone pointing a knife at one of my more vital arteries.

For a moment, though, I almost believe him. There’s a flicker in his eyes of something that might be earnestness, and I want to believe that he wouldn’t hurt me. Hope flutters briefly over his face, like he thinks I’d actually give up without a fight.

Isolde’s wide eyes meet mine, and I watch her considering running over to defend me. Behind her, Olani pulls a small dagger from her boot and swings.