What had she learned at the Academy? To wake early. To train every day. To hold a sword. To stand by a brother or sister on the battlefield and stanch their bleeding wounds, to get them to a healer before they expired. To stare down an enemy and not cower. To become someone.

“Honor.” The word was sour with longing.

Lollie choked out a raspy chuckle. “You don’t know anything about honor.”

“More than you.”

“You don’t seem scared.” Lollie angled the blade upward, like a barber shaving close. “Why is that?”

“Because I could kill you twice out here and no one would know.” A bluff, of course. She couldn’t reach her knife. She was only buying time. What would happen if she screamed? Could James get there faster than Lollie could slit her throat?

The answer was probably no. Thankfully, she didn’t have to try.

“Drop the knife, Lollie,” Brella said.

All she needed was a second’s hesitation. She felt the knife drop away, just for a breath, and—there. She edged into the silent moment, like a key into a lock, her hands fitting perfectly around Lollie’s fingers as she pulled the knife from the slack grip and flung it far into the undergrowth. Her fingers pressed tight to Lollie’s flesh, her back taut, muscles working as she gripped the bandit and bent forward, taking her up and over and slamming her into the earth. And then, a few practiced moves—an arm here, a leg there—to get the woman facedown, Scratch’s knee pressed into her lower back.

“Ow,” Lollie grumbled.

“Damn right, ow.” Brella retrieved the knife from the bush where it landed, examining the blade. “I didn’t think you were stupid enough to hold a soldier at knifepoint.”

“And yet I did.” Lollie wriggled like a trapped lizard, legs kicked out behind her, knees bent at a right angle.

“And yet you did.” Brella squatted down next to the captive bandit’s head. “Did it even occur to you that you could really mess things up for me—for all of us—by hurting her? That I might be keeping things from you to protect you?”

“Fine excuse. Well, you never told me a damn thing when we were together. Why should now be any different?” Lollie’s muscles worked against Scratch’s grip. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought.”

“I have an idea.” Brella seated herself, cross-legged. “You did what you always do and assumed I needed rescuing.”

“Can you blame me? You never told me anything. Anything about your life, anything about what trouble you were getting yourself into. All I could ever do was guess. Guess and worry.”

Brella stiffened. “I didn’t ask you to worry.”

“Well, too bad.” Lollie dropped her cheek to the earth, sighing. “It’s my nature. I look after children.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I didn’t say you were.”