“I know.” Scratch petted the girl’s head and made what, to her best recollection, were sounds of comfort. “I will miss you,” she said, finding as she said it that it was true. It was odd. She had spent years fighting alongside the same soldiers, yet had grown attached to only one: James, who was presently handing over a few shiny coins to a delighted teenager. No one besides James had managed the feat of getting her to care. But something must have sloughed off her when she left the castle, a layer of dead skin turned armor by the force of routine or order or some calculable rubric of where she belonged in the world. Now, she was like a freshly molted snake, her scales too soft and too bright, her eyes stinging from reflected newness.

Actually, that might be due to the tears.

She discreetly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and held on to Temperance like an anchor.

“Got you a present.” James bounced over, both hands held behind his back. “Pick.”

She indicated his right arm. He brought it forward, and—“James, what am I going to do with this?”

“Poke someone,” he drawled, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “They’re called Pokies, Scratch. Shouldn’t be too hard for you to puzzle out.”

“I have a knife.”

“And now you have a Pokie as well. Keep up.”

“What was in your other hand?”

He showed her his left—another Pokie.

“I’m wanting for variety out here,” he muttered. “Forgive me for presenting you with the illusion of choice. Gods, Scratch, you are no fun at all this morning.”

“Scratch, if I could have a moment.” Lollie stuffed her hands into her pockets as she approached. “I, uh, a moment.”

Scratch gently extricated herself from Temperance with a soft word and followed Lollie to the edge of the woods.

“I’m not sorry,” Lollie declared. To her credit, she didn’t look away, her cold, pale green gaze unyielding. “I did what I thought was necessary.”

“I understand,” Scratch said, because she did, for the most part. She might have done more than hold someone at knifepoint for answers.

“I expect you do.” Lollie scratched the back of her neck. “I have a favor to ask. About Brella. She can be careless. She is a thoughtful person, but when she gets angry . . .” She trailed off, shrugging. “Just make sure she doesn’t end up launching herself into danger. That’s all.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Scratch replied tartly. “Throw her to the wolves?”

“She’s charming,” Lollie said in a matter-of-fact sort of way. “She acts like she doesn’t need someone watching her back. She does.”

“Everyone does.”