“Aria!” Mom runs around a corner and stops an inch from me. Her eyes scour me from head to toe. I’m sure I look a fright, covered as I am in blood and the silken tunic and pants ripped and torn until they likely won’t even be good for handkerchiefs. And my arms ache something fierce where the acid burned my skin.

She wraps me in a hug, and the guards around respectfully look away. “Mom! I’m Ri right now!” I hiss under my breath.

She pokes my flopping hat and pulls some hair escaping from its buns. I pat it back in place… and realize it’s a lost cause. “Hon, if they hadn’t known before now—” she leaves the rest unspoken and I wince. I look around, but the guards don’t meet my gaze.

Shoot shoot shoot. This night just keeps getting better.

The red-headed man looks up and gives me a little smile. “If it’s any difference, ma’am, I’ve known for some time. We all figured you was a little off when you first came, and we ain’t dumb. I met you before, just didn’t connect the dots until here recently and that only made me respect you more—” A woman slaps his back, and he stutters off with a cough, glaring at the woman who doesn’t take her eyes from scanning the grasses and pathways at my back.

We’re gathered near the training shed with hedges rising around us which would provide cover if we’re attacked again. Hans sent four guards to scour the grounds and three to ensure my sibling and Jenny’s protection after Ran showed up and the rest of the Bamshee scattered.

Another guard nods, his brown eyes flicking up and filled with kindness. His beard is white as snow while his skin is a dark toffee color. The effect is striking, as is the large scar creating a jagged white line down his brow. He cradles one of his arms close to his chest, and I wince at the jagged slash there.

“He’s right, ma’am. We understand a little of what you’ve done. You have our respect, and we won’t betray your secrets.” Despite his gruff appearance, he is soft-spoken and I must lean forward and watch his lips carefully to understand him.

The other three guards all nod, fire in their eyes before they once again avert them respectfully.

Mom sneaks an arm about my waist, eying the men and one woman warily but with something like pride burning beneath.

I wince when Mom squeezes, and Hans doesn’t miss it, even as he takes the orb from my hands and rolls it on his palm. He raises an eyebrow at me. I nod, schooling my face before Mom sees the pain.

“Why?” I ask, looking around as the guards stand around me in a seemingly random formation. But I see the way their eyes flick and how the ones beside me watch the backs of those in front.

It's the dark-skinned man who answers. “You are a legend, ma’am. But more than that, you have a kind heart. It is an honour to guard you and yours and fight beside you.”

Must be the burning pain in my ribs like a thousand little white-hot needles that brings tears to my eyes. It’s most assuredly not the words of these knights.

Ran walks up beside me, and the warrior to my right backs away with a bow. Ran sits beside me, her tail curling around my feet and her eyes glowing golden in the lamplight instead of the red from before.

I’ve always had silent supporters. And now I realize that some are content to stay in the background, silently watching and waiting and supporting from afar.

A lump rises in my throat, and I clear it. “What is your name, sir?”

The dark-skinned man bows, two short-handled axes on his back instead of swords. “Sir Ulric, ma’am. And this is Sir Rowen, Sir Jamen, Sir Beck, and Madame Abbey.”

Sir Rowen salutes me with his sword, not taking his eyes from Ran. Sir Jamen nods to me, never meeting my eyes dead on. He’s a man of nondescript appearance. He’s neither portly nor thin, not tall nor short, his hair is not exactly blond nor brown. He’s absolutely average, which I find highly interesting.

Sir Beck salutes me with an Honour Knight greeting of fist to the heart. He has dark hair and a tan complexion with rippling muscles and a crooked nose. Madame Abbey bows to me, her eyes flicking to my face but not exactly meeting my eyes. They flicker with… something. My Gift flares and I wince, but it shows me what I wish. She is… scared? No, not exactly. Maybe nervous?

That, rider, is a dragon-struck woman who admires you greatly but is unsure how to live up to you.

I gape at my Bond. “What?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t understand?” Madame Abbey says, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

“Nothing, Madame Abbey. Forgive me, Ran just said something that surprised me is all.” I look up to find most shooting me glances.

Hans eyes are scouring my face. “Minx, you need a bath.”

I huff a laugh, tugging at the tunic that was only a few hours past pristine and fancy. “Sorry about the clothes, Hans.” I look at all the rest, pausing and feeling a bit awkward. I look around, and this time I’m the one not meeting their eyes. “But I would like to spar with you all sometime, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” I ask, glancing up shyly.

They gape at me… should I take back the words?

“Ma’am… are you sure? Surely you don’t have time for the likes of us,” Sir Rowen says.

I scoff. “The likes of you? Give yourselves some credit. You’ve stuck around knowing Sir Ri is a girl and faced Bamshee without batting an eye, taking them down as well as a coordinated Timber Wolf attack. Who knows what else you’ve done in the background with no one taking notice. We aren’t so different, fighting for what is right when and how we’re able and hoping we can be enough.”

Well shoot. If anything, my words made them only more speechless. They truly gape at me now, the nondescript Sir Jamen the only one not taking his eyes from our surroundings.

Hans pats my head. I growl at him, fingering a blade at my waist. His eyes laugh at me, but he takes his hand away before he gets poked. “Good speech. Now it’s time to get you checked out before you pass out on us. Sir Jamen, send for the healer.”

Jamen nods, salutes me and Hans, then disappears down a path leading to the edge of the wall.

“You’re hurt?” Sir Rowen asks, leaning forward as if to catch me.

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine,” I grumble.

Hans' eyes laugh at me once more, but his face is stoic. “Broke a rib, if I begged to differ.”

Mom gasps, taking her arm from my waist. “Aria Rosen,” she says, drawing my name out and glaring.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really! It’s not that bad.”

She tuts, shaking a finger at me. “You forget I’ve seen what you consider ‘bad’. In the house. Now.”

The guards step forward, preventing any escape routes. Which I was not considering. At all.

But the orb. I try to snatch it from Han’s grip, but he darts back and I almost fall on my face.

“Whoa there.” Sir Rowen catches my arm as I scowl at Hans.

“So help me Hans, give that back!”

“I will keep this somewhere safe until we have answers. Forgive me if I don’t consider my courtyard the best home for it at the moment.”

I finger a blade, considering throwing it as practice for the next competition. I likely won’t hit jack squat, but I can at least hit him with a hilt and make him hurt.

“Hans, we need it. I got it, I should be responsible for keeping it.”

The laughter fades from his eyes and he sighs, rubbing a hand down his salt and pepper beard. “Minx, do you trust me to protect it in your stead for the next while so you may rest? Have you considered attempting to do everything alone is what keeps getting you into trouble over your head?” His blue eyes plead with me to understand.

And a part of me does. My shoulders slump. “Hans, it's important. I don’t know how, but I know who probably does. If it gets out of our hands, it will be bad.”

Hans bows, his eyes meeting mine as he stops in front of me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I will protect it to the best of my ability. Please trust me with this.”

Something curdles deep in my stomach, but right now, there are no better options. It can’t stay here, and I don’t feel up to taking it anywhere at the moment. I am physically and mentally exhausted.

I purse my lips but give a curt nod. He searches my eyes, then steps back.

“And Hans?” He turns back around from where he’d begun walking to the house. “I do trust you.”

His eyes light up and a grin toys at the corner of his mouth. He bows. “I know, minx. I know.”

~~~

Whispers impede on my dreams.

“Has she been sleeping lately?”

“Not much.”

A humph. “Thought as much. She is going to drop if she keeps going at this pace.”

“Tell that to her. Took me near threatening her to keep her from gallivanting on another mission tonight. How is she otherwise?”

“Her healing is remarkable, although not as quick as what I saw a few days ago. The same rib keeps breaking, which is of some concern. It needs time to set properly and heal entirely to prevent deeper damage. I’ve never had a patient break the same bone this many times, and I fear what it may mean for the bone itself if this continues to happen.”

“How do we keep her from breaking it again?” a feminine voice asks, deep with worry. Mom.

A snap like a bag closing interrupts my slipping into deeper sleep. “That is the question. She is a grown woman and a warrior. Perhaps instead of asking me, you should be asking her.”

I finally slip into deeper sleep and dream of stinking Bamshee and an orb that rolls away from me and drops over the edge of a cliff, out of reach forever.