The man had arrived in the early morning, and like the princess, no one barred his entry at the gates. He showed no fear before the daeva that guarded the doors. His sword was useless in the face of the horrors, but he held it as if that made no difference. His clothes told me he was a military official of some importance. He was tall and broad shouldered, and his long hair was tied back from his face. But he had the Dark asha’s eyes and coloring and the same stubborn set to his mouth as hers did. He had visible cuts around his face and arms, old wounds that showed no signs of healing.

The monsters attempted intimidation; the nanghait drew its two faces close to the man’s and hissed out its venom. A snarl rose from the soldier’s throat, and the beast flinched. The savul took a small hop forward, but the man moved swiftly, flinging out his arm so the blade he carried was a hair’s breadth from its flattened snout.

“Try me,” he seethed, though the savul did not. “You are lucky, you blasted toad, that I no longer feel pain from your nearness, but I will slice off your legs if you so much as blink those hideous eyes. Where is Inessa? I swear by every god I know, Tea, if you have gone so far as to harm her…!” He swung his sword in an arc to include both the taurvi and zarich in his threats, both of whom were endeavoring to sneak up behind him. “And leash your beasts!”

Lord Kalen stepped through the doors of the palace, Princess Inessa behind him. The man’s gaze slid to her face. Reassured by what he saw there, he turned to the Deathseeker. “They said you were dead.”

“What difference does that make? You are still against us.”

“I have never been against Tea.”

“Not from where I stand.”

“She killed people, Kalen. She raised the undead to massacre soldiers!” His voice shook. “They ate men under my watch!”

“And your men would have massacred these Daanorians if she hadn’t. What makes you any better?”

“You’ve changed since dying, Kalen. Are your feelings for my sister hindering your judgment?”

“Are your feelings for the princess hindering yours, Fox?”

They stared at each other, stubborn to the end, convinced it was the other that was wrong, like the disagreements all wars were made of.

Lord Fox moved so quickly that it took the sound of steel meeting steel for me to realize the fight had begun.

“Stop it!” Princess Inessa cried, but she was ignored. This was not the playful sparring sessions between friends that the bone witch had so fondly recalled. This was a brutal fight, waged by familiars who fought despite knowing neither one could be killed by the other.

A stroke of Lord Fox’s blade was parried; a swing of the sword by Lord Kalen was countered. It was the Deathseeker who first drew blood. A flick of his wrist and a cut appeared over the other man’s shoulder, though the latter showed no pain. Lord Kalen dealt a second blow to his side and then a third across his cheek, but Lord Fox rallied with two slices against the other man’s shin and hand.

“Enough!” The air crackled from the force of the words. Both combatants froze in midstrike. The bone witch stood by the entrance, hands fisted on either side of her. Princess Inessa stood with her, arms folded over her chest and looking just as furious.

“You’ve been practicing,” Lord Kalen said. “You’re much better than when we last fought.”

“And still I struggle to keep up with you,” Fox conceded wryly. “You’re stronger than I remember. Inessa snuck out of camp to come here,” he added in a quieter voice as they both turned to face their fuming paramours. “You were defending Tea. Why are we the ones in trouble?”

Without changing expression, the Deathseeker replied, “I don’t know.”