Iddo’s first order of business after declaring martial law was to station several of his Rangers in and outside Nisai’s chambers with strict orders not to admit anyone who hadn’t been pre-approved by the Commander himself, especially any Aphorain. The First Prince’s safety, he said, is his paramount concern, a concern he’d “obviously have to take personal responsibility for” if he wanted it done right.

The second order was to appoint an interim Shield for Nisai from among his Rangers, considering my incapacity.

He appointed Kip.

A good choice, in my view.

She didn’t object, but the disappointment in her eyes was obvious. Being one of the newest Rangers and having a reassignment to a comatose Prince? I expect the Commander’s decision hinged on Kip’s loyalty and her prodigious mastery of the deadly art of lo-daiyish, the unarmed combat style of her home province. But the way the other Rangers immediately began to let their gazes slide over the Losian—as if “out of the field” means “part of the furniture”—made me feel guilty and sympathetic in equal doses.

Iddo’s third order landed me here.

Told to focus on my recovery, I’ve been reassigned to a chamber that appears remarkably similar to a servant’s cell—four unadorned stone walls, bare ceiling, narrow bed, a candle in a simple holder providing the only light source.

The passing hours bleed into one another. Issinon brings food, fresh candles, and a reminder I’m to rest—my priority is to mend. Esarik pokes his head in the door as often as he can, giving me updates that aren’t updates on Nisai’s condition.

The Prince’s heart beats.

Breath rises and falls in his chest.

His eyes stay closed.

The darkness remains.

The scholar grimaces when he speaks of the ratcheting tension as the Commander hunts for the culprit behind the fires and Nisai’s condition. I want answers, too. But I’ve begun to wonder whether more energy is being spent on identifying and punishing the would-be assassin than on finding what ails Nisai, and, more importantly, what will cure it. Because who knows how long he will last in this state, how long it will be before he recovers or succumbs.

Sometime in the night, I wake to raised voices echoing down the hall.

I’m thankful that my wounds have crusted over well enough to allow me to pull on my armor. I exit my cell and hurry along the corridor, following the sound to Nisai’s chambers.

The Rangers stationed on the outer door nod me through in unison. Their comrades on the inner door greet me in the same manner.

Inside, Kip meets my eyes across the room. There’s sympathy in her gaze, but then the moment passes and she’s stoic again, on guard at the Prince’s bedside.

Nisai remains on his back. Someone has changed his clothes into his state robes—deep imperial purple with thread-of-gold phoenixes stitched into the silk. The sight makes me slightly uneasy—it’s not what Nisai would have chosen. Not that you’d be able to tell: The Prince’s expression is serene, eyes closed, hands clasped over his stomach.

Iddo, however, appears anything but serene. His shirt is uncharacteristically unbuttoned, his face shadowed where by now he normally would have shaved. He paces in front of one of his senior officers—by the look of the man’s insignia and silver-sown hair—who stands next to an Aphorain guard. It’s the same hulking brute who steered the chariot at the lion hunt. What’s he doing here?

“An innocent doesn’t run,” Iddo fumes. “Find her.”

An innocent? On the run?

The Ranger nods, his hands clasped behind his back. “Aye, sir. But we’re stretched. We never thought we’d be holding a palace complex, and now the city is growing restless. Could we let some of the Aphorain guards resume patrols outside the walls? Handpicked, of course. Only those we judge to be loyal to the Empire. Like this lad already proved himself at the scene.”

The Aphorain guard lifts his chin and puffs his chest. Smug bastard.

“Very well, Squad Captain,” Iddo says. “But I want our men—not theirs—to see to the matter of the fugitive.”

“There’s the team helping the scholar vet the healers. There’s only three of them, though.”

“Enough to track one girl. And Issinon can assist Esarik to delve into healer credentials. It’s not like my brother is in need of a valet at this point.”

Divert resources from finding the expert Nisai needs? I want to protest—we need answers and we needed them yesterday—but I grit my teeth. No good can come of openly challenging the Commander. His frustration has built until he almost quivers with it, an over-wound bowstring ready to snap at the lightest draw.

I can’t imagine the stress of having to take charge over a situation like this. And I can’t imagine the grilling he’ll receive with each messenger bird from Ekasya bearing the Council of Five’s seal.

But surely there’s another way.

I clear my throat. “You’ve found a suspect?”

The Squad Captain grunts assent. “The girl who was with you when you found the Prince. The Scent Keeper’s servant.”

“You think she did this?”

“We’re shy of a confession, but we’ll have one soon enough.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll track her down. Then she’ll talk. I’ll make sure of it.”

“What if she’s innocent?”

Iddo sets his jaw. “Then it will still signal to the Aphorains that no leniency will be shown when my brother’s safety is under threat.”

The last makes the hairs on the back of my neck lift. I’d told Iddo the girl might have some insight into what ails Nisai, but this doesn’t sound like reconnaissance. This sounds like vengeance. And for what? For being in the wrong place at the wrong time? For knowing more than she’s letting on?

Whatever the girl’s involvement in all this, I don’t see her as an ancient-poison-wielding assassin. And Nisai trusted her, he said so, after she’d tended my wounds from the lion hunt. If he were the one giving orders, he’d want to find out what she knows; he wouldn’t want her thrown behind bars, tracked like an animal and then tortured to confess to something she may not have done.

For the time being, Kip is in far better condition to stand guard over Nisai.

Esarik is screening potential healers.

Iddo needs all the men he can get.

“I’ll go,” I venture.

Iddo raises an eyebrow. “Go where?”

“To find the girl.”

The Squad Captain guffaws. “I’ve never seen you bested in the training yard, boy. Ol’ Blademaster Boldor—may Azered guide his soul—knew how to foster talent. But you were still squeaking like a girl when you came to the palace. What do you know about tracking out in the big wide world?

“I, ah—”

He folds his arms. “Exactly.”

I look to Iddo, imploring.

“The Squad Captain is right, house cat. Focus on your recovery. If my brother wakes, he’ll want you.”

The Ranger sniggers lewdly at the last.

Anger tightens my throat. Mother Esiku, give me patience. “But I—”

Iddo’s eyes spark dangerously. “That’s an order, Shield.”

“Acknowledged, Commander,” I say through clenched teeth.

Back in my cell, I slump against the wall, hissing a pained breath when the jolt smarts the wound in my side.

I’ve never defied an order. I never thought I’d need to. But my responsibility above all else is to serve Nisai. Until my last breath, I need to do everything within my power to cure him. If the Aphorain girl knows something that could help, I must find out. And if I don’t move now, I’ll risk word spreading among the Rangers that I’m on orders to stay.

I start shoving my belongings into my travel pack.

A soft knock makes every muscle tense. I shove my pack behind the pallet and crack open the door.

It’s the Aphorain guard. The so-called loyal one. He shifts from foot to sandaled foot, eyes darting up and down the hall. “Apologies, ah, Shield, sir. But I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Spit it out, man.”

“Do you think she did it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The girl who escaped. Do you think she hurt the Prince?” He seems so earnest, like his world turns on my answer.

“I believe she understands more than she’s revealing,” I say carefully. “But I don’t believe she’s a murderer.”

He sags in apparent relief.

Footsteps come into earshot. I grab the guard’s sash and drag him back into my room. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He holds up his hands. “Nothing about the Prince. I swear. On my sister’s life. But I do know about Rakel.”

I’ve observed courtiers and merchants, ambassadors and bards, over my turns in the Ekasya palace. Something tells me this guard isn’t a master of guile. I relax my grip.

He eyes my pack. “I might run, too.” The implication is clear—a Shield is blood-sworn to his charge. If they fail in their duty, their life is forfeit.

“I’m not doing this for myself,” I growl. “Now, the girl.”

The guard studies me, cocking his head to either side as if he’ll see something different from another angle. “I can’t believe I’m here again,” he mutters.

“Here?”

“You swear you won’t hurt her?”

I glare at him. He doesn’t shrink from my gaze. Seems when it comes to this girl, his bravery matches his brawn.

“If she means no harm to the Prince, she’ll not be harmed by me.” It’s as far as I’m prepared to go.

It seems to be enough, because he leans forward, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. “I’ll help you get out of here. You heard in there—your lot has approved us to resume patrols of the city. We’ll smuggle you out at the next shift change. From there, find the horse.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll want to track a horse, not a camel. She’s had a pet horse since she was a kid. She won’t leave the city without it. Find the horse, find the girl.”

“And you know this because?”

His expression turns soft, almost wistful. “I grew up with her.”