Author’s note: To cut the novel down to a more reasonable length, I had to axe several scenes that I enjoyed, including this one, which takes place after Laine and Skylar have sworn oaths and the Druids’ Orb has been exchanged from Owen to Skylar.

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All morning, the wind cut across the mountaintop, unnoticed by the Goatherds. The sun beat down on the exposed rock, creating pockets of warmth between the cutting winds. Far below, festival preparations continued, the sounds of hammering and distant voices carried up on the air currents.

Asha practiced walking on her hands back and forth across the rugged exposure. Owen watched the wiry muscles of her arms tremble when the wind picked up, but she kept her balance, righting herself at regular intervals to shake the tension from her wrists and shoulders. Now that he had learned her history, he understood her differently, particularly her air of studied nonchalance.

Pickles stood placidly, occasionally pawing at the ground with one hoof, while Laine attempted the entrancement spell again.

Meanwhile, Skylar moved between Asha’s goats, checking their condition with practiced hands. He straightened and called to Asha, “I’m getting bored. Want to go practice your forms?”

She nodded, smoothly cartwheeling out of her handstand to follow him from the top of the ridge. The moment Asha disappeared down the path, Laine doubled over, bracing herself with one hand against her knee.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Eirian suggested.

“I’m going to get it,” said Laine, quiet but determined.

“I know you will.”

Eirian crossed to where Owen sat working with his staff. With each repetition of the exercises Sean had prescribed, Owen fought the urge to favor his left side.

“Are you sure?” Owen asked again, his voice low.

“You saw what happened…” Eirian’s gaze slid into the middle distance, then snapped back to Owen’s face, a new hardness coming into his expression. “We either kill them or sedate them—which I have no idea how you would do at this scale—or put them back under magical control. At least until we figure out if there’s a way to reverse the effects of the Artisan’s Orb.” He paused. “Difficult times make for strange bedfellows.”

Laine crouched beside Pickles, scratching between its ears. The goat leaned into her touch. Using the staff for support, Owen got to his feet, trying to ignore how his pulse quickened when she glanced his way.

He followed the path Asha and Skylar had descended a moment ago, relieved to duck out of the wind. At the overlook, he found Asha and Skylar sparring with their staffs, their movements quick and precise as they navigated the frontier between light and shadow created by the harsh mid-morning sun and the protective walls of the cliff. The sound of wood striking wood echoed off the mountainside, punctuated by brief exchanges of conversation and occasional shared laughter.

Owen watched their practice, noting how fluidly Asha moved as she sparred. Skylar’s style was more explosive and dynamic. When they paused for breath, Skylar caught Owen’s eye.

“Want to join?”

Asha backed away to give them space, settling into a cross-legged position on the same sun-warmed boulder where Eirian had perched during Laine’s tirade. She loosed the cord of her braid and shook out her hair to rebraid it.

Owen faced Skylar across the overlook. He could still feel the morning’s frustration coiling in his muscles as they began to circle each other.

“I’ll go easy on your right side? Since you’re still injured.”

Instead of answering, Owen attacked, a quick feint followed by a sweeping strike that Skylar moved quickly to block. The impact shuddered through Owen’s right shoulder and the muscles of his back. He gritted his teeth, aware he was already ignoring Sean’s warning about pushing too hard.

“Come on then,” Skylar said, that ever-present grin still on his face. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Owen responded with a series of precise strikes, each one forcing his opponent to give ground. But as he’d demonstrated at dawn, Skylar was quick, turning defense into attack with grace. Their staffs clacked together in rapid succession. A particularly hard block sent pain lancing through Owen’s right wrist. His fingers went numb, and he switched his grip to compensate.

Skylar pressed the advantage, forcing Owen to continue to rely on his injured side. But Owen hadn’t endured weeks of pain just to lose now. He let Skylar drive him back, giving up each of the steps he’d forced Skylar to take. He counted, and just when Skylar thought he had him pinned against the mountain wall, Owen countered Skylar’s flourishing strike.

His staff swept up, then down, catching Skylar’s weapon and twisting. The staff clattered from Skylar’s hands. In the same motion, Owen brought his weapon to rest at Skylar’s throat.

They stood frozen for a moment, both breathing hard. The muscles at the base of Owen’s spine howled in protest, but he kept his stance steady.

Skylar raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. “I’ll be looking forward to meeting you again at Dun Caolach.”

Owen straightened, bringing his staff down and trying not to lean too heavily into it as his back seized. He started back the way he’d come.

“Are you okay?” asked Skylar, noting Owen’s stiff, staff-assisted gait. “Do you want me to get Sean?”

“That’s the spirit. Walk it off,” Asha called out. Having finished braiding her hair, she’d shifted from her seat to practice handstands again.

“Asha, would you stop hanging out upside down and go fetch your uncle?” In a few strides, Skylar fell alongside Owen.

“It’s nothing,” said Owen. “I irritated it before.”

“Sean should be the judge. Anyway, we should have involved him before now. As Eirian said, we should be looking to help the freed Torches by magical or medical means, right?”

They reached the alcove where Eirian and Laine had resumed their lesson. Skylar’s hand closed around Owen’s upper arm, forcing him to stop. When Skylar let go, he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Just look out for her, alright? Obviously, she’s a remarkable person. I would consider it calamitous if something happened to her.”

He’s talking about Asha, Owen realized. Not Laine.

Gritting his teeth, Owen said, “Skylar, I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Of course,” Skylar said at once, offering a slight smile that held no trace of performance.

“The White Torches keep assignment records segmented by country. My brother’s name is Myles MacAvoy. They took him six, almost seven weeks ago, so his name would be at the back of their records. Please look, if you can.”

“I will. I’m so sorry about your brother, Owen.”

Owen nodded curtly and excused himself. Stiffly, he made his way back to the place he’d occupied earlier. He picked up where he had left off with his exercises, trying not to grimace, feeling relieved that Eirian and Laine were too focused to notice his return.

After a rest, Laine seemed to be making progress. Owen watched as Pickles moved with the dull-eyed, docile look of the turkey.

Asha returned a quarter hour later, an earthenware container between her hands and a basket on her back. “Sean was busy, but he made you this.”

At the sound of Asha’s voice, Laine paused her practice, a look of concern hollowing her cheeks. She turned slightly as if she meant to step forward but didn’t.

“When are you going to tell him?” Skylar asked Laine.

She released a long breath. “I will. Tonight.”

“Tonight’s the festival,” Skylar reminded her.

“He’s not going to like it,” Asha said with only a touch of her usual playfulness.

Laine sighed, her gaze distant. “This place is his home.”

Eirian edged closer to Pickles, ruffling the goat’s fur. Asha knelt at Owen’s side and started unloading sturdy earthenware cups from her bag.

“What’s it called when you win a battle but lose the war?” she asked in a low voice.

Owen watched her pour the tea. He thought, but didn’t say out loud, My entire life.