Alara pressed herself against the trunk of the tree, wondering if its boughs were hiding her completely. She placed a hand on the dagger at her waist and peered out between the branches. The light of the sun, fully risen, blinded her for a second before she could make out what she was seeing. A small group of councilguards trudged through the forest a few yards away.

Alara’s heart leaped, and she was on her feet, the aches and the exhaustion forgotten. It had been a while since anything had gone right.

“Thank El’dyo!” She called out, scrambling from her hiding spot. Before she could say anything else, a set of spears was pointed at her heart, a look of contempt passing across the eyes of the lead guard.

Alara stepped back instinctively and put her hands up in front of her. “Sorry to surprise you. I was just excited to see councilguards out here. I’m Alara Ayar.”

The spears didn’t twitch and their sneers didn’t falter.

“What the hell are you playing at, you dirty bruya.”

Alara’s eyes went wide for a second. “I…” She looked down at the dirty tunic and shawl she was wearing and realized the mistake. “Right, my clothes. I stole them. I’m the magite who went missing. Alara Ayar.” She looked around at the unfamiliar faces that had moved to surround her. These were likely scouts that guarded the borderlands—no one she would have grown up around. “Alara Ayar. Senya Linda Emaru would be looking for me.”

One councilguard stepped forward, his sneer twisting in amusement. “You don’t look at like a magite to me.”

“I just escaped from a bruya camp.”

“And you think we’ll believe you just escaped the bruyas without a scratch on you?”

“Sounds like a spy,” one man said.

“Or a trap,” another suggested, eyes narrowed, surveying the surrounding woods.

“Well, what are you then, girl? A spy or a trap?” The sneering man stepped forward, and it took all of Alara’s strength and stubbornness to stand her ground. He was close enough she could see a thin silver scar that crossed his forehead and into his left eyebrow, splitting it in two.

Alara squared her shoulders. “Neither. I told you, I am the missing magite Alara Ayar, and I demand you take me back to the Haven.”

One of the men jeered behind her. “She demands.”

The man leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his breath bitter and warm. “No one’s going to buy that excuse about stealing bruya clothes. Perhaps if we removed them, we’d have a more objective… look.”

Alara paled and stepped back, stomach twisting. There was a smattering of laughter around her, and she felt dread crawling up her spine. This was not what she expected.

Suddenly, she remembered the gold cuff that circled her wrist. She moved to pull back her sleeve, but the fast movement caused the surrounding guards to step forward, their spears almost touching her now.

She raised her hands again. “Hey, morons! I’m just trying to show you—”

Before she could finish, the guard behind her grabbed her arms. The one in front of her moved closer, pressing against her. Without a second thought, she brought her knee up, hitting him between his legs. He gave a groan and folded over. The man holding her arms jerked slightly in surprise, but his grip didn’t loosen.

“I told you—” Before she could finish her statement, a whistle broke through the woods and an arrow grazed the side of her face, painting her cheek with the blood of the councilguard’s shoulder who had been holding her. She turned to see the rest of the arrow sprouting from his shoulder as he yelled out in pain, his hands finally loosening around her wrists. Alara twisted, a little off balance, and saw bruyas darting out of the woods behind them, more arrows flying.

“It’s a trap!” cried one councilguard.

Without thinking, Alara dropped to the ground and rolled to the right, dodging feet as the guards focused their attention on the new arrivals. The small clearing broke into chaos as bruyas reached guards. The sound of wood against wood rang in the trees as spears met clubs and flesh.

Alara grabbed the blade from her waist and scrambled to her feet, trying to get her bearings as to what was happening. It took her only a few seconds to recognize Zinita and Runeo among the bruyas.

Her stomach dropped, and she readied her blade to attack. Who did she fight? Perhaps if she killed a bruya, it would prove whose side she was on.

Without another thought, she lunged toward Zinita, and another flash of color and movement caught her eye. Khuno and Micos were running out of the woods now, hands raised to attack the guards, causing her to hesitate on her attack strategy. She stumbled back, her dagger clutched in her hand as the two groups clashed in front of her.

The decision was made for her as a snarling councilguard rushed forward, spear thrust out in front of him. She side-stepped his attack as he lumbered past her, too big to be agile. With a spin, she jabbed the blade into his side, just below the leather armor he wore. Seemingly unperturbed by the wound, he twisted around, holding out his hand as if readying a magia attack. Alara held up her own hands in anticipation when a spray of blood splattered across her race, an arrow jutting out of the soldier’s throat.

Alara looked up, making eye contact with Runeo before he engaged with another nearby guard.

She grabbed the fallen enemy’s spear, stumbling away from the center of the conflict. The bruyas were winning, despite being outnumbered—likely because the councilguards had underestimated their threat. It was the type of mindset that Senya Emaru would not have allowed, and one that would be their deaths.

Alara shuddered. This wasn’t what she wanted. She looked around, watching as a bruya side-stepped a guard before thrusting his dagger in the man’s neck, twisting it as the councilguard fell. Soon, only one soldier remained, fighting in desperation as the bruyas circled in on him.

A knot twisted in her stomach. As much as she hated it, this was her chance to leave. She turned and darted away, making it only a few hundred yards before she heard the snapping of branches behind her. She spun around, stolen spear thrust in front of her, eyes dark.

In front of her, Runeo stood, arrow raised and bowstring taut. “Drop your spear.”

“So you can kill me easier?” Alara said. “I think not.”

“I could kill you either way.”

“Please, I just want to go home.” Alara said, the desperation and exhaustion leaking into her voice.

“The councilguards didn’t look agreeable to that.”

“It was these stupid clothes. I shouldn’t have been wearing them.”

“Did you plan on approaching them naked?”

Alara’s face flushed. “No! I… you know what I mean!”

“I should have let them kill you,” Runeo said, though Alara thought she detected a hint of sarcasm.

“Why did you save me?”

“Maybe I just wanted the satisfaction of killing you myself.”

Alara tightened her grip on her spear. “Don’t think I’m going to make it easy.”

Runeo smiled at this, and Alara felt an unexpected rush of anger. He may have been joking, but she hated anyone who gave her a patronizing look.

“I’d love to see you try,” Runeo said. “What was it that Quenti called you? A bruyita?”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a spear,” Alara practically snarled.

Runeo’s eyes narrowed, and she saw his muscles pulling tight, the bowstring steady as his aim settled on her. She took a slow, deep breath, her fingers running along the wood grain of her spear. The familiar calm of battle washed through her.

A sharp cry broke the silence, and both Runeo and Alara froze, their eyes swiveling back toward the clearing where they had left the others.

A thunderous din of fighting rose in the air, louder this time. Runeo turned, running toward the sound, and after a moment’s hesitation, Alara followed.

As they neared, the cries of councilguards grew louder. She reached Runeo, who had paused some yards from the scene, hidden behind a tree. The small clearing was teeming with over two dozen councilguards. Alara’s hand flew to her mouth as she saw the crumpled body of one bruya on the ground. Runeo noticed a second after her and she grabbed him roughly by the shoulder as he stepped forward. It was a suicide mission to go out there.

They scuffled for a second as Runeo tried to push past her, but then a voice stopped them both cold.

“Why don’t you just kill us?” Micos’s voice was loud, and Alara’s eyes found him. He leaned against a large tree, his face red with anger. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face and his arms stretched tight behind his back, presumably with ropes. Alara saw another bruya slumped next to him, her chest moving in and out slightly. She let out a sigh of relief to see Khuno’s wild hair, but her smile turned into a frown when she recognized Zinita as the third bruya bound on the ground, eyes seething with hatred.

“Shut up, filthy bruya.” One of the councilguard’s boots made contact with Micos’s side and Alara flinched. Beside her, Runeo’s body went rigid.

“We should head back,” one guard said.

“What are we going to go with that one?” A female guard motioned at Khuno, who was still slumped over. Alara saw with alarm that there was blood matting her hair on one side.

“If she can’t walk, kill her.”

Micos leaned over Khuno and spoke in her ear. She cracked one eye open, wincing at the light, but nodded. Micos stood awkwardly and helped the other bruya stand. She swayed for a minute before gaining her balance.

Alara’s stomach twisted. A small voice in her head told her to step forward. These councilguards were likely returning to the Haven. Returning home. Even if they didn’t believe her until she got back, Emaru would clear things up. But she couldn’t seem to get her body to move. The feeling of the other councilguard’s fingers on her face was seared into her mind. But this was her chance to reclaim her life. To return home.

Before she could get her legs to function, the guards were leaving, their new captives stumbling after them. As they departed, a flash of gold caught the sunlight and Alara saw the cuffs that wrapped around their wrists beneath the ropes. A finger traced along her own cuff and her stomach tightened.

When they were gone, Runeo turned on her, his eyes wild and teeth bared. Alara stepped back under his glare, but his hands gripped her shoulders, fingers hard as they dug into her skin.

“You,” he said. “This is your fault, you Sol-forsaken, stupid—”

Alara lunged her head forward despite herself. Runeo’s head snapped back as her forehead made violent contact with his. His fingers on her shoulders loosened, though Alara regretted the instinctive move almost as quickly.

“You were hurting me,” Alara said as Runeo recoiled back, hand on his head, though he did not try to grab her again.

“I’m hurting you?” He said through gritted teeth. “If my brother dies because of you, I’ll show you what pain is.”

Alara’s heart skittered at the threat, but she could see the tears welling up in his eyes. She thought back to the look of anger and terror on Micos’s face as they dragged him away, and felt a lump of guilt settle in her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she said, bringing her hand to her own head. With her adrenaline waning, the pain of her assault on his forehead was settling in.

He snarled and marched over to the clearing. Alara followed, seeing him kneel over the fallen bruya and draw a small sun on his forehead, using blood from the wound, before closing his eyes. She stood by as he whispered something beneath his breath. A prayer, she assumed.

“We’re going back to Arbol.” His voice was cold and distant.

Alara bit her lip. She looked in the direction where the councilguards had gone and then back at Runeo, where he knelt beside the body of another bruya she only vaguely recognized. None of this was happening the way she had wanted.

She still had a chance. She could take out Runeo and run back. Run home. Instead, she found herself nodding. “Okay.”