It was the afternoon before the wedding when Monk came in to the Odion tent, picked up Kindra’s spear, and tossed it to her. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” They couldn’t be greeting Obsid—he wouldn’t be arriving until that evening.

“To your last chance to use that. Let’s go fight.”

He didn’t have to ask again—she jumped up and followed him out. The tribe was restless as it prepared for the ceremony, and more than one person tried to spit on Kindra. They shot her evil glares as she walked past. It would be good to get this frustration out with a spear.

When they reached the clearing where she had always trained with Gar, she attacked first. It was strange fighting someone other than Gar or his brother. She knew how they moved, their strengths and weaknesses. She’d never sparred with Monk before and he had a different style—mocking, which didn’t surprise her. He would begin an attack only to stop shy and switch to another, forcing her to change her defense quickly. When she attacked, he would barely deflect, but somehow she never managed a blow.

She was breathing heavy—annoyed at losing—when he hit her bad shoulder with his spear. Her arm went numb, and she switched the spear to her other hand.

“Now that’s more like it,” Monk said as she attacked. “Gar’s right—you’re too predictable otherwise.”

She fumbled. “What?”

He began poking his spear at her, quick little jabs that had her jumping to deflect. “See? Isn’t this more fun?”

“No.” She stumbled over a root and fell backwards, then sat sprawled on the ground, chest heaving.

“You’re not beat yet, Bride of Eoin. Not until you’re dead.”

“Marrying Obsid is death.”

“Only as much as the Warrior’s Ceremony. Death to your old self—life to a new you.”

Her gaze darkened—the Warrior’s Ceremony hadn’t been death or life for her. Just shameful. “Death to an Aledan, life to an Obsidian.” The thought made her sick again. Any time she thought of life in Fie Obsid she was nauseous.

Monk sat next to her. “I’m proud of you, you know. None of us would be able to do this. You’re the strongest of us.”

“Gar’s the strongest,” she replied, thinking of what he said about women warriors.

Monk shook his head. “He’s strong, but he’s only losing you. You’re losing everything.”

Kindra looked at him. “Thanks for reminding me,” she said, tone sarcastic.

He smiled and looked at the sun. “We still have a while, if you want to spar again.”

She looked at the spear, her father’s mark carved in relief near the blade. “No. I need to get ready.”

Monk nodded, stood, and held his arm out to help her up. She took a deep breath before grabbing his hand.

“I never thought I would say this,” he grinned at her, “but I’m going to miss you, Kindra Odion.”

She smiled. “I’ll miss you too, Thomas Preston. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

Monk bowed, very formally.

Cougar was keeping watch at the Odion tent while Kindra and Monk spared, and his face was severe when they returned. “We have a problem.”

Monk put his hand on his sword hilt. “What?”

Cougar looked from him to Kindra and back. “Not that kind of problem.” He lifted the door flap, and all of Kindra’s breath was sucked out as the late afternoon sun spilled into the tent.

“Great Aleda,” Monk whispered as Kaye turned to face them.

“No.” Kindra's voice was weak as she reached out to steady herself on Monk’s arm.

Kaye smiled, but it was brief. “Hello, Kindra.”

“No.” Kindra spat the word out again and turned, walking away with no protection. Kaye returning, on this day, was the worst thing that could have happened.