Liora did not look back at the glade.

  She rode hard through smoke and screams, Ronan slumped against the saddle horn, his weight dragging at the reins. Fire climbed the trees behind them, lighting the forest in brief flashes of orange. The air burned her lungs. Something howled behind them, too close to ignore, then vanished into the noise of flight.

  A horn sounded.

  Too close.

  She leaned low over the horse's neck and pushed harder, one hand locked in the reins, the other pressed against Ronan's side. Blood soaked through her fingers and ran warm down his leg. His breath came shallow and uneven. Each rise of his chest felt like a question she was afraid to answer.

  She poured mana into him.

  The light beneath her palm flickered, weak and unstable, but she held it there until her teeth ached from grinding. The wound was too deep. The cut ran from shoulder to thigh, torn and ragged. No spell she knew should have kept him alive this long.

  But he was not dead.

  Not yet.

  Branches tore at her cloak as she drove the horse off the path and into the woods. She did not slow until the horn faded and the sound of pursuit dissolved into nothing but her own heartbeat. When silence finally came, she bent forward and dragged in a breath that tasted like rust.

  She rode until the magic burned out of her and her vision swam. The forest thinned into a narrow clearing ringed by stone and damp moss. The horse stumbled and stopped, sides heaving.

  Liora slid from the saddle and nearly fell as she pulled Ronan down. He struck the ground with a dull sound that twisted something in her chest. She tore away his armor, cutting leather when her hands could not work the buckles. Blood soaked the earth beneath him.

  The wound looked worse in the open.

  She cleaned what she could and pressed cloth against torn flesh until her hands shook too badly to hold steady. When the bleeding slowed, she stared at him and felt the fear finally catch up.

  This would not be enough.

  She left him long enough to gather herbs, moving through the trees with frantic care. Her hands knew what to take, but her thoughts spiraled. Amara was gone. She had seen enough to know that. Trace had turned back, and no one came back from that kind of stand. She told herself she would not lose Ronan too. She repeated it until the words stopped meaning anything.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  It still had to be enough.

  Night crept in cold and damp. Liora curled against Ronan's side and wrapped her cloak around them both. She kept one arm across his chest, counting breaths, waiting for the pause that would mean she was too late.

  She did not sleep.

  Time lost its edges.

  Days passed without shape. Camps blurred together. She rode until she could not, healed until she could not, then rode again. She guided the horse with her knees while her hands glowed faintly against Ronan's wounds. She learned how much blood could be lost before panic set in. She learned how silent the forest became when someone was tracking you.

  She spoke to Ronan even when he did not answer.

  She told him about Trace, about the way he had turned back without hesitation. About how he bought them time with blood and fury and a look in his eyes that still haunted her. She told him about Amara, about how she never made it out. About the fire and the screaming and how the world did not slow down for any of it.

  She carried their names like weight in her chest.

  Some nights she prayed. Not for victory. Not for justice.

  Only that Ronan would not become the third.

  She was crushing herbs when the sound reached her.

  A footstep that did not belong.

  Liora froze, then slowly straightened. Her hand drifted toward her blade as a figure stepped from between the trees. He wore Dominion colors and a smile that spread when he saw her alone.

  The first strike rang through the clearing. She threw a shield of light between them, the impact shuddering through her bones. She countered, steel flashing, magic flaring weakly as she tried to keep distance. He pressed her hard, forcing her back step by step. Every blow landed heavier than the last.

  She clipped him once across the arm. It barely slowed him.

  He drove her toward the rocks. Her heel caught a root. She recovered, but the opening cost her. His next swing shattered her shield and the backlash buckled her knees. She stumbled back, angling herself without thinking to keep his body between her and Ronan. If she fell, she would not let him see where Ronan lay.

  Her foot slipped on damp stone.

  The blade came down.

  The scout died with a choking sound.

  His weight collapsed forward and hit the ground at her feet. Liora staggered back, staring past him.

  Ronan stood behind her.

  Blood streaked his side and his sword shook in his grip. His eyes were open, unfocused but awake, fixed on her as if afraid she might vanish.

  She broke.

  She grabbed him and kissed him without thinking, desperate and unplanned, grief and relief crashing together until she could not tell where one ended and the other began. When she pulled back, his face was frozen in stunned disbelief.

  He blinked once.

  "Did I miss anything important?"

  It was thin and brittle, the only armor he had left.

  She laughed, or cried, or both. The sound tore out of her chest and faded, leaving only exhaustion behind.

  By morning the air was pale and cold.

  She helped Ronan onto the horse slowly, supporting his weight as he climbed. He stayed awake this time. That alone felt like a miracle.

  He would probably live.

  They turned south and followed the long road through broken country. The capital lay days away, but the direction mattered. Every step carried them farther from the glade and closer to something solid.

  Toward Bran.

  For the first time since the fire, Liora allowed herself to believe that surviving might still mean something.

  Burden of Fate) covers Trace’s first ascent and the events that led to this point. Starting there will make the journey a lot clearer.