Chapter 19 · Ironhand's Choice

Kael woke up to fire in his ribs and the taste of blood.

The tent canvas above him was stained brown from years of dust storms. Someone had dragged him onto a bedroll that smelled like salt and old sweat. His right side was wrapped tight—amateur work, but it would hold. The silver blade had gone deep, but whoever stitched him knew enough to keep him breathing.

He tried to sit up. His body told him no.

"Don't." Lira's voice, close. "You'll tear the sutures."

Kael turned his head. The governor's daughter knelt beside a basin of pink water, wringing out a cloth. Her hands were shaking. There was blood on her sleeves—his blood, probably—and a shallow cut across her left palm that looked fresh.

Beyond her, Alto stood with his back to them both, staring at the tent wall like he could see through it. His fists were clenched. There was blood on his hand too.

"What happened," Kael said. His throat was dry. "After."

Lira didn't answer right away. She pressed the cloth to his forehead, and he flinched at the cold.

"I made him bleed," she said quietly. "To prove something."

Kael's gaze slid back to Alto.