His smile disappeared in an instant, replaced with a pained frown. With unsteady motion, he slipped from the saddle, landing hard in the dirt of the road. “I think I’ll walk for a bit,” he grumbled, stumbling on uneasy legs to put some distance between them.

Sigil let him fall back.

“That was unkind,” Sorasa said in a flat voice, without judgment. A simple statement of fact.

Sigil shrugged. “No one pays me to be kind.”

At Corayne’s shoulder, Andry leaned, closing the distance between them. “She might be harsher than Sorasa,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

At the rear of their line, Dom scoffed. “I did not realize there was a competition for worst personality,” he crowed.

Sorasa didn’t hesitate. “It’s not a competition with you around, Elder.”

On the road, Charlie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, his discomfort forgotten. “Do all immortals have sticks up their asses or just him?”

Their joined laughter carried through the Larsian fields, rustling the tall grass. To Corayne’s delight, even Dom’s lips twitched, betraying a smile.

“Get up.”

Corayne opened her eyes with a jolt of terror, expecting her uncle, or the red wizard, maybe even What Waits himself, a looming shadow set to rip her apart. Instead she found Sorasa bending over her sprawled form, the weak fire dancing in her copper eyes.

Shaky, Corayne rose up on her elbows, looking around their camp. Embers glowed in a ring of stones. Charlie sat over it, his cloak wrapped around his body as he poked the flames, barely awake. Sigil watched over him, alert as a hawk. The moon was gone, but the stars still hung in the sky. The eastern horizon was barely tinged in blue.

“Sorasa, it’s still dark,” she protested, scrubbing at her face. “I’m not on watch—”

But the assassin took her by the shoulder, hauling her to her feet. The night air bit cold when her cloak fell away.

“Hurry up. We don’t have much time until they come back,” Sorasa said, half marching her toward the fire, where Sigil loomed. Corayne stumbled along, trying to get her bearings as sleep faded away. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

Done what? Corayne wondered, her mind snapping awake. She opened her eyes fully to Sigil, whose attention shifted from the fugitive priest to Corayne’s own face. Doubt bled through her, its edges tinged with fear. With a jolt, she realized Dom and Andry were gone, their sleeping spaces empty.

“Where’s Dom?” she asked, uneasy and wary. As much as her protectors chafed, she felt bare without them, too vulnerable. “And Andry?”

Sorasa let go of her arm, planting them both in the center of the camp. She crossed her arms over her chest and settled back, tapping one boot. “The walking scowl and the noble squire are hunting for breakfast.”

Corayne nearly jumped when Sigil began circling her like she was a horse at auction. With a gulp, Corayne shifted to keep her in sight, turning steadily. “Can I help you with something, Sigil?”

“The Spindleblade is too big for her to ever use properly,” Sigil finally said, taking Corayne by the shoulders. She balked, surprised, as the bounty hunter gave her a shake. “She doesn’t have enough heft for an ax either. What about finger blades?”

It took Corayne a second to realize Sigil wasn’t speaking to her at all.

“She’s too slow,” Sorasa answered, also sizing her up. “Archery is out of the question too.”

Corayne squinted between them, at a loss for once. Then the pieces slotted together, all at once. “Are—are you going to teach me to fight?”

Firelight gleamed on Sorasa’s teeth. “If I had a year, yes. I could make you passable,” she answered, smirking. Then she shook her head, looking Corayne up and down. “If I ever meet your mother, I’ll certainly have words for her. What a lesson to neglect.”

My fighting skills are not the only thing she neglected, Corayne thought bitterly.

“Even when it isn’t the end of the world, the realm is a dangerous place for women,” Sorasa added, gesturing between herself and the bounty hunter.

Sigil grinned broadly. “And so we became dangerous.”

“Care to dance with us?” Sorasa extended a hand, gesturing like a partner at a ball. “We who belong nowhere?”

Any anxiety or annoyance over her disrupted sleep quickly faded. Corayne nodded eagerly, thinking of the Spindleblade in its sheath, and the long dagger from Adira. We who belong nowhere.

“Teach me,” she said, breathless.

She tasted dirt before she knew what was happening, knocked over without so much as a warning. “What the f—” she wheezed, fighting to her feet.

Only to get knocked down again, the assassin moving in a blur of limbs.

Corayne fell, flat on her back, sputtering as the air rushed from her lungs. Huddled in his cloak, she heard Charlie laugh beneath his breath. Sigil did not join them, content to watch in silence.

Sorasa bent over her, as she had some minutes before, a shit- eating grin on her face. With a wriggle of tattooed fingers, she put out her hand, offering it.

“This is the easy way?” Corayne forced out, gasping for her lost breath.

Pulling hard, Sorasa hauled her to her feet. “Absolutely,” she said. “Now shift your weight. Balls of your feet. You’ll balance better and have an easier time changing direction.”

The assassin demonstrated, transitioning from a flat-footed stance to her toes, both knees bending slightly. She swayed back and forth, her shoulders square to her knees. Corayne did the same, mimicking Sorasa’s body as best she could. This time, when Sorasa lunged, she managed to keep standing for three whole seconds, until the assassin dropped her again.

Corayne winced, her back beginning to ache. “Sorry,” she gritted out, feeling the embarrassed sting of failure.

“Better” was all Sorasa said, tugging her up again.

“Maybe I should just go back to sleep,” Corayne said, massaging her shoulder. Still, she kept on her toes, ready should Sorasa try her again. “Leave the fighting to the people who know how?”

Sorasa pretended not to hear her.

“I don’t think we have a sword light enough for her.” Sigil began to circle again. She wasn’t wearing her armor yet but seemed no less gigantic. “Unless you want to give her yours?”

“I’d rather give her a limb,” Sorasa scoffed before turning back to Corayne. “The long knife you bought in Adira will have to do.” She drew the blade from Corayne’s saddlebags. It winked in the ember light, a plain thing, with a sharp edge and a leather-wrapped hilt. Sorasa gave it a testing swing and thrust. “Good weight—you can use one hand or both. I’d say both if you want to really make it hurt.”

The blade continued to dance, sliding around her fingers in a blur of motion.

“Show-off,” Charlie rumbled, taking a pull from a waterskin. No, that’s wine, Corayne realized, watching something black drip from his lips.

“Here.” Sorasa snapped her back to attention, pressing the dagger into Corayne’s unsteady hands.

She set her jaw, locking her teeth as she locked her fingers around the hilt. While the Spindleblade was too heavy for her, it felt familiar, at least. This was odd, a stranger in her grasp.