The force of Bren leaping across the table to collide with me knocks the chair back, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders to send us both crashing to the floor. The copper cups scatter on the table, Darlene's mother releases a gasp as if she had no idea this was going to happen, and Renit becomes a physical wall to keep Darlene's father from nocking another arrow. It doesn't take much, I half watch him, half shake Bren's body on the floor.

Renit delivers a blow to Darlene's father's cheek, knocking him sideways. Ultimately, he falls to the ground on his side and Renit stands over him with the bow in his hands, an arrow already pointing at his scrambling target. "Please!" he cries. "She's the enemy! I had to!"

Renit says something I can't hear, that arrow still poised to sink into the flesh of Darlene's father, but now that I know he's disabled and Renit stands over him, I turn my focus to Bren. He moans. I push him off as gently as I can and untangle myself from the legs of the chair to kneel at his side.

I don't care that Darlene's mother monitors us all, surveying the scene but not doing a damn thing to lessen the tempers of a possible death sentence by arrow.

"Bren," I say, my voice shaken. I roll him onto his back and shove the chair away. It skids against the wall we nearly slammed against, but narrowly missed. The kitchen is cramped; there's not nearly enough room for us to stretch out the entire way. I feel like I'm in a coffin.

His lower half is under the table and I'm very aware of the arrow fletching catching on the corner of the table to cause more damage than what it's worth. Carefully, I push him away, towards the middle, and he hisses. In a split moment of desperation, he reaches for that wound before I can grab his hand.

The arrow is long, but it's not deep inside. His armor caught the brunt of it, that I can tell from the lack of blood streaming from the wound. That'll change if I have to dig out the pointed head. It can't stay in there.

"You'll be fine," I promise. My hands shake as I cut away the fabric, remove his armor, and behold the wound.

Renit drags Darlene's father into the room and forces him into the empty chair next to his wife. Bren sat there. They watch us carefully, neither of them moving to help or apologize, but I know their stares don't linger on the two males in the room. It's me they're watching, and the tattoo so starkly placed on my hand for everyone to see. I knew the markings would be my downfall. It was only a matter of time.

Weapons removed, attackers quarantined, Renit kneels down on Bren's other side and surveys the wound before him. "We'll have to remove it," he suggests. The bottom tips of the arrowhead are sticking out. The wound isn't deep at all, but pain is pain.

I growl through my teeth and spring to my feet. "You had no right!" I shout at Darlene's father. Both their eyes grow wide as if I've suddenly grown a second head on my shoulder. "We have done nothing to you!"

Then I feel it. What they're staring at. Not the tattoo or the rage in my eyes. The glowing red veins over my skin, my power making itself visible, and the cottage rocking underneath my feet. My eyes glow, the heat traveling to my hands clenched into fists and covered in Bren's blood. I appear to have fire in my veins, but ground is presenting itself. Somewhere deep down, lava spits. My power is warning them.

This isn't an Outburst; I'd know that from a mile away. This is my power speaking for itself and defending me when it knows my life was narrowly taken away.

Renit appears in my eye line, blocking Darlene's startled and huddled parents, and grabs onto my chin. Hard. The red veins disappear, the heat in my head diminished, and I blink away the pressure in my mind. The power of ground demands more attention. Demands fear.

"We must tend to Bren," Renit demands, not at all kindly.

I snarl at him while trying to snarl at Darlene's parents but he's in the way. I force myself back down to Bren's side and do exactly what I did to Renit's wound in the back of that prison wagon. I break the shaft as close as I can to Bren's body and he lets out a cry of pain, arching his back off the floor. The arrow hit him in the lower abdomen, coming from the side, so it didn't strike anything that'll do damage.

Lucky for him.

The second time around, I have no fear. I have dealt with a wound like this before; Renit lived through it and Bren will do the same. How many times will I have to be the one that heals the people I care about most? How many times will we find ourselves faced with a similar danger?

I stuff my handkerchief in Bren's mouth. This next part is going to hurt. "Get me a bucket of clean water and soap," I demand to no one in particular.

Darlene's mother stands from her chair and quickly walks through the kitchen, taking a wide berth like she's scared to come closer than she needs to. The last thing I care about is how fearful she is. I'd hate to think of how terrible Renit's wrath would be if I'd actually been hit with the arrow. And if it struck something vital. He might set the entire world on fire with his lightning and not look back until every living creature is diminished.

When Darlene's mother returns, she crouches down at my side and places her hands over my own. I consider breaking her fingers. They're cold, like ice. "Let me," she offers. Her voice is soft, and not at all in the same manner as the rage she displayed with me earlier. I am alive. Her daughter is not.

It was mere seconds between living and dying, but Bren gave me the chance to see another day. Again, how many times will danger present itself in this form? Will we ever live a normal life? Does the word normal have any meaning?

Darlene's mother is natural as a healer. Her hands move swiftly. She pours a handful of water over Bren's wound and scrubs away the blood and dirt. Soap comes next, prepping the wound to avoid contamination in the bloodstream, and she digs in. I scoot to Bren's head and rest the back of it in my lap. Not to comfort, but to brace my hands against his shoulders to hold him down. He hasn't stopped whimpering since our full attention went to him.

His back arches and he cries out in pain. I press down as hard as I can to keep his shoulders on the floorboards. Darlene's mother stares at the floor, Bren's boots, anything other than the wound. That's helping her to dig out the arrow tip without tearing the skin beyond repair. Precision.

Blood drips onto the floorboards and I look away, towards Renit. He has his hand on Bren's arm, either for reassurance or a promise to thank him later. They have their differences, but one thing they do have in common is my companionship. They both care for me; they both wish for me to survive. Renit was in the wrong position to stop that arrow, Bren did what it took to ensure I walked out of this cottage alive.

Bren screams once the tugging starts. I'm throwing away from my thoughts and will strength into my arms. Stepping in, Renit applies pressure and I squeeze my eyes shut against Bren's blood-curdling scream. I don't want to attempt my skills at reassurance; that won't do any good right now. I clench down on my jaw, muscles tightening, and wait until it stops.

It doesn't take long. His screams turn to sharp breaths and I open my eyes to find Darlene's mother holding the arrow tip to the light, admiring it as if her husband isn't the reason it was embedded in my best friend's flesh. She places it on the table, smearing Bren's blood there, too, and starts cleaning the wound.

"Gather bandages," she orders her husband. Still watching me like a hawk, he hesitates. I shoot him a glare meant to singe hair, and he listens, standing so quickly the chair rattles against the backs of his knees.

With the handkerchief from Bren's mouth, she applies pressure to stop the bleeding the best she can. Her husband returns, depositing the bandages on the table before leaving the room entirely. Not because he doesn't want to be amongst us anymore, but as soon as he enters the room, I make myself glow against so he won't think about coming back in without a plausible reason first.

Once the bandages are wrapped entirely around Bren's abdomen, I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you," I whisper, brushing the sweat stricken strands of orange hair from where they're matted to his neck.

"I'll kill him," he grunts. His body is still twitching against bursts of pain.

"You mustn't," Darlene's mother quickly retorts. "He's all I have left. Everyone else...they're dead."

Bren huffs through his nose. She ties the final knot over the wound, a second form of pressure that isn't guarded by her hands and sits back on her heels, locking eyes with Renit.

"You must pardon us; behave differently than your father. My husband acted on impulse and I assure you, it won't happen again. Please, we're trying to survive here."

Renit doesn't know what to say, what the right thing to do would be. He looks down at Bren, asking whether they should receive the chance to live, but I speak before either of them can come to a final decision regarding the life of the parents to Renit's former lover. "You can live," I sigh.

She forces herself to smile at me, even if her eyes are still laced with hate. "Thank you. We wish you well on future travels. Please, bring a better life for this kingdom. We will relocate, but this will always be home. Once there's a new leader on the throne, we'll begin rebuilding and—"

"We can't stay," I snap. "We're leaving now."

Months ago, I might have slain her where she kneels without thinking twice. As a kid, I would have done the same. No one hurt Bren without facing my wrath afterward. There weren't many bullies in Arego, but they pinned their attention on Bren until he couldn't take it anymore. The man with no family, no livelihood. And worst of it all, a girl to fight his battles.

I have no doubt Bren would kill Darlene's father given the chance. The boy back then, the one with a gap-toothed smile and a snort when he laughed, wouldn't even kill an injured bird that could no longer fly. My father taught him a lesson that day. Bren still buried that bird underneath the tallest, widest tree he could find.

I slide Bren's head out of my lap and offer down a hand to him. Renit braces a hand against the witch of flame's back and hoists him into a standing position after a series of grunts and sputtering curses. Bren hisses, testing the stretch of the wound, and frowns at the bandage strapped all the way around his abdomen. It's not ideal and it'll make for slower travel, but none of us seem to get out of these endeavors without getting hurt. This time, it was Bren.

He did what he thought was his only option—keep me safe from harm. I doubt he truly expected to take an arrow for me. I'll save that question for later when he's not a few minutes into grumpiness.

We don't stick around for much longer. Darlene's father is nowhere to be seen but his wife says her farewells to Renit and a final apology. I wish we were leaving on better terms but I can't hope for much more. This could be the last time Renit will see either of them, and he doesn't take a second look back before slinging Bren's arm over his shoulder to help him walk back to the horses.

Ducoria is a lost cause. We won't find our soldiers here. But we won't walk away empty-handed. Renit found closure here after so many years of believing he was at fault for Darlene's death. Her parents don't have to know all the details, they don't have to behave like Renit was the cause, and the truth is laid out before them.

They may not care for me, and they may have an indifference towards Renit, but that won't do anything to separate us.

I place my hand on Bren's abdomen, supporting his strong side, and slip underneath his arm. He grimaces the entire way. We make it to the horses eventually and hoist ourselves into the saddles after helping Bren the entire way. He sits upon his horse, stiff, winded, and unusually pale.

To think; if Renit hadn't pleaded for me to stay in the cottage with him, I might be dead right now. If Darlene's father saw me outside his cottage and spotted the tattoo before Bren or I saw him, Renit might be much worse off.

So as we're riding out of Ducoria, leaving her parents behind and heading back for Arego, I reach over and place and hand on Renit's knee. His smile is weak and short-lived but it's there. I have to take everything I can get. Death awaits around every corner and it's not patient for another victim.