They came upon the encampment of soldiers after dark. As they drew to a stop near an outcropping of rock, Uachi raised a hand, bidding Diarmán to slow. A short distance ahead was a camp fire, and around it sat half a dozen men in uniform, sharing a brace of roasted rabbits between them.

"Friends?" asked Diarmán, looking past Uachi's shoulder.

"Friends, to judge by their ridiculous outfits," Uachi murmured. He nodded toward the fighters, who were wearing silver and blue. Diarmán laughed. Uachi kept his hand raised, cautioning Diarmán to silence. "Walk softly. I'm disappointed we've not been seen already."

The hiss of steel sounded from near at hand, and he froze. A low voice said, "Oh, but you have. Keep your hands where we can see them."

Uachi lifted his other hand. As Diarmán straightened his back and followed suit, Uachi said, "Well met, soldier. If you cannot tell by the cat—cats—I am Captain Uachi of the Imperial Guard."

"I find that unlikely. He's commanding the Penruan forces from Tuamach, and I've had no word he's patrolling this far south."

"Well, he could show you his birth mark, but it's in rather an intimate place," Diarmán said.

Uachi darted a furious glance to Diarmán, his cheeks going hot. Diarmán gave him a grin and an apologetic shrug as if to say, Well, you know me.

There was silence from behind them. No doubt the soldiers did not know what to do with this nugget of information. Absurdly, Uachi was struck with the urge to laugh. He restrained himself. "Ignore the fool; he doesn't know how to control his tongue."

Diarmán frowned, then narrowed his eyes and tipped his head, as if conceding this point.

"Allow me to turn around and you'll know me by my marke, if my shadowcat did not betray me already."

"Turn, then."

Uachi kept his hands up as he did. There were two soldiers behind them. One of them had a sword drawn and leveled at Uachi; the other carried a bow, an arrow nocked and ready, aimed at Diarmán's heart.

"I'll be damned," said the soldier with the sword. "So it is you, Captain."

Uachi recognized the sword-wielding man. "May I put my arms down now, or do you plan to run me through, Caolan?"

"I'd like to see that, if it's up for a vote," said Diarmán.

Uachi scowled at him. "Can you shut your mouth? Please? Just once?"

"I suppose," said Diarmán. "Oops. I've failed you already, Captain."

"Who's this one?" Caolan lowered his sword and gave Diarmán a perplexed look.

"A pain in the arse," Uachi muttered. "A friend, more or less. I need to send a message to the emperor, and then I need to get home. Quickly." Now that he was in the presence of imperial soldiers, with the promise of magic-wielding Arcborn folk in numbers, Uachi would actually consider traveling by the blood; if there were enough mages at hand, he and Uarria might hope to make it back to friendly territory without too much suffering.

"Well, you're in luck for the first bit. His Grace is right over there." Caolan nodded his head toward the band of soldiers arranged around their few camp fires.

Uachi's stomach dropped. "What?" It was the last thing he had expected. Had Matei really left Mhera, grief-stricken and alone in the Holy City?

"Emperor Matei. He's with us. We've seen a historic battle these past few days, but His Grace is safe. Bloody exhausted, I expect. He's hardly slept."

Turning round, Uachi sought a familiar face among the crowd, but from this distance, he recognized no one. He could not muster a response. He had wanted to send word to Matei as soon as possible that Uarria was alive and well and in his custody but now, the feeling he had about meeting Matei again was not one of excitement.

It was dread, and it was made up of many things. His fear of seeing Matei again after how they had parted was the least of his concerns. How would he explain to Matei all that had happened?

Uarria was sitting on her haunches, her head cocked to the side as she batted a drooping seedhead on a clump of grasses. Uachi had not yet asked Diarmán to change her back. How could he have made Uarria a vulnerable little girl again out here in the wilderness, so far from home?

How could Uachi explain what had happened to Ealin?

"Come. I'll take you to him." Caolan nodded to Uachi and struck out toward the camp.

Diarmán edged toward Uachi. "Do they trust me as a friend just on your word?" he asked. "Also: Captain?"

"I kept a few secrets," Uachi said. A cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. "They pale in comparison to the flying brother. Do me a favor and spare us your sparkling wit. You're about to meet the Emperor of Penrua."

"Well, he'll be thrilled to see you, I'm sure. Somebody told me you're a friend of his—and you're bringing back his daughter and all."

"Uachi?" Caolan had stopped, looking over his shoulder.

Uachi clicked his tongue, and Farra bounded forward, her tail held erect behind her. Uarria got to her feet and padded after her, her ears pricked forward. To Diarmán, Uachi said, "I had not expected to find him here."

"It's surprising, I'll give you that. He seems misplaced. It was always my impression that emperors belong on thrones."

"Yes, well. They are usually not tied down." Steeling himself for what was to come, Uachi struck off after Caolan and the other soldier, Diarmán at his side.