Luna. Her name was Luna.

Cal smiled at Luna. "My name is Calista. Everyone calls me Cal, though." She jerked a thumb at Matias. "That's my best friend Matias."

She saw Matias wave once.

"Stay still," the lakare instructed. "Let's hope that Tenebrarum plays fair enough to use clean bullets. If not, you're in for a fun ride until Soturi."

Metal tweezers in hand, the lakare carefully pulled the bullet out of Matias's leg. He dropped it in a tin, set the tweezers down, and started stitching up Matias. Matias's jaw was clenched, his face etched with pain, as the medic stitched him up.

"You're doing great, Matias," said the medic.

"Thank you, Daktari," said Matias, his voice dripping with pain-filled sarcasm.

Daktari bandaged up Matias's leg then elevated it on some pillows.

"Now it's your turn, Luna," said Daktari, crossing over to treat her.

They took off her travel coat, leaving her in a white tunic.

"So where are you from, Luna?" asked Cal.

"Valon, just like you," she replied.

"I don't remember seeing you with any of the royal houses. Are your parents wealthy merchants?" asked Matias.

She shook her head.

"Done," said Daktari.

Luna looked down at her arm. "Thank you."

Daktari grabbed more bandages, a bowl of ice water, and a clean cloth. He sat down on the stool he dragged over. He took her hand in his and dipped it in the water. "There's not much I can do for these burns other than bandage them."

She turned her head to look at Akaljot. "Why do you look so horrified? I thought that you would be more desensitized to these kinds of things."

Akaljot tensed.

"You two look like you two could be related," piped Luna.

Akaljot's scowl deepened. "I have seen people do horrible things. I watched my own cousin burn my men alive and turn them into ash with his flames. I have seen and heard about humans injecting magic-wielders with iron, to both root out and torture them, as part of a genocide. I have even endured torture myself. But never, in all my centuries of military service, have I seen someone trap a person in iron—with fire magic, mind you—as a form of torture. It hurt seeing someone in so much pain be so desperate to end it." Akaljot dragged his eyes—Cal's eyes—to meet hers. "Especially when it's your own daughter enduring that maddening hell."

Daktari paused bandaging her hand. Luna's jaw dropped.

"What?" Cal asked dubiously. "You have to be joking."

He shook his head. "I wish I was." Akaljot raised a hand, a ball of sunlight in his palm.

Her sunlight.

"Impossible," Cal breathed, her eyes wide.

"Not impossible," said Akaljot. "Just... rare. There's one other just like you."

"I'm glad that one of those rumours was proven wrong," Melania had said.

"They call you that because you can't wield fire. They think that you're illegitimate," Miles had told her a lifetime ago.

Heir of Nothing.

Tears pricked her eyes. She was an illegitimate child. The rumours were true.

"I'm a bastard," she murmured, her voice cracking. Her tears spilled over, running like waterfalls down her cheeks.

She felt Matias's fingertips on her shoulder. Everything is going to be okay, it said.

Everything was not okay. The Everlight was her father and she was a bastard.

"What about Khalesi and Aerys?" Matias asked, changing the subject.

"I got Lucas, Frida, and Igor looking for your horses," said Akaljot. "They should be back by dawn."

"Hopefully," he grumbled.

"Do you know who attacked us?" asked Luna.

"Tenebrarum," was all Akaljot said.

Now it was Matias's turn to curse.

"Gods be damned, of course Melania decided to get troops to follow us," he grumbled.

"We've got them on the run," said Akaljot. "You three should get some sleep. We're leaving for Soturi at dawn."