The horses are sheltered in the woods, hidden from thieves and gangs. I skim stones in the river, throw my knives, and eat the bread and cheese Ma threw together. Tug finally shows up . His muscular form ripples through the dappled light of the branches, and my heart grows lighter, despite his dark mood. Gray rings around his eyes accentuate the beastliness of his tattooed face. I hop up onto my horse, ready to get going.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growls.

"I'm going with you to the Hybourg."

He begins attaching his saddle bags. "I don't want you to come."

"I'm coming whether you like it or not."

"You don't even know why I'm going."

"Whatever the reason, it will not change my mind."

With the weight of the saddlebags evenly distributed on his stallion, Tug struggles to mount. I suspect a night of heavy drinking is the cause.

When he is on the horse, he narrows his gaze. "Look at me. Do you want to end up like this? Your Pa is by far the better man, Mirra. You should follow his council, rather than follow me."

"You're my best friend."

Tug snorts. A hard mask drops over his face.

"So you're ready to go and save Brin?"

If my anticipation to leave was a fire, he has just smothered the flames.

"What?"

"Brin needs twenty gold coins, or the gang he owes will start chopping bits off him."

Tug is going to leave his newborn child for Brin? Brin, his shadow-half, a distillation of the worst of Tug with none of Tug's redeeming qualities.

When I shot Trix in Blackfoot forest, and Tug and Brin came after me for revenge, it was Brin who saw the gold he could win in Kel's glittering eyes. Tug would never have taken him. And it was Brin who wanted to tie me to a tree and abandon me to the wild animals of the forest, rather than take a grown Shadow Weaver with them to sell in the Hybourg. Brin and I never trusted each other, and we certainly never liked each other.

"Still want to come?" There is a nasty, bitter edge in Tug's voice.

"I thought Brin was recovering near the Red City."

"Not anymore."

"I thought the Prince sent him his share of the gold coins. He cannot have spent them already?"

"He has spent them, and his debt is large enough for his debtors to cut off body parts."

"Hopefully, they will start with his tongue," I snap.

Tug turns his stallion around and pulls her up alongside my mare so we are face to face.

"How much gold are you carrying?" he growls. When I ran from the Ruby Palace after poisoning Lord Strik, the Prince paid Tug the gold he was owed, but he also sent a purse of gold for me.

My attention moves to the leather string pulling on my neck, the pouch full of coins pressing against my loadstone.

"I am not giving any of them to free Brin. Not one." Tug leans forward in his saddle to intimidate me. It is working.

"Then why are you carrying them?"

I open my eyes wider and raise my shoulders in a casual shrug. He laughs—a mean, cruel laugh. My defenses lock into place. Tug has not behaved like this with me since the bird-men attacked us and almost killed Brin.

"Tell me you don't think you're going to walk into the Pit, buy all the Uru Ana children and then walk out of the Hybourg with them."

All emotion in me freezes. I lost sight of the beast face for a while. Almost forgot the cruelty waring in my friend, but it is still there, waiting for the opportunity to surface.

"I am going to see whether the royal decree pronouncing the Uru Ana legal citizens of Caruca has made any difference in the Hybourg."

Tug tuts and shakes his head as though looking at a lost cause. "You're going to buy glitter-eyed children. And if you get them out of the Hybourg—what will you do with them?"

"Maybe I'll give them to Sara. She seems to get along fine taking care of fatherless kids."

Tug's jaw clenches so hard I'm afraid it will crack. I regret the jibe at once, but it's too late. The damage is done. I turn my mare and urge her forward, cantering northeast in the direction of the Hybourg.

Twenty minutes later, I slow to a trot and glance behind to see if Tug is with me.

Thank the Gods, he is.

We spend the rest of the day in cold silence, alternating between trotting and walking the horses. Occasionally, we stop in streams to fill our flasks and let the horses drink. Sometimes we move into the camouflage of the woods to avoid others on the path.

After so many weeks as travel companions from the Red City to Lyndonia, and from Lyndonia to the longhouse, Tug and I sense each others' rhythms. When I am so sore from riding, I think I will fall off my mare, we stop and prepare the evening fire. I stir grain in a pot, while Tug gathers wood to weave a shelter. We built it together before eating.

After we have eaten, I sprinkle water over the wooden bowls to clean them off. I want to apologize, but every time I try to get the words out, my voice blocks in my throat. Tug acts like I'm not even there.

The distance between us reminds me of when Kel and I were his captives. This is the time I call to mind as Tug kicks down and closes his eyes, face cold and dark and impenetrable. But when I hear him snoring, I scoot over so that I am curled up, my back touching his back.

I slip into a restless sleep. I am climbing the narrow staircase in the old tower where Duchess Elise hid Kel. Then I am in the circular tower room. I peer into the blackness, knowing Kel is there but unable to see him. And then his eyes open, and gold flecks spark and shimmer in the dark.

I wake in a panic and suck in a deep breath. Panic hits me again when I hear a male voice talking nearby. Beside me, Tug is still asleep.

I stretch out my awareness and sense three men. Soft sunlight pours through the holes in the weave but through half-closed lashes, I glimpse one of the men's eyes and his long, braided hair. My whole body tenses, ready to leap up. But then the man moves away, and the three minds walk toward our horses.

My mare whinnies. I do not need to go into one of the men's minds to see that they are stealing our transport. I am about to get up and stop them when Tug's fist grabs my arm.

"No." His voice is so soft, so light, it is barely a whisper.

I can't let them take Dancer!

Tug senses my defiance and grips my arm tighter, giving it a warning squeeze. I roll over to face him.

"They're taking Dancer and Quinten," I hiss.

"Yes."

"You're letting them get away with it."

He claps a hand over my mouth. Furious, I want to squeal and bite him, but these are defensive reactions, not a thought-through response. If I react, the men will hear, and they will return. I push down my need to fight Tug off and grow still. He lets go at once.

I stare at him, chest heaving up and down, while I slip into the edge of one of the men's minds and watch them tying our horses to their own.

A hundred heartbeats later, the men are galloping away, Dancer and Quentin with them.

I roll onto my back and look up through the cracks of our shelter to the blue sky above. My heart feels strangely empty.

"It's just a horse, Mirra," Tug says.

"It wasn't just a horse."

"We are lucky they were simple thieves." He gets up, brushing off moss, dry leaves, and dirt. An image bursts through the mind-world like it has caught fire.

Duchess Elise, auburn curls falling over her young face, begging for pity. A man mercilessly thrusting himself against her.

A young Tug watches through blurry eyes, desperately struggling against his inert body to stop what is happening. But he can do nothing. It is as though he's lost control of his muscles.

My gaze flicks over to Tug's back as he dismantles the shelter. The memory was quick and sharp and swiftly buried. But it has left the metallic taste of fear in my mouth and sickness in my belly.

I shakily help him pack up camp. Neither of us speaks as we bind sticks and ropes to make ourselves backpacks and attach the saddlebags to the frames. At least we had left nothing on the horses. Our covers, change of clothes, food, fireboards, and compass are all with us. And, of course, our weapons.

Within an hour, we leave the camp and begin the long walk to the nearest town. My legs are stiff from the previous day's ride. I might be off crutches, but I do not move with the same ease as I could before Lord Strik smashed the bones of my foot to pieces.

My foot and Tug's memory have something in common: Lord Strik. The man in the memory had Strik's stature, and his dark hair, and had used the power in his voice to stop Tug from intervening. Strik was as warped as he was cruel. Unlike my father who is haunted by the men he killed to save my childhood friend, I have no regrets about poisoning the dark lord.

I imagine the Duchess, Tug's adopted sister and the unrequited love of his life, was also happy to hear the news of Strik's death. Perhaps this was why Tug allowed Elise to marry the Duke when they were in love. The guilt. The inescapable horror of not being able to defend her.

We walk for two hours before we find a town large enough to buy new horses. As we cross to the outskirts of the small market bustle, Tug looks at me.

"Keep your gold hidden, and let me do the talking."

I nod. Yesterday, I might have argued, perceiving his order as a slight on my ability to assess a situation. But this morning's event still lies thick and heavy in my body. Tug will act to protect me. I know that. But it is not just the content of his memory that has disturbed me. It is why the memory broke through at all.

When I first met Tug his mind was like an impenetrable fortress of well-guarded secrets. During our time together, it slowly shifted, but not in a way that would leave him vulnerable.

How did his memory of Lord Strik ravaging a young Duchess Elise make it to the surface? Why is he no longer guarding himself?