And Sir had no choice—he needed me. There were so few Winterians left, our entire kingdom either dead or enslaved. The eight of us were the only hope our people had. Are the only hope our people have. Because Sir will return from this mission like all his other missions. He’ll go back to analyzing me while I throw my chakram, silent until I shout at him for being so maddeningly quiet. Then he’ll say I have no patience and I’ll growl that maybe I’d control my patience better if he would let me use my fighting skills to help get our conduit back instead of just to get supplies, and he’ll leave without giving in to the argument. I laugh at myself. I’ve spent way too long at camp if I know exactly how my next conversation with Sir will go. Two fingers touch my neck. “Dead.” I whirl around, my chakram at the attacker’s throat a beat before I realize he’s not actually an attacker.
