She gasped at the pain. You're a bit of a disappointment, aren't you? People talk about you as if you're something special, but there's nothing special about a man who pushes a defenceless woman around and calls her names. It's plain ordinary.

He bared his teeth. "I'm to believe that you're defenceless?"

I am against you.

"But not against this kingdom."

I don't stand in opposition to this kingdom. At least, she added, no more so than you, Brigandell.

He looked as if she'd slapped him. The snarl left his face and his eyes were weary suddenly, and confused. He dropped her wrists and stepped back a hair, enough that she could push herself away from him and from the wall, turn her back to him, and cradle her left arm with her right hand. She was shaking. The shoulder of her dress was sticky; he'd made her wound bleed. And he'd hurt her, and she was angry, more than ever before.

She didn't know where her breath came from, but she let her words loose as they came. "I can see that you studied the example of your father before deciding the man you wanted to become," she hissed at him. "The Dells are in fine hands, aren't they? You and your brother both – you can go to the raptors."

"Your father was the ruin of my father and of the Dells," he spat back. "My only regret is that your father didn't die on my sword. I despise him for killing himself and denying me the pleasure. I envy the monster that ripped out his throat."

At that she turned to face him. For the first time she looked at him, really looked at him. He breathed quickly, clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were clear and very light grey and flashed with something that went beyond anger, something desperate. He was little more than average in height and build. He had his mother's fine mouth, but besides that and those pale crystal eyes, he was not handsome. He stared at her, strung so tight he looked like he might snap, and suddenly to her he seemed young, and overburdened, and at the furthest edge of exhaustion.

"I didn't know you were wounded," he added, eyeing the blood on her dress; and confusing her, because he actually sounded sorry about it. She didn't want his apologies. She wanted to hate him, because he was hateful.

"You're inhuman. You do nothing but hurt people," she said, because it was the worst thing she could think of to say. "You're the monster, not I."

She turned and left him.

She went to Archer's room first, to clean the seeping blood and re-bandage her arm. Then she crept into her own room, where Archer still slept. She undressed and pulled on his shirt, which she found lying on the floor. He would like that she chose to wear it, and it would never occur to him that she only wanted to hide her wrists, blue with bruises that he must not see. She didn't have the energy for Archer's questions and his vengeful anger.

She rifled through her bags and found the herbs that prevented pregnancy. She swallowed them dry, tucked herself in beside Archer, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, coming awake was like drowning. She heard Archer making a great clatter in the room. She fought her way to consciousness and pushed herself up, and stopped herself from groaning at the old pain in her arm and the new pain in her wrists.

"You're beautiful in the morning," Archer said, stopping before her, kissing her nose. "You're impossibly sweet in my shirt."

That might be, but she felt like death. She would gladly make the trade; how blissful it would be to feel impossibly sweet, and look like death.

He was dressed, aside from his shirt, and clearly on his way out the door.

"What's the hurry?"

"A beacon fire is lit," he said.

Towns in the mountains lit beacon fires when they were under attack, to call on the aid of their neighbours. "Which town?"

"Grey Haven, to the north. Nash and Brigan ride out immediately, but they're sure to lose men to the raptor monsters before they get to the tunnels. I'll shoot from the wall, along with anyone else who can."

Like a dive into cold water, she was awake. "The Fourth has gone, then? How many soldiers do Nash and Brigan have?"

"My eight, and Roen has another forty to offer from the fortress. "

"Only forty!"

"She sent a good portion of her guard away with the Fourth," Archer said. "Soldiers from the Third are to replace them, but of course they're not here yet."

"But fifty men total to two hundred raptors? Are they mad?"

"The only other option is to ignore the call for help."

"You don't ride with them?"

"The commander believes my bow can do more damage from the wall."

The commander. She froze. "Was he here?"

Archer glanced at her sidelong. "Of course not. When his men couldn't find me, Roen came herself."

It didn't matter; already she'd forgotten it. Her mind spun with the other particular, the insanity of fifty men trying to pass through a swarm of two hundred raptor monsters. She climbed out of bed and searched for her clothes, went into her bathing room so that Archer wouldn't see her wrists as she changed. When she came out he was gone.

She covered her hair and attached her arm guard. She grabbed her bow and quiver and ran after him.

In desperate moments Archer was not above threats. In the stables, with men shouting around them and horses fidgeting, he told her that he would tie her to Small's door if he had to, to keep her off the wall.

It was bluster, and she ignored him and thought this through, step by step. She was a decent shot with a bow. Her arm was well enough to shoot as long as she could bear the pain. In the time it took the soldiers to thunder away into the tunnels she could kill two, maybe three of the monsters, and that was two or three fewer to tear into the men.

It only took one raptor to kill a man.

Some of these fifty men were going to die before they even reached whatever battle they faced at Grey Haven.

This was where panic set in and her mental reckoning fell apart. She wished they wouldn't go. She wished they wouldn't put themselves at this risk to save one mountain town. She hadn't understood before what people meant when they'd said the prince and the king were brave. Why did they have to be so brave?

She whirled around looking for the brothers. Nash was on his horse, fired up, impatient to get started, transformed from the drunken no-head of last night into a figure that at least gave the impression of kingliness. Brigan was on his feet, moving among the soldiers, encouraging them, exchanging a word with his mother. Calm, reassuring, even laughing at a joke from one of Archer's guards.

And then across the sea of clamouring armour and saddle leather he saw her, and the gladness dropped from him. His eyes went cold, his mouth hard, and he looked the way she remembered him.

The sight of her killed his joy.

Well. He was not the only person with the right to risk his life, and he was not the only person who was brave.

It all seemed to make sense in her mind as she turned to Archer, to assure him she didn't want to shoot raptors from the wall after all; and then she swung away to Small's stall to do something that had no logic whatsoever, except, perhaps hidden very deep.

She knew the entire enterprise would only take a few minutes. The raptors would dive as soon as they'd comprehended their own superior number. The greatest danger was to the men at the back of the line who would have to slow their pace as the horses entered the bottleneck of the nearest tunnel's entrance. The soldiers who made it into the tunnel would be safe. Raptors didn't like dark, cramped spaces, and they did not follow men into caves.