Her threat stung. I had been so fixated on Isalio that I hadn't fully considered how my other relationships were now changing. Fraschkit was my best friend—the one who knew me better than anyone—but a wall had grown between us. Did she doubt who I had become? Or did she doubt who I had been all along?

"You will not speak to him again before the trial," she said. "That is an order."

"As you wish," I heard myself say.

Kardki grabbed Isalio's arms, and after a moment of hesitation, the other two soldiers grabbed his feet. The Guardians watched him carefully and avoided touching his bare skin, the way one might carry a sack of roaches. They were not gentle enough for my liking, and they let him swing around far too much. His eyes flicked open and then squeezed shut, face pinched.

I pressed my lips together and dug my nails into my palms to prevent myself from saying something or going after him. He was the Lord of the Night, I reminded myself—and he killed my family. But those words felt like pebbles compared to the cold boulder in my gut. I couldn't stand seeing him so helpless.

"Your father is near the front of the line," said Fraschkit, still watching me.

"Right."

I allowed myself only a brief glance at the wagon Isalio was being loaded into as I passed by. A little further along, I spotted Zuzette walking a ways off from the rest of the humans, and I slowed to speak to her quietly.

"Zuzette, Isalio is in the wagon three back. Can you check on him?"

She didn't bother to lower her voice. "Really? You can't check on him yourself?"
"Fraschkit asked me not to speak to him. Besides, I'm planning for the trial tonight." I inwardly cringed at my second claim. My 'plan' was laughably far-fetched and riddled with holes.

Zuzette dug her fists into her generous hips. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"Just come get me if he needs something."

She expelled a noisy exhale through her nose. "Fine, I guess. I'm serving everyone else, so why not serve you too?"

I frowned. "This is a request, not a demand. Isalio and I both have no power or right to demand anything from you right now."

"But others do."

"If you don't want to serve anymore, I'll tell Fraschkit you need to rest. I'm sure she'd understand."

"Oh, yeah? Will you tell her I'm simply too tired from all of that time serving the Demons? I'm sure that will go over well." She barked a bitter laugh. "Save your arguments for the trial, Guardian. It's not me you need to convince."

She spun away, and I reluctantly continued forward in search of my father. Half of the wagons I passed held supplies, while the other half carried the weakest humans from the barn. Scars marred their bodies, raggedy clothes hung to gaunt frames, and shadows danced in their eyes. Between the walking humans and the ones in the wagons, there must have been at least three humans for every Guardian. I wondered whether the Guardians here were equipped to protect them from returning to that fate.

When I spotted a familiar hobble, nerves tightened my throat. Even if my father had always loved Hefgar more, our good interactions had once outweighed the bad. But remembering the good only made losing him harder.

Pushing aside my trepidation, I caught up to him. "Hey, Dad."

He glanced up at me—and missed a step, teetering sideways. "Remgar!"

I caught his elbow to steady him. "Whoa, you alright?"

"I'm fine, but what about you?" He scanned me with pursed lips. "You're not hurt?"

"I'm not hurt," I confirmed, uneasily, bracing myself for the return of the revulsion I had seen the night before.

He breathed a sigh, shoulders and face relaxing. For a second, peace settled between us, and hope sparked in my chest. Maybe the warm, caring father of my childhood was not all gone.

Then his face contorted in a grimace.

"You idiot, Remgar. Keeping that murderer in your tent! Your mother and Hefgar died to protect you, and this is how you thank them?"

My stomach clenched. He knew they'd died to protect me? Did I tell him that, or did he dream of it?

I drew a breath to maintain composure. "I need to know more about your premonitions, Dad. What do you know about the Lord of the Night?"

"I know he's got full command of my son."

"So you don't remember the vision you told me about? You said we need him—and I believe it. I haven't abandoned our people, Dad. I just believe we can't save anyone without him."

"Don't you dare say that at the trial, Remgar. You should hear how the other Guardians are talking about you. They already think you're his pet now—eagerly obeying his every command. Some of them are still convinced you've been slave-bonded. I wish I could believe that. Nothing could be as shameful as the truth."

I didn't want to hear more, but some masochistic part of me forced me to ask the question that could only end in pain. "What truth?"

His face twisted in an almost-smile more like a grimace. "You're no Guardian."

The words stabbed my chest. I drew a breath, trying to temper the anger swirling in my gut, but the air tasted of bitter poison. My father hated me, Fraschkit didn't trust me, Borgal had betrayed me, and Leader Rakimar was dead. Where did that leave me? Could I be Isalio's protector and still be the protector of humanity I had spent the last fourteen years of my life preparing to be?

My father's hand settled on my shoulder, giving a strangely gentle squeeze. "Remgar, this is bad, but we can still fix this. Just keep your mouth shut at the trial, and I'll beg them to forgive your momentary foolishness."

I jerked my shoulder in a shrug to dispel my father's hand. "I'm not staying quiet, and I'm not giving up on Isalio. He's not the Demon we thought he was. We need him, and he needs us. He needs..."

He needs me.

"Please, son." Replacing the venom from moments ago, his voice just sounded tired. "You have to stop talking like that before the Guardians decide you've truly betrayed us. Please, for my sake, just let it go."

"For your sake? Because you can't handle any more shame?"

"Because I can't handle losing you."

"Why?" Hot tears pricked my eyes and clogged my throat, strangling my voice. "If you think I'm such a spineless fool, what do you care what happens to me?"

He frowned. "For better or worse, you're all I've got."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't die in Hefgar's place."

"Hefgar would never have let that happen."

The breath left my lungs in an audible whoosh. His other words had been painful jabs, but that last line was the killing blow. Suddenly I was transported back into my worst nightmare, standing powerless and frozen while I watched my mother and brother die. Before I could stop myself, I quickened my pace, leaving my father behind me. I couldn't do this—couldn't speak to him anymore.

Couldn't let him watch me break down.

"Remgar," he called from behind me. "Son, wait. I didn't mean..."

I didn't stop to hear the rest.

For the rest of the journey, I busied myself in helping Guardians as they brought water to humans and transferred packs to and from wagons. As I worked, I carefully avoided thinking about what my father had said. Instead, I gauged sentiments and outlined arguments in my head for the trial.

It seemed everyone knew that the High Prince traveled with us, and unsurprisingly, no one trusted him to help us. Many feared the Queen and King would soon track us down, which I supposed was a valid fear. What they didn't realize, of course, was that the Queen and King finding us would not be good for Isalio either.

Isalio...

I tried not to think of how he had looked the last time I had seen him. I wondered if he was being treated well; if he had been able to eat; if he thought I had abandoned him. Then I forced myself to stop wondering before I would do something stupid. Zuzette had not come to get me. For now, I had to accept that as reassurance enough.

Shadows marked the passage of time. At the start of the journey, a parade of clear-cut figures had trailed behind us. Then inky splotches pooled at our feet. By the time we stopped, the shadows stretched long and thin in front of us, eerie dark slices across the darkening sand.

"Sitaklasa," said a nearby Guardian, pointing ahead.

Lights sprinkled the top of a wall lining a hill. Beyond, voices hummed, and smoke curled into the chilly evening air.

A gate cracked open, and a group of Guardians and humans descended the hill toward us, carrying lanterns, Demon-Slayer maces, and crossbows. Fraschkit exchanged a few words with the leader before waving Kardki forward. Based on the rumble of reactions and the tight embraces, this was Kardki's town. I couldn't hear the words exchanged, but whatever Kardki said must have convinced her town's people; the Sitaklasa Guardians waved us forward and dropped their weapons to help carry heavy loads.

The villagers of Sitaklasa greeted us just as warmly. The moment we entered the gates, they guided us down a cobblestone path toward a sprawling courtyard. Lanterns hung from posts around the perimeter, illuminating granite tiles, green grass, and decorative shrubs. A half-circle wooden platform rose above the courtyard at the far end.

As the wagons rolled into the courtyard, I recognized the one holding Isalio. My muscles tensed with the need to go check on him. Was he scared? Was he even conscious?

I caught Fraschkit's eye and dragged my gaze away from the wagon.

A few villagers rolled out giant pots of water and began to add cubed vegetables, meat, and herbs. Other villagers clothed and treated the humans from the barn. Chatter filled the air, along with a savory aroma from the soup. However, my spirits failed to rise along with the others. I knew how easily the Demons could pass over the walls that protected us; how quickly the Morgabeast could tear this town to the ground. And I knew the warm welcome of these villagers would not extend to the Demon Prince.

I whispered a prayer to the First Guardian: please let Isalio give them some good answers, and please let the Guardians believe him. Because while I'd planned out a few arguments I could use at the trial, I had not thought of any back-up plan. If the Guardians decided Isalio should die, I didn't know how to save him.

"It's time." Fraschkit's voice rang out from the platform at the front of the courtyard. "Let the trial begin."