Nila stood by the wide stone hearth, watching as the sun dipped low behind the jagged peaks of the northern ridge, her bare toes burrowing into the soft wool rug.

She had shed the cream-colored vest and the heavy shearling boots, wearing only her charcoal tunic and loose trousers. Her hands, still smelling faintly of wild rosemary and wild honey, were wrapped around a fresh mug of hot water.

She was exhausted. Her muscles ached yet, beneath the tiredness, the silver fire in her veins thrummed with happiness. She had saved a little boy from dying.

The heavy timber door burst inward violently.

Kaelen strode into the room, his dark...