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agony from a second wound to his ear. She dropped the sword, and they ran in the only direction open to them.
    They found their way out of the maze of alleyways and back toward the main road leading out of the town, only to realize that one of the assailants, with Finnikin's dagger still embedded in his body, had managed to pursue them. The girl shoved Finnikin toward a horse tied to a nearby post. She grabbed Trevanion's sword out of the scabbard at his side and, without hesitating, held it by the blade and swung its ruby-encrusted handle between the legs of their pursuer. He heard a crack and knew it wasn't the handle that had shattered. The howl of agony was enough to wake the dead.
    Finnikin mounted the horse. The girl handed him Trevanion's
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    sword, then planted one of her feet on the assailant's chest for balance and yanked out Finnikin's dagger. She held out her arm to Finnikin, and he swung her up until she was seated behind him, clasping his waist, with the dagger in one hand. He looked down at her hands, strong and callused and bloody, as they clung to him. He felt her face against his back, heard her ragged breath close to his ear. A sudden desire to hear her voice flashed through him.
    Sir Topher stared at them in shock. Finnikin didn't know whether it was because of the presence of the horse or the half-wild state of the novice. He helped them both dismount, but his eyes were on the girl.
    "She was robbed," Finnikin muttered, beckoning him away. "But she knows how to use a sword."
    "I warned you to keep her away from harm, Finnikin."
    "Sir Topher," Finnikin said, keeping his voice controlled, "she handled a sword and used her wits. I tell you, she's no simpleton. I don't trust her."
    "Handled a sword better than you?"
    "Obviously not, but she still managed to maim two men, last count. One who, in all probability, will not be fathering anyone's child for quite a while."
    They both looked over to where Evanjalin stood, her nose pressed against the horse. Finnikin leaned forward to whisper. "All that silence. It's not right."
    "That would be the vow, Finnikin. The novices take it very seriously."
    "I saw the novices of Lagrami often as a child. My cousin was one of them. They sang; they weaved; they planted roses. They did not fight like a feral trainee in the King's Guard. They did not know the amount of damage the handle of a sword swung between a man's legs could do."
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    "Times have changed, and even novices have had to learn to protect themselves," Sir Topher said. "Why can't you just be happy that she used initiative?"
    Finnikin was silent. He remembered how she had pushed him toward the horse while she took Trevanion's sword to fight. He realized the truth. He was not irritated that the girl had shown initiative; it was that she had taken charge.
    When they woke the next morning, she was gone.
    "She left the horse and her pack, which means she plans to return," Sir Topher said, agitation in his voice. "You'll have to fetch her, Finnikin. Now."
    "She's gone back for the thief," Finnikin said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He took her ring, no doubt, and she's gone back for it."
    One of Sir Topher's rules was to never indulge in sentimentality, never return for what was left behind. Finnikin's eyes strayed toward the road that would lead them to Charyn. From there, with the girl, they would have traveled south to Sorel. On their own, Finnikin knew they would spend time in Osteria, where peace reigned. It was where the Lumateran ambassador now lived, working as the minister for Osterian trade.
    Regardless of how annoying Finnikin found their former ambassador, he pictured the extensive palace library with its well-stocked fireplace and never-ending supply of hot tea and sweet breads.
    "No, Finnikin," Sir Topher said quietly, as if he had read Finnikin's thoughts. "We will not leave her behind."
    So Finnikin returned to Sprie, praying that he would not be the target of four maimed men and a peasant searching