When Daivad heard the clang of metal, he knew immediately who the culprit was. The sight when he arrived at the pen stunned him. The bars blown off the cell, Lenna spitting every nasty word she could get her tongue on and trying to limp off in the direction of Nyxabella’s scent on only one working leg.

“What happened?”

“The bitch paralyzed me,” Lenna snarled. “Get her!”

Later, Daivad and Lenna would have a talk about her tone, but for now Daivad just ordered an alarmed passer-by to fetch Kadie, and took off after the girl’s scent. What he found at the end of the trail was only slightly less stunning. The girl, standing before her scrawny beast with protective arms spread out, the tattoos up her sides shifting through various glowing hues though her knives were still sheathed. Sen, sword drawn, looking utterly bewildered. And Kunin, head cocked to one side, then the other, fascinated by the stream of monstrous sounds coming out of Nyxabella’s mouth.

Without ceasing her speech, she smiled at Daivad, then slipped back into the language of man. “Apologies for the ruckus, Daivad. I guess Clarix snuck past Kunin here,” she sent Kunin an awed smile, “and I didn’t want anyone to hurt her. I’ll put Lenna’s magic right and come back to the cell, no problem. Just please don’t hurt her. She’s no threat.”

Her tone was easy, but her taut stance and her still-flaring tattoos belied her intent. She was balanced precariously between fight and flight, and it would take the slightest breeze to send her one way or the other. The beast had gone so still that if not for the panicked beat of its hearts, Daivad wouldn’t know it was alive. It didn’t even breathe.

“What did you do to Lenna?” he asked, stalling.

“Only severed the flow of her magic. It’ll take mere minutes for my hands to repair, but it’ll also just repair itself in a few hours.”

Sen was watching him, ready to respond the instant Daivad gave an order, but Daivad just waved him away. “Back to your post.”

“Sir,” he said, and cast the girl and her beast one last bewildered look before heading back toward camp.

Nyxabella didn’t relax, though she did lower her arms. Foam from the monster’s lips dripped onto her bare shoulder—she must have left her cloak back in the cell.

“How did you get out?”

With a sheepish smile, she said, “Magic.”

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He kept a hard glare on her. Heard her heartbeat quicken, and the smile faded. Seconds passed in uncomfortable silence. He could see her trying not to squirm.

Finally, she mumbled, “Metalwork,” then in a clearer voice started rambling, “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to use much magic, I figured it’d come out weak like normal and I was so worried about Clarix I overdid it—I really didn’t mean Lenna harm. Is she alright?”

“She’s ready to kill.”

“Ah,” she cringed. “Guess I can’t blame her much. And she already didn’t like me. I swear I’ll repair the flow of her magic.”

“I doubt she wants you near her.”

“It’ll take mere min—”

“Who taught you?”

She sucked in a quick breath and edged back the slightest bit, into the beast behind her. “I grew up in the circus. I was a dancer, an acrobat, and there was a healer there who would treat us pre-and-post-performance or practice. She was a master at magic of the anatomy, specifically the flow of magic through the body, and since I can see and feel magic it was easy for me to pick it—”

He severed her sentence with one word, “Earthbreaking.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, though he suspected she’d known the weight of his question the whole time. “I… I’ll answer all your questions, Daivad. Each one. Just,” she glanced at Kunin, “please don’t hurt Clarix.”

For the first time since he’d met this girl back in Urden, he felt he had the upper hand. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear splitting whistle that made the monster throw its head and Nyxabella finally draw her knives.

“Put those away,” he growled at her.

“Swear.” Her eyes went distant, looking at something he couldn’t see. “Swear she won’t be hurt. Please.”

Right when Daivad heard the approaching pawsteps, the monster shrieked and reared. If Nyxabella had pulled the beast into her arms an instant later, knives still clutched in her hands, the beast would have bolted. She sang, and the warped notes were heavier now. They weighed down her jaw, her lips as they dropped from her mouth, and as they fell to the earth, they took the atmosphere with them. The air around them settled, the trees and critters quieted. Daivad became aware of the tug of gravity.

He would swear that the forest floor beneath them bubbled and softened, lush, sweet-smelling grass inviting him to settle in and relax a while. Just as he had that thought, the beast sunk to its knees, its bony, fanged head drooping. It had calmed so much that when Maxea rushed in, all it did was lift its sagging head and blink its big, pale eyes slowly.

Mentally shaking himself, Daivad said, “Enough of that,” but even that came out gently.

Nyxabella let her song fade out, but stayed crouched beside the beast in her arms. “She’s no threat.”

Daivad let the growl of an order bubble into his words as he spoke to Maxea. “Watch the monster. Keep it here.”

Maxea flicked her ears, an acknowledgement.

With an enormous sigh, Nyxabella finally melted. One last squeeze for the monster, and then she stood to face him. “Thank you.”