The fierce way that his young friend turned to face him caused the slender stallion to flinch, muscles tensing instinctively beneath his ivory coat. In his fear, he had never paused to think— he hadn’t even considered— that what he was feeling was only a dim echo of Roisin’s terror. Meeting the wild-eyed gaze of the red girl, Iscariot tucked his head apologetically, the points of his pale ears sweeping outward. When this act of repentance earned him nothing but a blank stare, he chewed nervously at the air, doubts creeping forth from the corners of his mind. Maybe Roisin was mad at him because he hadn’t tried to protect her. Maybe she was finally beginning to see him for the craven that he was. Maybe—

—and then she whispered his name and pressed herself so tightly to him his teeth clicked back together.

Even in the midst of the uncertainty they faced, Iscariot allowed himself a moment to savor the warmth of his friend’s touch. It had been far too long since they shared a moment of closeness like this. He had let them drift apart, had hidden himself from everyone and everything that had ever mattered to him. He’d done it because he didn’t deserve them. Not Rivaini who had always watched over him, not Faolain whose courage he would always admire. And not the bay filly who had always treated him like he was whole, and not a broken thing that needed to be mended or kept safely tucked away. Forming bonds with the children of the Ridge— and Roisin in particular— had made him feel as if he might be worth something. Even if the difference that he made in their lives was small.

Warmth had blossomed across the damp, chilly surface of his skin where they touched, but it was fleeting. When his companion pulled away, the last remnants of it fled with her— and reality, cold reality sank back in. No amount of courage could give him the strength to win Roi’s freedom, and he had nothing with which to bargain for it save himself. Watching concern etch deep furrows into the young mare’s face, he longed to tell her that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t even promise her that— the only thing that he could promise was to stay with her until this was over. To share with her in this, so she need not suffer through it alone.

Thank you.

The pale stallion started at those words, wondering whether his thoughts were truly that transparent. Even Rivaini had never shared such a depth of understanding with him; she was too different by nature, fire to his ice. But Roisin... from the day that he had found her weeping for the loss of her mother, at the helplessness that she’d felt, Iscariot had felt a connection to her. Of course, she was growing to be stronger and braver and more selfless than he could ever hope— which she proved in the first questions that she asked of him. Is Faolain okay? And the baby? Not thinking of herself, but of others. Not shying away from the hard truths that he might tell her, but facing them boldly.

"I— I don’t know," he confessed, his own heart sinking at the thought. But then he realized that if Faolain were gravely injured, there was no way Rivaini would not have followed the bachelor, determined to pay him back in kind. "I mean, I think she is, but I didn’t stop to see. My sister must be with her, but I— I thought that you might need me more." His light blue eyes met hers, silently appealing. "I should have fought too, Roi. I— I’m sorry."