42

Steam swirls at the tops of Caerno Woods. The forest sings, and the rustling leaves whisper a lullaby. Birds and bats, swooping sparrows, and chatty nightingales flutter in the dusk, disappearing into caves and hollows. The nightstar, fat and yellow, climbs higher in the sky behind us.

The wind whistles through the cracks in the logs, and the cacophony of nighttime creatures surrounds us like fog. Veril pants as he catches up with us. I come to a halt as something grabs my attention over all this racket. I hold up a hand. “Stop,” I whisper. “Don’t move. You hear that?”

Jadon and Philia crane their necks. Veril closes his eyes.

There it is. “Baying,” I say.

Veril opens his eyes and nods. “A dog.”

“The emperor’s battalions use bloodhounds to track,” Jadon says.

“There’s only one dog,” I say, “and she’s coming from…” I point to the path to our right. Close-growing blue firs and high grass—a narrow way not well-traveled.

Jadon’s eyes skip from bursts of thick purple orchids to the trio of bright-red cardinals watching us from gnarled branches. He points to a fallen moss-covered tree trunk, home to countless scampering and scuttling insects. “We’ll hide there.”

A long, low howl of a hound dog. Rooooo!

“I hear the dog now,” Philia says as we hurry to the trunk. “They’re getting closer.”

The tree trunk crawls with centipedes, wood lice, ants, and things with spiky legs. Clouds of gnats as thick as smoke buzz and box at the air.

The hound howls again. Roo!

We huddle together in the hiding place, although it takes some effort for Veril to kneel. Jadon’s neck is taut, distress plain on his face—if the soldiers find him, they’ll know he was the one who helped Olivia escape. Philia trembles, and her teeth chatter. Her last encounter with bad men didn’t turn out so well. She’s also carrying the jeweled book that Olivia stole from the emperor. If the soldiers find it, she’s in serious trouble. We’re in serious trouble. But then again, we’re already in serious trouble.

Seeing Jadon’s panic vexes me. I understand the reasons behind Olivia’s escape—forced to marry against her will. For the first time, though, I wonder about Jadon . What were his reasons for leaving his home? Was it simply because his parents treated him with disdain?

Roo!

The battalion draws closer. Clanking armor. The heavy breathing of men. The clomp of horses’ hooves against dirt.

I peek over the trunk.

Jadon hisses, “What are you doing?” The cords in his throat tick against the skin there.

In copper-painted mail and plate armor over blue uniforms, the soldiers ride horses on the cramped forest trail. In the darkness, they glow with amber light, even though their faces are lean and healthy-looking, their eyes sharp and clear. Some soldiers carry torches to light the way, but all move with their backs straight. No chatter as they ride. Swords, bows and arrows, pikes—each weapon clean, shiny. The standard bearer holds a copper-and-blue-striped flag emblazoned with two spotted leopards, an armored hand, and a paddled colure. Beneath it all, the motto: Peace, Piety, Progress.

Philia told us that the men who took Olivia were big…red… soldiers . I’d wondered if she was referring to Elyn’s guards. Now, though, I remember that Philia saw Elyn’s sentinels up close—I think she would’ve made that distinction. Also: she didn’t mention Elyn, not once. And none of the men in this company are wearing red.

A bright-eyed tawny bloodhound wearing a matching blue tunic and copper-painted mail leads the battalion. She lifts her head and calls out. Roo!

“Do something!” I whisper to Veril. “Enchant! Make us look like trees or shrubs or…”

But there’s a problem. He gestures toward the edge of the wood, the place we’d just scrambled from—the place where his staff now rests in bushes just off the road. “I dropped it,” he whispers, “when we rushed over here to hide.”

“What can you do without it, then?” I whisper.

“Handiwork.” He’s already wriggling his fingers.

I look down at my feet. Shit!

Jadon and Philia also startle as our feet suddenly resemble tree roots.

Good but not good enough.

I frown and rotate my hand. “Quicker! More! Quicker!”

And now, our calves look like moss-covered trunks.

“Hurry, Veril,” I plead.

Strain shows in the old man’s face, and veins run wild across his cheeks and forehead.

The enchantment rises to our thighs…our bellies… Slowly, we rise, standing and straightening like the trees we are becoming.

Roo!

I close my eyes. My mind spreads like melted butter, and the world beyond us becomes blurred and gauzy.

Roo! Roo! The dog snuffles at the ground, more excited than before. She smells us.

Good dog. She’s achieved what she’s been trained to do.

Bad dog. That means finding us and hastening our deaths.

The clanking and clomping near—but the snuffling dog will find us first.

Jadon’s eyes bulge with dread. Leaves now protrude from his chin and cheeks—he’s half man and half oak. Leaves poke from his forehead, but his eyes… Still bright blue, still human.

“Close your eyes,” I think at Jadon.

His eyes snap shut.

Did he actually hear me?

Veril squeezes his eyes shut…pressing…disappearing behind a facade of leaves.

I guess enchanting people takes more effort than enchanting cottages and dying forests.

The bloodhound trots over to stand before me. On the other side of Veril’s concealment, she’s blurred and gauzy. Drool hangs like strings from her mouth. She sees me through the evolving enchantment. I can’t tell if she sees Veril, Jadon, or Philia—or if she cares to. Right as she tilts her head back to howl again…

I hold my finger—which is still my finger and not yet a twig—to my lips. Shh.

The dog stops and cocks her head. “It’s you!”

I blink at her. “Do we know each other?”

Jadon commands the dog in his mind. “Go away! Shoo!”

“Daisy!” a soldier shouts.

The dog pants, pleased with herself, happy to see me.

Affection swells within me—Daisy is a cutie—but she needs to leave.

I shush her again.

“What is it, Daisy?” that same soldier asks. “What did you find?” He comes to stand on the other side of the log. His skin is as brown as tree bark, and his eyes are the same green as the moss on this trunk. His armor looks like it was made only yesterday.

“Why does she keep doing this?” another man whines, coming around to our side of the log. His flame-red hair bleeds into his bushy beard.

“Because alerting is her job,” the moss-eyed man answers.

I flick my hand at the dog. “Move back, please.”

Daisy backs away and dips her head. “Why can’t I come closer?”

I flick my hand again. “Because I need to hide. Move back a little more, please.”

Daisy takes another step away from me. She pants with excitement. “How’s this?”

I can’t see Jadon, but I can hear him thinking, “What the fuck is going on right now?”

How much longer can this enchantment last?

There are two columns of men on horseback. I count…one, two…five…fourteen total.

The cords in Veril’s neck pound against his skin.

Shit-shit-shit. I can see him now. Does that mean the emperor’s men can see him, too?

What do we do? What do we — ?

Horses!

“Hey.” I call to them in my mind. “Over here, by the fallen trunk.”

Four of the soldiers’ magnificent steeds swivel their heads in my direction.

“What are your names?” I ask.

“Snowfeet,” says the pretty black mare with white ankle hair.

“Essen,” the gray stallion says.

“Jinx,” the orange-brown mare says.

“Orchid,” the wheat-colored mare says.

“These men are a danger to me,” I tell them. “I need you to pretend you’re spooked. Do it, though, when I say.”

Essen flicks his tail and snorts. “Only to be whipped, Lady?”

“I promise you that any rider who lifts a hand to strike you,” I say, “he will lose that hand and will suffer for the rest of his life.”

Essen nods. “Yes, Lady.”

“Of course, Lady.”

“Not one will have any hands, then.”

“Serves them right.”

“You, soldiers,” a man shouts from the line of troops who have passed us. “Shall we move forward, or shall we watch you hold hands for the rest of the day?” He has the crisp diction of an educated man. His words wear spikes.

“Ser…Ser Wake,” the handler stammers, and then, curling his lip, he glares down at Daisy. “Stupid bitch,” he mutters, “always getting me in trouble.”

If he kicks her, I don’t know what I’ll do. That’s not true. I know exactly what I’ll—

Wait, did he say Wake ? As in Emperor Wake ? Can’t be. Why would someone so important—someone believed to be Supreme as man—be leading this raggedy group of soldiers? Can’t be the emperor.

I twist to look behind me, trying to spot the emperor in the line of soldiers.

“This one right here — Wake. Start with him . ” Essen’s voice cuts through my mind. “He uses his whip on poor Morningfire without stop.”

I glower. “He’s a poor horseman, then.”

“What’s he doing over there?” Wake rides over on Morningfire. He has golden hair and fleshy lips. His armor is coated in more copper paint than all the copper ever mined, with no tarnish or scuffmarks. His cloak gleams like silver waves rolling from his back. He looks too young to be the emperor—even if he’s been granted long life. No, he’s Ser Wake. A son. Is he the son who was betrothed to Olivia? “Why are we stopped?” he asks. “We don’t have all day.”

Wake’s voice is whiny, smug, and high-pitched, like if a peacock could talk. My shoulders shudder, listening to him speak. By the way Jadon is clenching his teeth, by the way his shoulders also hunch to his ears, I’m guessing Wake’s voice hurts him, too. Despite Olivia stealing from me again and again, despite my growing resentment for her, Jadon cared for that thief enough to free her from this man. Even I concede that it must be painful for him to hear Wake’s voice knowing that Olivia is in danger.

My stomach sours in Wake’s presence. The air pulses with strange power. Magic? It must be another enchantment, but one not spun by Veril. Do Philia and Jadon feel this, too?

Daisy’s handler clears his throat. “We stopped, Ser-Ser Wake, because Daisy thought—”

“I don’t really care what Daisy thought ,” Ser Wake spits. “I care only about what Daisy finds . And I’d hate to get rid of yet another dog because she’s found nothing but her own tail. Has she picked up a scent this time?”

“Yes, yes, ser. Going toward Pethorp, seems like,” the handler says. “Daisy’s a good tracker. Better than her brothers.”

Daisy drops her head, then blinks at me with sorrowful eyes. “They killed my brothers.”

I remain perfectly still, anger crawling like ants over my arms. “I’m so sorry.” I wish I could pat Daisy’s head as reassurance—because she is a good girl. “They won’t hurt you ever again,” I tell her . “And I’ll avenge your brothers. Promise. Just lead them away from us.”

The bloodhound pants, then moseys in the direction from which we’d just come. She trots some, then lifts her head. Roo!

I watch her go and glance back at Ser Wake. From his seat atop Morningfire, he surveys the woods again, his blue eyes skipping over our fallen trunk. “That woman,” he says.

“Yes, Ser Wake?” the man beside him asks. His skin is leathery-tan, and his blond hair isn’t as golden as Wake’s, its unnatural shade more straw than silk. He’s bigger than Wake—two Wakes wide and two Wakes tall—and so his horse must be large, too. He wears nice-but-not-as-nice armor, and the scars on his cheeks and square jaw speak of battles and hand-to-hand combat…unlike Wake, who, from the looks of it, has never even cut his face shaving. If I were to guess, the big soldier admires Wake and has tried to copy him, down to the weird, blond hair. Who is he? Why is the air around him so heavy?

“She told us that they would be traveling this road,” Wake says now. “She practically guaranteed that I would find them heading this way. ‘Trust me,’ she said. Ugh. Should’ve known. You can’t trust a woman with a face like that.”

Which woman?

Can’t be Olivia—he’d know those innocent-looking big eyes and honeyed tongue.

Elyn, white-haired and powerful, promising gifts and riches? Would she have had time to tell them, though? Her cardinals only just spotted us as we entered the woods.

The big soldier’s yellow eyes, so stark against tanned skin, drag across the forest. He pulls those eyes in our direction—is he sensing something? He lifts his leg to dismount.

“Now!” I think to the horses.

Snowfeet, the black mare with white ankle hair, rears, keeping her rider in place. Wake’s horse does the same, and soon, all the horses are bucking and neighing.

“What’s happening?” a soldier asks.

“Something’s spooked ’em,” another soldier shouts.

The clomp of hooves and the whoops of men scrambling to hold on to their mounts is the pandemonium I need. “Go, now!” I command the horses. “Go!” I tell Daisy.

Off they go! On Jinx, on Orchid, on Essen and Snowfeet!

Just as the last soldier rides away, Veril clamps his hand over his mouth and the gauzy blurred veil drops.

I take a gulp of air.

Jadon hides his face in his hands and looks like he just escaped a brush with death.

I suppose, in a way, we all did.

We take a moment to catch our breath. But my breath only comes faster as I recall my conversations with Daisy and the horses. Those soldiers, those abusers, those fuckers . Beating horses and killing dogs? Who do they think they are? How would they like to be threatened, spurred and horse-whipped, and then forced to march the realm in search of bullshit?

“Kai,” Philia says with great caution, “are you okay? Your…” She points at her own eyes. “The gold in your eyes… The color’s swirling. Like a sandstorm.”

“Yeah, I feel it. Just need a moment.” I rub my tender scalp and take deep breaths. Didn’t realize that I was that angry. Once my heart slows, once my eyes cool, I smile at Philia, then turn to the Renrian and say, “Thank you for hiding us.”

Veril waves away my gratitude, no big thing, but he looks knackered after such an effort.

“Was that Ser Wake, Olivia’s jilted fiancé?” I ask.

Jadon winces as he massages his temples. “Yep. That was Gileon Wake.”

Sweet Supreme , that girl can pick some enemies.

We gather our things, take more relieved breaths, and stride in the opposite direction from the troop, who are now headed to Pethorp, thanks to the misguided words of that mystery woman. The forest’s breath is a cold whisper against my skin as we creep ahead. Jadon’s hand rests lightly on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes dart from path to tree to the road ahead like a hawk’s. Staff back in hand, Veril remains focused on the path we’re traveling. Philia clutches her cloak and murmurs a prayer for our safe passage.

“The soldier with the fake blond hair and yellow eyes,” I ask Jadon. “Who is he?”

Jadon says, “I believe he’s called ‘Sinth.’”

“Is he human?” I ask.

Jadon crumples his eyebrows. “He’s Dashmala. They’re great warriors. Hard to kill. Like they’re made of stone and steel. They don’t use magic, but they are very intuitive. He clearly sensed something, which is why he was about to get off his horse.”

“Dashmala,” Philia says, fascinated. “He’s a barbarian ?”

“That’s what people in Maford thought I was,” I say, remembering my one-woman invasion of that small, stinky town.

“Because his eyes are almost the same color as yours,” Philia notes. “But his are more muddy yellow than gold. It’s like…you came from the same field, but you had better soil and more sunlight.”

I search my memories for the Dashmala but come up blank. “Veril, you told me the Dashmala resented you for sending their soldiers into a chasm.”

Veril doesn’t answer. With eyes narrowed, he’s looking back in the direction of those soldiers. Finally, he pulls his gaze to meet mine. “What’s that, dearest?”

“You and the Dashmala have a history,” I say. “Battle of Riddy Vale, correct?”

Jadon and Philia say, “What?”

Veril meets my eyes, then turns to them. “We—the Renrians—faced off against them way back then. A number of Dashmala warriors fell victim to our enchantments. We were lucky the soldier riding beside Prince Gileon didn’t spot me. Dashmala hold grudges. Grudges are passed down by the Dashmala from generation to generation, inherited like cottages and dressers.”

Philia snorts. “He was one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen.”

I look back over my shoulder, in the direction the soldiers rode. “Should we…?”

“Should we what?” Jadon interrupts, frowning. “Go back and kill him?”

I hold Jadon’s gaze. “Maybe?”

“No.” His answer is immediate and final.

“Don’t worry, Lady,” Veril says. “That battle occurred long ago. I don’t know the man, never met the man, will never see him again. There’s no reason to do something so—”

“Preemptive,” I say.

Veril nods. “Correct.” He looks back one last time—there’s worry in his eyes.

“Let’s keep moving before we run into more men,” Jadon says.

As the road unfolds before us, I see a glint and a sparkle at the corner of my eye. An iridescent trail winks before me. “Look there.” I point, my heart quickening. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Jadon eyes the gloom.

An eclipse of moths—red, gold, and blue—flutters above the trail, illuminating the darkness, leaving sparkling dust in their wake. One by one, moths leave the group and flutter forward, in the direction we’re traveling.

This means the soldiers we just passed don’t have the amulet. My pendant is not far off. Neither is Olivia if she’s still the person holding on to it.

“There’s a path,” I say, closely watching the sharp shimmer fade as the last moth flutters above the dust and then flutters away to join her sisters. “But it’s waning. The shimmer is dissipating. Let’s hurry,” I say, shouldering my pack. “We’re going in the right direction.”

“Because of this path only you can see?” Philia asks.

“I can see it,” Veril says, smiling.

“If you were magic, dearest,” I say to Philia, eyebrow arched, “you’d see it, too.”

In the distance behind us, a horse whinnies and brays, only to be quickly drowned out by a man’s scream.

I smile. A soldier dared to whip his horse.

Violence begets violence.

Next time, he’ll keep his hand to himself.