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We would reach our destination eventually. I just had to hang on until then. Endure. I could do that. I knewhowto do that.

Except...

I felt the eyes on us. Always. Tracking us, marking our progress as we journeyed, observing us even at night when we bedded down, and in the mornings when we woke, unfolding our bodies into the cold gray.

Every sound felt suspect. A birdcall. A snapping branch. A whispering wind. A chattering creature. I seemed to be the only one nervous, adjusting my grip over and over on the reins as we rode, my hands sweating inside my gloves.

Sleep was hard won. I could blame it on my growing discomfort, my hurting body. The hard ground. The unfamiliarity of sleeping outdoors. The strangers all around me, husband included. Husbandespecially.

Or it could be my gnawing conviction that others lurked in the impenetrable woods, watching... waiting for the right moment to pounce. It certainly put to rest my thoughts of running away. At least for now. I would not flee from one untenable situation into another, into something worse... into what felt like certain danger.

The border warriors were vigilant but undaunted as we rode. They knew themselves, confident in their strength as they sat atop their warhorses, moving fluidly with their beasts. They were formidable. Even I could see that. My gaze flicked to the thick press of trees. Anyone watching us could see it, too. And they were out there. I knew it in the marrow of my bones.

And I was not wrong.

I forgot all about what the grueling pace was doing to my body when we rounded a bend, and they were there, blocking the road, poised atop their mounts, completely at ease, arms and hands relaxed, reins loose between their fingers. Clearly they had been expecting us.

At the front of this motley band, dead center, was a handsome young man with a trim beard who reminded me a bit of Stig, even if he was dressed shabbily, the scarf around his neck tatty and worn.

He smiled widely. His easy manner felt contrary to the tension swimming on the vaporous air. He lifted a hand, flicking it mildly.Instantly his men moved in, unfurling across the road, fanning around us.

“They’re flanking us,” Mari growled in warning.

Fell lifted his fingers in a circular motion, signaling his warriors to action. Our warriors closed in tighter, hands drifting to the weapons at their sides and attached to their saddles—all movements done with an ease and idleness that belied the edge upon which we all precariously balanced.

I might never have traveled this far from the City before, but I knew enough to know that the situation was fraught. Danger thickened the air as Fell’s warriors dropped into multiple rows in a defensive tactic. I was maneuvered behind Fell. They squeezed in on both sides of me, clearly trying to make me less...less.

It was as though by attempting to hide me they only shone a light upon me. The leader sat a little higher in his saddle, craning his head, peering over and around bodies to settle his gaze on me. I knew I looked different from the rest of them. I lacked the bearing and appearance of a warrior from the Borderlands. I was dressed as a Penterran noble, in my riding skirts and cobalt-blue cloak lined and trimmed in pale fur.

“If you wish to pass, you need to pay the road tax,” one of the bandits announced.

Fell pulled his sword free, the steel singing in the air. “I will pay no tax.” His words rumbled loose from him in an almost bored manner. Perhaps he was not surprised. Had he sensed them watching us, tracking us, too?

“We are no defenseless travelers,” Arkin cut in. “You’ve picked the wrong people to fuck with. Now stand aside, dogs.”

The leader snapped his gaze to Arkin, his nostrils flaring, and I wondered if it was the wisest course to insult him.

Fell muttered Arkin’s name under his breath while training his gaze steadily on the leader. “Penterran roads are free to all travelers,” he inserted in an unruffled voice, smooth as churned butter.

“Penterranroads?” The leader grinned a toothy smile, although his words held no lightness, and his eyes were cold as night as theyscanned us. “You’ve been misinformed. This road is mine. All who wish to use it must pay a toll.” He scratched his bearded jaw with long fingers. His speech and manner were quite refined. Not what I would expect from an outlaw here along the edge of nowhere.

“Should have taken another route north,” one of the bandits suggested with a mocking twist of a smile, revealing his rotting teeth.

“What other route? Through the boglands? Or the skog?” Arkin’s expression revealed how intolerable he found either.

I’d heard of boglands, treacherous swamps where no one traveled, much less lived. The marshy ground was unstable. One wrong step plunged man and beast into sinkholes, never to emerge again. I’d never heard of the skog, and I filed that word away to ask about later.

The leader nodded, feigning a look of contemplation. “Those are options.”

“Go ahead. Take your chances in the skog,” Rotting Teeth encouraged with enough relish to let me know this would be the worst choice.

“Or,” the leader suggested with an air of magnanimity, gesturing to the road ahead, “you can pay the toll and be on your way.”

“We traveled south this very route weeks ago without you jackals harassing us,” Arkin complained.

The leader shrugged. “Well. We must have been occupied elsewhere. Now we are not. Now we are here, and you need to pay us.”

“How much do you want?” Arkin snapped.