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“Yes. No one would expect the king to befollowingsomeone seeking him. Not out in the open.” He glances at my leg again, then back at my face, which surely still bears streaks of blood. “No one knows you’re injured either. If you could manage a faster pace, it wouldn’t give anyone much time to see the state of your injuries anyway.”

Or his weapons. “And what do we do once we’re in Artis?”

“If Master Quint was heading for an apothecary shop, it would most likely be near the town square. The guards would have no reason to hide. If that was their destination, we’d see them in plenty of time to double back into the Wilds.”

I don’t waste time considering. “Let’s go.”

It’s a warm day, the sun beating down as soon as we step out from under the cover of the trees. The horses are eager to canter, but the gelding’s lumbering gait gives me a jolt with every stride, made worse once we reach the cobblestone streets of Artis. My head will never stop aching at this rate, and my leg has turned into a stretch of pain from my waist down to my knee. I refuse to slow, because stopping feels like a guarantee of discovery.

Even still, I’ve begun to sweat through my clothes when we reach the main road leading into the town square. My breathing has grown thin and reedy, and I do my best to ignore it.

No sign of guards. But they must be aroundsomewhere.

I don’t spend much time outside the Royal Sector, so I don’t quite have my bearings, but Saeth calls for a stop near the end of a row of buildings. I’m glad. One of my hands is hooked in the makeshift breastplate, and I have no idea how long that’s been the case. My grip feels like the only thing holding me upright.

Saeth casts a glance around, but when his gaze settles on me, he does a double take. “Your M—Fox. You should not continue.”

I must look worse than I feel. “I can,” I say, and my voice is breathy and quiet, contradicting my words. “Proceed. Are we close?”

He looks around again, reassessing. He nods down the narrow alley between buildings. “If you take the horses down the back to wait in the shade, I’ll go on foot to see if I can find what became of Master Quint and Thorin.”

Sweat drips into my eyes, but I nod. He slips to the ground and hands me the reins, then hesitates. “I shouldn’t leave you.”

“You can’t drag me down the street,” I say, wheezing. “The alley is empty. Go.”

He goes.

The alley is cool and dark, and I draw the horses to a stop under a stretch of awnings. The horses find a rain barrel before I do, plunging their muzzles into the water with abandon.

I’m so thirsty that I’m off the gelding’s back before I have time to consider whether this is a bad idea, but then I’m cupping water in my own hands right alongside the horses.

When I try to get back on the gelding, he lashes his tail and snakes his neck at me, sidestepping away. I’m limping heavily anyway, and I have no desire to fall on the cobblestones.

From the end of the alley, someone yells, and my heart kicks.The chestnut horse spooks, and both animals go trotting down the alley. I’m frozen against the wall, half-hidden by the rain barrel.

But no one comes down this way.

I can’t chase the horses, so I don’t try. I slide along the wall until I’m sitting, my injured leg stretched out in front of me.

Once again, I’m stuck and injured, debating what would be better: to sit here and wait for my fate, or to risk trying to escape.

I can hear every breath that fights its way into my lungs. Against my will, my eyes fall closed. The sweat was stinging anyway. Maybe this is all fruitless and I’ll die in this dirty alley.

The crown is yours, Corrick.

But my brother isn’t here.

A memory flickers in my thoughts, vivid like a dream. I was young, sick with fever, and my nurse had left my bedside. I was nine or ten. Maybe younger. Something cool touched my forehead, then my cheek. I opened my eyes to find my brother there, patting my face with the wet compress.

“Am I doing it right?” he whispered, just before squeezing a stream of water right into my eyes.

The memory is so potent that I can almost feel the cool water. “You’re doing just fine, Cory,” I murmur.

“He’s coming around,” a man says quietly, relief in his tone.

I inhale sharply, then cough. My eyes snap open.

Quint is on one knee in front of me, a wet handkerchief in his hand. Thorin and Saeth are behind him.