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Blast it all.

Wren had stepped into a trap.

12

WREN

Wren took a moment to breathe and absorb her surroundings.

So she’d stepped into a trap…

It hadn’t killed her instantly, which meant it was likely not meant to be fatal. Scanning the underbrush, then the tree above her, Wren noted the barest hint of a rope entangled through leaves.

A net, then.The moment you lift your weight off the trigger, it’ll ensnare you.

She briefly entertained the notion that she’d be able to out-speed the mechanism of the trap and get away unscathed. But Wren knew she’d be fooling herself; she wasn’t nearly fast enough to get away from the automatic trap.There was nothing else she could do but shift her weight, accept her fate, then pray she had enough time to cut herself free before the person who set the trap returned to check if it had been sprung.

Here goes nothing.

Bracing herself, Wren forced her eyes to stay open as she lifted her foot and was hauled up, up, up by a rope around her ankle. As she ascended, Wren watched the beautiful stag jolt and then flee.

It was ironic that her prey had watched Wren become someoneelse’sprey.

A thick-woven net enclosed around her once she was dangling high above the forest floor. It knocked the wind out of her, but Wren knew she had to jump into action sooner rather than later, so she fought through it.

Struggling against her bonds, Wren peered below her to inspect the fall she’d have to absorb. No more than three times her height,she deduced, relieved. With the soft blanket of autumn leaves on the ground she’d likely come out of the fall bruised but otherwise unscathed, so long as she fellproperly.

Her stomach rolled and her heart picked up speed.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic,” Wren murmured as she struggled for one of her knives. Her heart rate had accelerated, adrenaline coursing through her veins informing her that she was, conversely, very close to panicking. She’d let her confidence put her too much at ease within the unfamiliar woods. Her aunt had been right, and so had Bram.

She should have stayed put in camp.

If there had been no rope tied around her ankle, it would have been easier to get her daggers, but her movement within the net was limited. Her bow and quiver were tangled in the net, too, and her sheathe was caught at an angle that prevented her from moving much on her left side. Scowling, Wren wriggled and shifted until finally her right hand grasped the well-worn handle of the dagger she kept on her belt.

When the blade was free, she brought it up to inspect. It was sharp—she’d fixed the edge of the blade a few days ago—but the net ensnaring her and the rope around her ankle were thick and well-woven. Expensive.

Just whose trap did you stumble into?

It didn’t matter. She needed to get out now.

Wren tore at the net with her blade. Panic continued to bubble in her chest all the while. At the rate she was going, she would be lucky to escape the trap in its entirety within the hour. The blood rushing to her head made it difficult to think.

She peered back the way she came through the forest, then kicked and struggled within the trap until the rope spun her around to face the opposite direction. It was important for her to know where the hunter who had set the trap would come from. Given she’d come from the rebel camp, and that the rope was far too high quality for it to have belonged to them, it was a reasonable guess that the trap’s owner had come from the opposite direction.

Wren kept her eyes trained on the ghost of a path sneaking through the trees, barely more than a squashed footprint of grass here and there, and continued hacking at the net.

Whether because of sheer adrenaline or luck, after about fifteen minutes Wren had managed to cut away enough of the net that, once she tackled the rope around her ankle, she’d be free. If she could grab on to the net on her way down, she should be able to get a decent amount of momentum behind her by swinging.

With some effort, Wren lurched herself into a sit-up, grabbing at her ankle. The net was in her way, but Wren tried to see through it so she could concentrate on getting her leg free.

A crunch through the trees froze Wren to the spot, much like the triggering of the trap had done. The crunch was followed by the snapping of branches beneath feet, and the confident strides of not one but multiple people. Going by the weight of their footsteps, Wren concluded they were men, and likely armored.

Soldiers? Trappers? Someone looking for a reward?

Move now.

Whether the original hunters or armored soldiers, Wren couldn’t risk being found byanyone.