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Between a lone hunter and multiple armored soldiers, she knew which she’d have preferred to find her. But today was not Wren’s lucky day—or week, or month, or entire godforsaken year—so with what felt like bile rising up her throat she hacked at the rope around her leg.

She could hear voices now, thick with the Verlantian accent she’d heard from Josenu and the other palace guards. Of all people, Wrendefinitelycouldn’t run into palace soldiers.

What if they’re Arrik’s men?

Wren panicked, blood running simultaneously cold and hot. She thought she might be sick.

What ifArrikis here, just behind those trees?

She had to get free. She had to. Otherwise a fate worse than death was waiting mere moments away for her. Neither Arrik nor Soren would forgive her.

With one last hack of her dagger, the blade blunted by thousands of tiny rope fibers, Wren forgot all about her plan to swing from the net and fell in an inelegant lump. She landed painfully on her shoulder—not at all how she’d been taught to fall—and agony shot all the way down to her fingers. But she had no time to waste by wallowing in pain. Her shoulder wasn’t broken or dislocated, and she’d at least managed to avoid damaging her bow and arrows when she fell. All things considered, it could have gone much worse.

Knowing that heading straight for the rebel camp would mean certain death for the lot of them, Wren made a split-second decision and careened to her right, following the path the stag had made through the trees. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the flash of armor shining silver in the sun.

That was too bloody close.

Every breath Wren drew in was ragged and bruised.

It felt like her heart was going to burst from her chest like some kind of vicious monster.

What if they saw me? What if they saw me? What if they saw me…?

The ruined trap would be a sure-fire giveaway that a human, not an animal, had escaped from the clearing—and recently. Even if the soldiers hadn’t specifically spotted Wren fleeing for her life, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to work out which direction she’d gone and follow out of curiosity.

So she kept running and jumping, over fallen logs and tripping on vines, knowing that to stop meant death. She didn’t even listen for whether the soldiers were in pursuit; she couldn’t afford to. But at least she knew this part of the forest from when the rebels had moved their camp. Wren was beginning to recognize specific clearings and giant trees, giving her an indication of how to redirect herself toward the new camp once she was sure she wasn’t being followed.

If she just got a little farther she’d be free. Around this tree, then down to the burn snaking through the valley, then—

A hand clamped over Wren’s mouth and she was yanked against a hard, warm body.

13

WREN

Despite all her training she screamed againstthe large, callused hand that pressed tighter against her mouth.

Calm down and fight.

Wren stomped her foot into her captor’s instep, earning a grunt from him, but his hold never loosened. If anything, he tightened his grip. She clawed at the hand covering her mouth, noting how her captor’s shadow swallowed her own. He was clearly large and—going by the force with which he pressed against her mouth—much stronger than she was. She needed to release the panic and focus on his weaknesses.

Think, Wren, think.

She didn’t have the element of surprise. She’d lost a dagger to the trap. And her bow and quiver were uselessly locked between her back and her captor’s chest. There was no way she could unsheathe her sword either.

Wren acted on instinct. She latched her teeth on the skin of his palm and bit until she tasted blood. The man hissed yet didn’t release her. She needed something else.

Elbow him in the gut and then the groin. Then run.

She released his hand and jammed her elbow into his muscled stomach. Immediately, he let go and roughly spun her around to face him.

Her stomach dropped and she blinked repeatedly as if to dispel the nightmare before her.

Her husband glared down at her and roughly wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her against him, trapping her arms. Arrik put a finger to his lips, warning her to stay quiet.

Him. The monster.

Horror mixed with something else entirely froze Wren to the spot, dissolving the scream in her throat. Arrik’s face was painted with an intensity so fierce that she couldn’t catch her breath.