Page 47

She woke to a gentle shake.

“Madam Croter uses this to hold open the curtains on her cart.” The little voice whispering in her ear was sweet and low.

Ava bit back a groan as she turned, lifting her shoulder up, and saw Melodie was crouched back down in front of her, a thick velvet rope in her hand.

It was thicker than the magic rope, but it was black, and if she lay with the shawl on and hay covering her, she might get away with it.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll need to put it back before morning, or Madam Croter will notice. Her cart is the one with the red door.” Melodie thrust the rope at her and then disappeared into the darkness, just as Ava heard a man with a deep voice call Melodie's name from the far side of the camp.

Everyone around the fire had been drinking some form of alcohol. Ava could hear it in their voices and in the rising volume of the conversation as she tied the velvet rope around her with shaking hands. But things seemed to be breaking up now, and fear had Ava turning to face the bag.

She was sure it had moved closer, but she managed to pluck handfuls of hay from the thick bed she was lying on and lay them between her and the bag. She also wound the shawl more tightly around herself, and covered her legs up to her waist in hay.

Her feet were freezing.

Sirna couldn’t continue to let her go without clothes and shoes, but her more pressing problem was what to do with the magic rope.

She could wait until everyone was asleep and burn it, and she would do that.

No matter what she did next.

No matter the consequences.

Sirna would have to leave the caravan and go back to tying her up when he found the rope gone, or she could try to substitute the rope for something else. Try to fool him into thinking the rope was still on her.

As the people began calling their goodnights, a horse nickered close by, and Ava twisted slightly to see where it was.

Someone had tied all the horses near each other and she saw a tail swish to the side.

She had thought before that the rope looked as if it had been made from horse hair. If she could find a knife or scissors to cut horse hair with, and if she had the energy to do it, she could work through the night and make a rope of her own.

The energy part of it, in particular, worried her.

Just turning to look at the horses had tired her, and she closed her eyes and sank into a doze.

When she came awake again, it was to giggling.

“She’s fine.” Evelyn’s voice was a little high-pitched.

“Course she’s fine.” Sirna gave a small burp. “She isn’t fuzzy at the edges, is she?”

“The whole world is fuzzy at the edges,” Evelyn said, and they found that very funny.

They laughed all the way back to the cart.

Something about that laughter got to her.

It ignited the first real feeling she’d had, other than gratitude toward Melodie, in days.

She waited for the camp to quieten. Then she waited a little longer, dipping in and out of a light doze.

A bird called suddenly from the bushes, its pure note repeated over and over, and it jerked her awake.

She sat up, hugging her knees, and then slowly, carefully, found her feet.

The bag definitely seemed to be closer than it had been.