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Chapter 10

Morgana

I don’t recognize the name on the sign we pass. We’ve gone too long without passing any major landmarks or cities now, and I’ve lost track of where in the depths of Trova’s countryside we are. But as we follow the road that winds down into a hollow between the hills, I can see the trading post ahead of us.

It’s busy. Wagons and caravans ring the edge of the valley, backing onto stalls. There’s a makeshift canopy rigged up to shield most of it from the elements, creating a roof for people to mill about under as they push carts full of fruits and vegetables, cloth and tools. The noise of lowing and bleating livestock mingles with the chatter of people haggling for the best deal.

I’m hoping to leave here with far better than a bargain—my freedom.

“Thank Classitus—actual bread,” Alastor sighs with happiness as we stop by a baker’s stall. After two days on the road, I’m also tempted by the golden loaves stacked before us, but the pounding in my head reminds me I can’t get distracted.

“I think there’s a dressmaker’s stall over there.” I point to a table piled with a mixture of everyday dresses and formal gowns as well as other women’s accessories. “They might sell cloaks.”

“Get what you need and make some friends,” Leonidas murmurs to Alastor, passing him a purse heavy with coin. I’m not sure exactly where they got it—stolen with the horses or perhaps in the village where Alastor stopped for supplies before—but that’s not my concern.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” he orders me as he strides over to the stall of clothes. His glamour might make him look more human, but it doesn’t hide the flash of threat in his eyes.

“Do you have any cloaks?” he asks the dressmaker, scanning her wares. “My sister had a bit of an accident, fell into a holly bush and ripped hers up.” He indicates my battered traveling cloak, shaking his head like he doesn’t know whether to scold or laugh at me.

“Of course,” the woman says, pulling some from a stack and laying them out for us. Leonidas selects one in a dark green wool, barely looking at it.

“And a dress?” He glances at me. “You said you needed a new one, didn’t you?”

“Erm, yes,” I say, focusing on sounding natural. “Nothing fancy. Just something warm now that the weather’s turned.”

“It has gotten cold, hasn’t it?” the woman hums as she pulls out options for us. “Are you traveling far?”

“Gullert,” I answer, the location of Will’s new home the first thing coming to my head. “Near the coast.”

I’m painfully aware that I can’t let this chance slip through my fingers. I’ve got to find a way to signal to this woman that something’s off here—that I need her help. But with Leonidas by my side, sending the signal will be tricky.

He looks extremely bored. Maybe my recent silence has worked, convincing him that I’m cowed and compliant.

“Oh yes, well you’ll need something warm up there,” the woman says. “But you’ll pass through some fine towns on your way. Perhaps you’d like a dress for an evening out?” Her saleswoman’s eyes glint at me as she tries her luck. “I have some lovely gowns, you know.”

“No, thank you,” I say, though I inject a note of longing into my voice, desperately hoping she will keep pushing.

“Are you sure? A pretty girl like you deserves pretty things. Nothing for a special occasion?”

“She’s fine,” Leonidas says, but the woman ignores him and keeps her eyes on me. She obviously still hopes she can get to his purse through the woman in his life. Leon indicates with a sharp look that he wants me to shut her down, and I will—in my own way.

“Really,” I say, “I don’t need any fancy ones, I already have my dress for Landing’s Day next month.”

The woman’s already packing up our new purchases, and I see her pause, a confused expression on her face. Because of course Landing’s Day isn’t anywhere near this time of year—the day we celebrate Ethira breaking free from Mariste’s ocean prison, to be welcomed by his followers on the shore, is in the spring.

But I assumed a fae who doesn’t worship Ethira wouldn’t know that, and from the prince’s bored expression, I guessed right.

I see the woman take a second look at us, wondering about my mistake and him not correcting me. I widen my eyes just a fraction at her. It seems she’s noticed something’s wrong, but did she pick up on the subtle hint in my choice of holiday? I chose the festival about escape from captivity on purpose. Her frown deepens, and I keep my mouth moving, hoping to distract Leonidas from her confusion.

“Thank you for the cloak and dress though,” I say. “They’re perfect.”

“That’ll be six florins,” she says to Leonidas, who takes perhaps a fraction longer than normal to pick the right amount out of the coin purse, and why not? He’s not familiar with Trovian money. But I see the woman’s eyes narrow, and I meet her gaze as she looks at me once more, a question in her eyes.

“Would you like to change into the dress now?” she asks me, tucking the coin away, and my heart leaps. She’s got the message, and she wants to help. “I know a lot of travelers can’t wait into get into a clean set of clothes.”

“Yes, definitely,” I jump in to answer before Leonidas can say anything. “Is there somewhere I can go for privacy?”

“There’s a ladies’ outhouse next to the cobbler’s stalls. I can show you.”

I can see him wanting to argue, but she’s already asking her neighbor to watch her stall for a moment. The prince glowers at me.

“Unnecessary,” is all he mutters under his breath.

“I can’t wear this flimsy nightdress a second longer,” I mutter back, “I’m freezing.”

Though he still doesn’t look happy, he stops arguing. As the dressmaker rounds her table to lead the way, he follows closely. I hope this woman knows what she’s doing, because I can’t imagine Leon will let me out his sight for long.

“Just over there,” the woman says, gesturing to a hut tucked up beside a grassy bank. I stare at her. I was counting on us being alone for a moment so I could tell her exactly what kind of trouble I’m in.

But she just stands there, pointing the way to me, and I know it would look strange if I hesitate any longer.

“I’ll wait here,” Leonidas says, and I wonder if only I can hear the note of warning in it.

My disappointment mounting, I carry my new dress into the hut. It’s dark and pungent, with thin dividers offering the barest semblance of privacy between the toilets. I figure even if my escape plan has failed, it’s still not a bad idea to go ahead and dress for whatever I’ll try next. We’re not leaving the trading post yet, and there might still be a chance for me to get away with my life.

As I tug off my nightclothes under my cloak and pull on the new dress, the pounding in my head hammers a little harder. Even if I didn’t have the fae breathing down my neck, I’m still in plenty of danger from the fever burning me up.

There’s a knock at the door to the hut, and I wonder if Leonidas is getting impatient…but no, that’s not the side I came in on…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I turn my head toward the noise and see a few chinks of light at the back of the structure. Another door. One the dressmaker knows about—and Leonidas does not .

I hurry over to it, finding the handle and letting the light spill in. The woman’s waiting there, her shrewd eyes locked on me.

“He kidnapped me from my home,” I blurt, going for the simplest explanation—and hopefully the one that’ll get me the most sympathy. “He’s holding me against my will.”

She cuts me off before I can say more, shushing me.

“This way, quickly. Before he comes looking for you.”

She ushers me out the back of the hut, pushing me into the maze of stalls and people.

“He’s very strong—and he’s violent,” I tell her breathlessly as we weave between the chaos of shoppers. “For your own sake, he can’t know that you helped me.”

I’m not sure it’s safe to tell her he’s fae. The more she knows, the more danger she could be in, but I have to warn her about the seriousness of the situation.

“Don’t worry about that,” she says. “I told him I was going back to my stall. When he realizes you’re gone, he’ll assume you left on your own. Here.”

We’re out behind a row of stalls, and she guides me over to a covered wagon. It’s stocked full of furniture and household goods—chairs and dressers and curtain rods.

“Climb in there and hide.”

“Wait,” I say. “I can’t stay here. He’ll find me.”

“I know,” the dressmaker says, and I see her shrewd eyes scanning my features again. “Trust me, dear. Just hide, and give me two minutes.”

“Alright.” I scramble up into the wagon, tucking myself underneath a table.

The woman walks out of sight, and I wait, my nerves fraying more with every passing second. I feel so close to freedom, and yet it could just as easily be ripped away from me.

Murmuring male voices approach, and my muscles stiffen. I imagine the Nightmare Prince yanking back the wagon cover at any moment, sword in hand. Maybe he’ll decide I’ve caused too much trouble and finish me off right now. But the voices don’t sound like him, and I hear the dressmaker speak too. There’s some movement outside the wagon, and she appears again.

“These are my friends,” she whispers as a man shuts up the end of the wagon, bolting the wooden flap and beginning to tie down the cover. “They’ll take you to safety.”

I can only nod, wondering if she sees it from where I’m tucked up in my hiding place before the cover comes down. “Thank you,” I whisper as the wagon jolts into motion. I hear us rattle past the noises of the trading post, just feet from the sellers and travelers, before the sounds drift away, and we pull onto the road leading out of the valley.

I thought I’d feel relieved once I’d gotten away, but that weight of fear still fills my chest. The wagon trundles on, taking me further and further away from the dangerous fae, and yet I still feel strangely trapped.

I pull myself out from under the table. Toward the front of the wagon there’s a split in the cover, leading up to where the driver sits. I clamber over to it and poke my head out.

There’s two men seated on the bench behind the horses. One in his fifties, maybe, with a thick beard speckled with gray, and a younger man with sandy hair. He turns to me when I appear, his blue eyes alert.

“What are you doing?” he asks, more abruptly than I expect. “You need to stay inside the wagon.” His blue eyes scan my face before dropping to linger on my body. I shift uncomfortably.

“I wanted to warn you. They’ll realize I’m gone soon. We need to hurry. Those men kidnapped me, and they’re very dangerous.”

“Sure,” the bearded man grunts, and I get the distinct impression he doesn’t believe me in the slightest. I see him slide a look to his younger companion. “It’ll all be fine. You just climb back inside, and we’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Safe. I’ve had people promise safety to me before, and it’s almost always been a lie. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. I’m not sure if it’s from anxiety or my reduced dose of potion—but the reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m increasingly helpless…and far from sure these men can be trusted.

“Get back in the wagon,” the young man says more sharply, and I obey, feeling like I might be sick. I’m not safe with these people. I have no idea what they want with me, but they’re not benevolent saviors. I was so desperate to get away from the fae that I took whatever chance I had. And now I’m out in the middle of nowhere with new strangers.

Should I tell them who I am—promise them gold and knighthoods for rescuing me? From their attitudes so far, it doesn’t seem like they’d believe me. It’s not like I have any proof.

That sickness is still with me, my stomach lurching back and forth with every rattle of the wagon wheels. But I’ve had to fight my body before—force myself not to give in to it sabotaging me whenever I take my potion—so I can push past the nausea and dizziness now to find a way to help myself.

When the wagon stops, those men are going to come back here and get me. I don’t know what they intend to do to me next, but I don’t want to sit here waiting to find out. I look around at the furniture. There’s not much that could serve as a weapon. The curtain rod is way too long, and most other things are too bulky. My eyes fall on a vanity table. The top is wrapped up in rags, presumably protecting a mirror.

The rags helpfully muffle the sound of cracking glass as I whack the mirror with the end of the curtain rod. I unwrap them and find the glass shattered into several big shards, just as I’d hoped. I carefully lever one out of the mirror’s frame and slip it into my new clothes.

She might have thrown me to the wolves, but at least that woman makes her dresses with pockets.

Then I wait. About half an hour later, I feel the wagon pull off the road. We move on a bumpier track for about ten minutes before coming to a halt.

There are more voices, more men. My drivers are meeting someone, though I can’t make out their words. When I peek through the loose seam of the wagon covering, I see trees—we’re in a forest now—and spot two new men with the drivers. One of them is holding a rope in his hands.

No . I won’t be trapped by another man again. The fae might’ve been my captors, but they never restrained me, and the idea of having my limbs pinned down, unable to move the way they were with Bede, sends the blood rushing through my ears.

Shuffling cautiously to the back of the wagon, I take the shard of mirror between my fingers. Even with Will’s training, I’ll struggle to take down one man, let alone four. The best I can hope for is to get in the first strike, before they expect it, and then run before they can react.

The men finish talking, the wooden flap on the back of the wagon comes down, and someone pulls at the cover.

Now.

I slash out with the glass and feel it meet resistance. Someone screams as I push my way out from beneath the cover, a spatter of blood hitting my cheek. The older driver is stumbling back, bleeding from a deep cut to his chin that’s already turning his beard crimson. Two of the others stand around him, shocked, but I know that won’t hold them back for long. The one with the rope is already moving toward me. I throw myself around the side of the wagon, lift my skirt, and run.

I haven’t done much running in my life. There’s not much call for it when you live in a house with few children to play with. I’m sure I’m not fast, and I’m very aware I don’t have much stamina. But I put everything I’ve got into it as I sprint through the trees. The telltale fizz of magic sounds behind me, and I dart sideways, hoping to avoid whatever they’re sending my way. I can hear their footsteps moving swiftly through the forest, but then that sound is drowned out by something closer—a loud buzz.

Something fat and black flies past my ear, making me jerk my head away. Then another insect, angry and loud, hits me right in the face—a big fly. I swat at it, disgusted, but it’s not alone. Moments later, a swarm of them bombards me. They batter me across the face or land, trying to crawl into my eyes and mouth. I clamp it shut, muting my scream of horror. Whomever among the men can control these things knows this will slow me down, making it almost impossible to see where I’m going.

I yank the hood of my cloak up, pulling it down over as much of my face as I can, and duck my head, trying to navigate by the sight of my feet on the ground. But the flies are everywhere, and I can’t help but flinch as one creeps across my ear, meaning I miss the root that trips me.

I fall, and keep falling, spinning downward over what must be the edge of a ditch. Piles of leaves do little to soften my fall, but I tumble fast enough that I lose most of the swarm, and when I hit the hard ground, it knocks some of the panic out of me. I throw my hood back, smacking away the last of the insects with a shudder, and listen.

I hear the footsteps of the men not far away, but I think the ditch might be shielding me from their view. I scramble across the ground toward the biggest tree trunk I can see and tuck myself behind it. My fingers find the glass shard I shoved into my pocket after I started running.

I pull it out now, examining the flecks of red on it, trying to slow my heart as I strain to hear the nearest set of footsteps. They’re definitely getting closer—but it sounds like just one person. Maybe they spread out to try to track me down.

The person nearby stops, a twig snaps, and I hold my breath, praying to Lusteris to keep me hidden, seeing as Firesta has so thoroughly abandoned me.

I’m aware of the world tilting around me. Perhaps my fever’s worse, or perhaps I’m just overheating after sprinting for my life. Either way, I don’t have much more running in me.

The leaves a few feet behind me rustle, and I lift the mirror. Maybe if I can get a few more stabs in before they overpower me, they’ll give up and decide I’m not worth it. Maybe?—

The blue-eyed driver rounds the tree. I see him coming, but I can’t quite make my limbs work in time. He grabs my wrist, the one holding the shard, and twists it sharply. I shriek, but keep holding on, though that only makes him twist harder. When I think he might break the bone, I give in, dropping the glass shard to the ground. It lays there, reflecting the tree branches and the slivers of sky peeking down between them.

“Listen here, you bitch?—”

But I never do find out what the man wanted me to hear, because he stops mid-sentence, shock freezing on his face, and the tip of a blade bursts through his chest, a bloom of blood spreading like a bullseye around it.

There’s the scrape of metal against something I think is bone, and the tip disappears, allowing the man to fall. I dodge the body as it topples forward, revealing Leonidas Claerwyn behind him, his sword wet with blood.

At this moment, he lives up to his epithet—the Nightmare Prince. The planes of his sculpted face radiate fury, his gray eyes burning like the very center of a star. Splashes of red decorate his forearms, telling a story of violent death, but his smooth skin is unmarked by any injury.

I instinctively take a step back, which makes the world spin crazily, and Leonidas draws his lips back, exposing his teeth.

“You’re going to regret this, princess.”