We’re stopped at the gate.

At first, this isn’t a surprise. I don’t have a pocket watch on me, but it’s still early, and ever since explosives made it into the Royal Sector, the guards at the gate are more cautious about closed carriages.

Thorin and Saeth are palace guards, though, in livery that designates them as members of my personal guard. Our halt at the sector gates shouldn’t take long. A pause, nothing more.

It’s more.

As time ticks on, I look across the carriage at Quint, who’s trying not to look worried, but I can see in his eyes that he’s registered the delay, too.

I strain my ears to listen, but the voices are a bare rumble of unintelligible sound. The carriage windows are set with thick glass—meant to maintain privacy inside—and we have the wool curtains drawn closed so no one could see me. My heartbeat finds a rapid rhythm and refuses to settle.

I shift to the window, ignoring the throb in my leg when the wound pulls and aches. I slide a hand below the curtain

and gently ease the latch to the side, then push with my fingertip to slide the glass as slowly as possible.

Quint is watching me with wide eyes, but he says nothing. It looks like he’s holding his breath, listening just as hard as I am.

“—king’s business,” Thorin is saying, his voice muffled and distant because he must be on the other side of the carriage. “You have no right to demand a search of this vehicle.”

My eyes lock on Quint’s. If anyone sees me like this, the rumors would not be good.

And why are they demanding a search?

“We’ve been given orders directly from the palace,” a man says sharply. “No one enters the sector without being searched.”

“I didn’t give those orders,” I whisper to Quint. “Was this because I was missing?”

His expression is grave. “No. No one was aware you were missing.” He takes a deep breath and flicks his gaze over my form, from my injured leg to the bloodstains that seem to be everywhere. “I should’ve thought to bring appropriate attire.”

Outside the carriage, Thorin is snapping at the gate guard. “Our orders supersede yours. You will stand down and allow us to pass.”

“You will allow us to search your carriage, or you will have to answer to Captain Huxley,” says the gate guard. The door to the carriage rattles, and I freeze, drawing back against the wall as if I could disappear.

But then something slams against the door, and Saeth speaks. “If you try to force your way into this carriage, you will find a fight you’re not ready for.”

I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know why we’re being stopped, or why they’re demanding to search this

carriage.

I do know my guards shouldn’t risk their lives because I’m scared of idle gossip.

I steel my spine and shift forward, intending to open the door, to put an end to this. I’ll declare myself and we can be on our way.

But then the gate guard snorts and says, “What’s wrong? Did you catch the king yourself? I’m not looking to snag your reward. I’m just following orders.”

I stop with my hand on the latch.

The door rattles and Saeth snaps again. “I told you not to touch this door.”

What reward? I mouth to Quint.

A line has appeared across his brow, and he shakes his head. I don’t know.

“What reward?” Thorin demands.

“For the capture of the king,” says the guardsman, as if it’s obvious. “For what he’s done.”

For an instant, the air outside the carriage is absolutely silent, and those words hang in the air dangerously. I’m staring at Quint, and it’s hard to breathe. I have no doubt my guards are outside this carriage, deliberating the best course of action.

The gate guard must figure it out at the same time, because I hear the click of a crossbow. “You do have the king! Larriant, call for the captain! Send for the night pa—”

Someone throws a punch, and something heavy collides with the carriage. The vehicle jolts and lurches forward, turning so quickly that I’m thrown back against the seat. The sudden movement jars my leg, and I cry out, just as the carriage begins to tilt to the side. Hooves pound against turf, but we’re still turning, and I feel myself slam into the wall. We’re going to tip over. We’re going to crash. My stomach flip-flops.

But then Quint grabs my arm and hauls me away from the side, and the suddenness of our movement slams the wheels back into the ground. The carriage bounces hard, then fishtails on the path, then finally straightens out. Shouting erupts outside the carriage, and a few arrows strike the outer walls, but we’re traveling fast.

We’re both a bit sprawled on the floor, and I’m breathing like we’ve run a race, but I look at Quint. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s the second time you’ve saved my life.”

He’s breathing hard, too. “Crashing didn’t seem like a good option, Your Majesty.”

“We still might.” The carriage is going too fast for the terrain, and we rock and sway every time we hit a rough spot.

I want to demand information, but Quint is just as trapped as I am. I don’t even know if we’re heading into the Royal Sector or away from it.

I ignore the pain in my leg to lever myself back to the window, then jerk the curtain to the side. A jagged crack splits the glass, but it still holds. Trees are flying past, alarmingly fast.

We’re heading back into the Wilds.

I look at Quint. “I don’t know where we’re going,” I say, and I choke on my breath. This is worse than waking up in Violet’s barn, terrified of who might walk through the doorway. At least then I wasn’t worried about the barn crashing down around me. “I don’t even know who has us now.”

What reward?

For the capture of the king. For what he’s done.

My breathing threatens to go thin and reedy, stealing all my thoughts while my body strains for survival. I focus on slowing each breath, until I can think.

“I trust Thorin,” Quint says.

“I do too. I just don’t know if he’s still driving this carriage.” I cast a glance at the window and wonder if we should risk jumping out. Landing in a pile of broken bones doesn’t seem like it would have much of an advantage.

I skip my eyes over his attire. I have no idea whether he can fight, but he’s not armed. I’m not either. But most of the palace carriages are outfitted with hidden weapons from a time when we had frequent cause to travel outside the Royal Sector, when bandits and outlaws were a concern for the royal family.

I tug at the velvet casing beneath the rear seat, then thrust my hand inside.

Nothing but dust.

Quint is a quick study, and he’s checking the opposite side before I even need to order him to do it.

He withdraws two daggers, both small, both coated in dust. I can see rust along the edge of one blade. Quint brushes them off against the floor of the carriage, and I cough.

“Forgive me,” he says.

“For what?” I wheeze. “Give me one.”

The weapon is hardly longer than the width of my hand, but I grip the hilt and brace myself against the wall opposite the door. No more arrows have struck the carriage, but branches whip the walls and trees fly past the narrow window. We’re still traveling dangerously fast.

And then … we’re not. The carriage slows.

I look at Quint. “We’re going to leap out. Be ready to run.”

He glances at my injured leg. “Can you run?”

No. Even leaping is going to be a challenge. But I don’t say that. “Just be ready.”

“I’m not leaving our injured king—” “I’m ordering you.”

The carriage slows further, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Then I suppose you’ll have to have Corrick issue a decree of punishment, Your Majesty.”

“Quint!”

The carriage stops. He tightens his grip on the dagger and finally drags his eyes away from mine, but he doesn’t move.

Lord. I grit my teeth.

The door is flung open, and sunlight floods the gap, but I can’t see much more than that because Quint launches himself forward. A man swears, and there’s a scuffle, but by the time I make it to the doorway myself, Quint is in the dirt with a bloody nose. Thorin is standing over him, looking a bit bemused.

“Master Quint?” he says. “Exactly what was your plan?” “In retrospect,” Quint says, wincing, “it’s unclear.”

“Defending me,” I say. I limp down from the carriage, then hold out a hand to Quint. I keep my eyes on Thorin. “We weren’t sure who had the carriage. Where’s Saeth?”

“Unharnessing the horses, Your Majesty. The road is too narrow to continue with the carriage, and it’s too obvious a target.”

I run a hand over the back of my neck. Sweat mixes with the dirt from last night, and I grimace. “And why am I a target?”

“We don’t know,” Thorin says. “If they’d summoned the night patrol, we might not have been able to get away. As it is, they’re likely giving chase. We should not delay.” He glances at my leg. “Can you walk, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, but not far.” I tuck the dusty dagger under my belt and look up and around. We’re deep in the woods, surrounded by trees, far off a worn path, but nothing seems familiar.

Still, four people and two horses won’t take long to spot.

Especially not beside a carriage.

“Thorin,” I say. “Do you know the way to Tessa’s old workshop from here?”

He hesitates, then looks around the way I just did. When his gaze returns to meet mine, he nods. “I do.”

“Good.” I look past him, to where Saeth is leading the two horses away from the abandoned carriage. Their harness leather has been abandoned in the dirt beside the shaft, leaving the animals bareback, in nothing but driving bridles, complete with long reins and blinders. They’re already snatching at the reins, blowing anxiously, sweat- slick and confused by everything we’ve already done.

If we’re confronted by the night patrol, these horses aren’t going to get us far.

But standing here worrying about it won’t solve the problem. If this is the best we have, it’ll have to do.

I let out a long breath. “Thorin. Check the path ahead.

We’ll follow.”

It’s only been a matter of weeks, but the trail leading to the workshop is overgrown, and once we get inside, we discover that a thick layer of dust clings to everything. I run a finger along the work table, then stifle a cough as a plume of dust lifts into the air. It’s clear no one has been here since the night the rebels attacked the palace.

It made for a good hiding place then, and it makes for a good one now.

A narrow cabinet is bolted into the wall near the cold hearth, and Quint is checking the drawers. I order Saeth to tether the horses and walk a perimeter, then call for Thorin to join us in the workshop.

When he does, I waste no time. “This is another act of insurrection,” I say. “Though this one appears to be more insidious. Do you think Saeth could be involved with whoever is working against me?”

If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show. “No.” “Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be. Saeth and I have served together for over five years now. We were chosen for your personal guard together.” He pauses. “If he were working against you, he could have aided the guards at the gate and they could’ve taken the carriage. There were four of them.”

I work that through in my head, trying to think of any reason why it would be more advantageous to allow me to escape, and I come up with nothing.

I run a hand across the back of my neck again, then take a long breath.

We can’t stay here forever. I need information.

I glance from Thorin to Quint and wonder how far rumor has spread. They’ve only been out of the palace for a few hours, but clearly Arella, Laurel, and Captain Huxley were able to take advantage of my notable absence. Quint might have been able to leave quietly, but if anyone came looking for me …

I sigh. My leg is throbbing again, and I can’t seem to think past it. I can’t remember the last time I had water, or anything to eat.

I drop into the chair gracelessly, and I must be a bit woozy, because I land clumsily, then bite back a yelp as my wound strikes the arm of the chair. I’m gritting my teeth so hard I can taste blood.

Or maybe I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek. A bloom of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I inhale slowly through

my teeth because the alternative is to start swearing and never stop.

Quint steps away from the cabinet, takes one look at me, and glances at the guard. “See if there’s fresh water in the rain barrel, Thorin. You and Saeth should strip your palace livery. Is there anything nearby? We’ll need food, at the very least.”

“Yes, Master Quint.” The door hinges creak in protest, and then he’s gone.

I close my eyes and let out that breath. The tiny workshop is suddenly very silent.

But then Quint speaks, and his voice is closer than I expect. “Your Majesty,” he says quietly. “You’re bleeding again.”

My eyes blink open, and I look down. He’s right. Along the tear in my trousers, fresh blood has soaked through.

“Tessa had more rolls of muslin in the cabinet,” Quint says. “We should bind the wound.” He hesitates. “If I may

…”

I shift my weight and wince. “Go ahead.”

As he wraps the bandage, he says nothing, and I grow very aware of his closeness. It’s a weird kind of intimacy, and not altogether uncomfortable.

I once bound his wounds as well. Just like this, in this very workshop.

Now we’re even, I think.

But Quint looks up, and his hands go still, and I realize I’ve said the words aloud.

He confirms it when he says, “What was that?”

I don’t repeat it. “You ignored my order in the carriage.” He inhales like he’s going to protest, but then must think better of it. “I’ll await your judgment, Your Majesty.

But I promised Corrick that I would look after you—” “Look after? Quint, I’m not a child.”

He tugs the bandage tight, and I hiss a breath through my teeth.

He meets my eyes, but he doesn’t apologize. “I am well aware.”

Then he knots off the bandage and straightens, moving away.

I feel off-balance, off-kilter, like too many people have confused me in succession. Before I can puzzle it out, Thorin returns with a bucket of water from the rain barrel. He’s in his shirtsleeves now, but no less armed.

“Saeth is going to walk toward Artis,” he says. “He’s got a pocket full of coins, so he’ll see if we can purchase some food. But I don’t think we should stay here for long. They’ll eventually discover the carriage. We’ve had days of rain. Our tracks won’t be hard to follow.”

“I don’t know which consuls are working against me,” I say. “If I try to find sanctuary with any of them, we might as well hand ourselves over right now.”

Quint lights the tiny stove in the corner and pours water into the kettle, then sets it to boil. “We can’t return to the Royal Sector, surely.”

“If they’re spreading word that there’s a reward for capturing the king,” Thorin adds, “we’ll be hard-pressed to find sanctuary anywhere.”

Because people will do anything for silver—or access to medicine. I know that better than anyone.

I study both of them. “Do you think this was a trick? Was Captain Blakemore a ruse to separate me from Corrick, to remove the King’s Justice before Consul Cherry and Captain Huxley took action?”

“Possibly,” says Thorin.

His answer is quick, and I frown. A spike of fear enters my heart. I believed Captain Blakemore. I was inspired by

his eagerness to help the people of Kandala. I admired the loyalty of his crew.

I encouraged Corrick to get on that ship.

But Quint says, “I don’t think Captain Blakemore was a part of this. His documentation was solid. His story seemed sound. It would be an unnecessarily complicated plan if their goal was simply to separate you from Corrick— especially if they have the guards on their side.” He pauses. “To me, it’s more likely that whoever conspires against the Crown realized Corrick was gone, and the rebel leader was gone, so the time to overthrow the king was now.”

“And here I am,” I say bitterly, “trapped in a tiny workshop once again, while others attempt to take the throne.” I scowl and try to ignore the throbbing pain in my leg. “Only this time, there’s a bounty on my head, and the guards have been turned against me.”

“Not all, Your Majesty,” says Thorin.

Not all. I’m grateful for that, but I’m not sure what the four of us are going to do against the entire kingdom.

I think of young Violet, begging me to come back. I think of Maxon. You’d do the same, I’m sure.

My throat tightens. The kettle whistles. I don’t know where to go.

Not to Allisander, obviously. I have no doubt that whatever Laurel Pepperleaf is doing is under his direction. Lissa Marpetta has been keeping to her sector since it was determined that she was also working with Allisander to distribute shoddy medicine. At one point I would have considered Arella Cherry an ally—but not now. Roydan Pelham is out for the same reason. Leander Craft died in the first attack.

So that leaves Jonas Beeching, the consul of Artis, and Jasper Gold, the consul of Mosswell.

To reach Jasper, we’d need to travel to the other side of the Royal Sector.

To reach Jonas, we’d need to cross the Queen’s River. Both options seem impossible.

And even if I could reach either of them, I have no idea whether they would help me. Consul Beeching asked for funds to build a bridge across the river, and his request was denied. I assume he’s still smarting from the way Corrick refused him, because he also hasn’t been present at court very often.

Then again, his lover was killed by rebels right in front of him. Perhaps his reasons for avoiding court are justified.

Still, the majority of the consuls are working to overthrow the throne. Trusting any of them is too big a risk.

Would the rebels help me? That feels like a dice roll that’s weighted against me. Surely any of them would claim the reward being offered by the palace—and that’s if I could convince any of them to believe I am who I say I am. I think of how Violet sang on the palace steps for hours, barefoot in ragged clothes, and no one was willing to listen to her. If I knocked on anyone’s door and claimed to be the king, most people would likely laugh in my face. They knew Corrick and Tessa, but not me. Lochlan is gone, and he’s the only rebel who knows me well enough to recognize me, even in a state of disarray.

My thoughts freeze on that thought. Lochlan isn’t the only one.

“Quint,” I say. “Do you remember Tessa’s friend Karri?

The girl Lochlan kept by his side?” “I do.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

He frowns. “She lives in Artis, but I would need access to my papers for her specific address.” He hesitates,

thinking. Suddenly, his eyebrows go up. “But she worked for the same Mistress Solomon who employed Tessa. Perhaps we could find her there.”

My heart is pounding again. This is also a risk. I don’t know her well.

But Karri would recognize Quint. She’d be willing to listen.

She wanted to make things better. Just like Tessa.

“What do you recommend?” says Quint, pulling my thoughts back around.

“Take Thorin,” I say. “See if you can find her.” “Your Majesty—”

“No,” I snap. “And this time you will obey, or I will have Thorin drag you by force. Leave the horses so I have a means to escape, if necessary. But find Karri as quickly as possible. Stay out of sight.”

“What shall we tell her?” says Thorin.

I shift my weight and wince. “Tell her that the king needs her help.”