Sommer lives a short distance away, but we can’t risk villagers telling two stories of a broken wagon wheel, so this time, Saeth is going to drive the horses while Thorin slips off the wagon and tries to deliver a message. It feels like both a larger risk and a smaller one, all at the same time.

With Thorin off the wagon, Francis shifts forward to sit behind me again.

“That boy is going to tell those people who you were, and there’s going to be an army waiting for us at the crossroads,” he says.

“That boy is a man from my personal guard,” I say, “and I trust that his word is good.”

He grunts. “For a thousand silvers a man might think about slipping a dagger between your ribs right now.”

“And I could slit your throat in half the time,” Saeth says sharply. “Move back.”

“I didn’t say I was going to!”

Saeth hooks the reins around the rail and turns on the bench, and it’s a second later that I realize he has a weapon in his hand. Francis swears and scrambles back so quickly that he stumbles and nearly falls over some of the hay bales.

I put a hand on Saeth’s arm. “Enough. It is a lot of money. You heard Reed. It’s going to make anyone waver in their convictions.” I look back at Francis. “Though anyone who believes they’d actually receive such a ransom is a fool. The consuls have conspired to steal my throne. They’ve connived a web of lies thick enough to convince half of Kandala that I’m poisoning them. You think they’ll honestly pay a thousand silvers?”

“If they’re just going to lie,” says Francis, “they should’ve offered more. I don’t think any of your guards would stay loyal for ten thousand.”

Saeth scoffs. “No one would believe a ransom of that size.”

“But that’s exactly why,” I say. “No one would believe it. A thousand is enough to turn heads yet still be believable.”

“Or maybe it’s just a ransom set for a king,” says Francis. “And they’re ready to pay every cent.”

Thunder cracks overhead, making me jump. Darkness fully cloaks the road now, assisted by the clouds that obscure the moon. I wish we had a lantern, but surely that would be foolhardy.

I keep thinking about Reed’s neighbor, at the vitriol in his tone.

It’s impossible to know how far rumors have spread and if the public sentiment is like this everywhere.

I need more guards. I need at least one of the consuls to respond to my letters.

Instead, I’m on a wagon in the dark with a massive bounty on my head. When I was a boy, there were times when I was tempted to slip into the darkness and stay gone, to forget the palace and the Crown and all my obligations. Even as the Fox, I had a few moments where the idea crossed my mind—right up until the last night when I met Maxon, a young man who flirted with me for a moment, then took my hand and tried to help me escape the night patrol.

They shot him in the chest right in front of me.

My breath quickens at the memory. I only knew him for a few hours, but the final moments were terrible. I don’t want to consider that the measures Corrick put in place to protect the people from smugglers have started to have the opposite effect—that the night patrol is taking matters into their own hands. That they’re being cruel because we’ve created the illusion that we approve of cruelty.

I need to think of something else.

For some reason, my brain summons Quint and the way he recast my doubts about everything. The way he flipped pages in that little book, reminding me of our days in the palace, how I forced the consuls to put the people first.

The way he made that puzzling list of dates that he refuses to explain.

I scowl and peer into the darkness. This line of thinking isn’t much better. Surely Thorin is taking too long.

Just as I have the thought, my guard leaps onto the wagon, and I jump a mile. Thorin settles onto a bale behind us. “Forgive me,” he says, his voice low. “Sommer will find us by the mill.”

I try to calm my pounding heart, and I have to breathe shallowly to keep from erupting into coughs again. “Does he—does he—” My throat threatens to close up, and I wheeze a breath. I clench my fists, even though I know anger and tension never make this better. “Does he—seem earnest?”

Thorin frowns. “Honestly, he seems like he’s starving. I wish I’d brought food. He was begging for it. I wanted to bring him with me right now. If I weren’t worried we were being watched, I would have.”

My chest clenches. I hate what the consuls are doing to my people. I don’t even know Sommer very well. Will he join us out of desperation? Right now, there are just so many variables. I consider the rebels peeling off the wagon, determined to follow us in case there was trouble—but that was before I knew about the ransom. Now I’m worried that they’re all waiting for a chance to take us down. We only brought six of them. Could Thorin and Saeth hold off six men? Would they want to?

I need to stop thinking like this. My own convictions are wavering.

Besides, we have one more house to visit: Saeth’s family. Our plan is to pick them up under the guise of traveling to see a sick grandparent who’s near death. It’s the most dangerous one, because Saeth’s family is the most likely to be watched—though the rebels have followed, ready to send up the alarm so we can flee if necessary. We’re lucky enough to have the full cloak of night now, and the rain is helping. If we’re successful, we can loop back through the woods to the crossroads to pick up Reed and Sommer.

At my side, Saeth’s own tension is almost palpable. I’ve been feeling it for the entire drive. It might have been eagerness when we set off, but it’s different now, a worry punctuated by what we learned from Reed.

I’m surprised he’s not driving the horses into a gallop.

Maybe Thorin can sense it too, because he shifts closer. “You should let me go.”

Thunder rolls overhead again, followed by a flash of lightning. Saeth’s jaw is set. “No.”

“We don’t know if she’s being watched. If she reacts in any way—”

“She won’t.”

“Your children will. They—”

“I said no.”

But Saeth doesn’t look at me. He keeps driving the horses.

He expects me to agree with Thorin. I can tell.

“I don’t know your wife,” I say quietly. “Will she react? Will the children give us away?”

Saeth thinks about this for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I didn’t know they’d frozen the accounts. And now it’s been more than a week without word.” He hesitates. “I heard that man at Reed’s. I don’t even know what she might believe.”

I can hear every worry he’s not voicing. They echo in my thoughts along with my own. I feel like I keep asking people to make impossible choices.

I turn my head. “Thorin. Move to the back. Make a plan with Francis for when we reach the mill.”

Once he does, I look at Saeth and keep my voice very low. “Do you have a way to slip into the house unseen?”

He frowns, but nods. “Yes, but—”

“Could you get them to the mill by the time we’re meeting Reed and Sommer?”

“That isn’t part of our—”

“Answer the question.”

He inhales deeply, running a hand over the back of his neck, considering. “On foot from here, it would be tight.”

And even more difficult with children in the rain, but he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t need to.

“If you can’t make it by then, we’ll do our best to make a second pass,” I say. “Half an hour later.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Listen to me. When we draw close, hand me the reins. I won’t slow the wagon. Slip off in the shadows. Sneak into your house. See your family. Let your wife react, then bring them to the mill.”

He stares at me for so long that I want to warn him to look back at the road.

Eventually, he says, “I can’t leave you with no one but Thorin.”

“You forget. I have Francis, too.”

Saeth gives me a look, and I smile.

But he doesn’t say anything else. He’s practically vibrating with the battle between duty and obligation.

So I end the war. “I’m ordering you,” I say.

He nods, then looks off into the darkness, his jaw set again. Ahead, at the crest of the hill, another cluster of homes sits between two tiny farms. Candlelight flickers in the windows of each one. Saeth swallows, and I know.

“Up there?” I say to him anyway.

“Yes.”

“You should slip off soon, before we’re too close.”

He hesitates, then moves to hand me the reins. An order is an order.

“Adam.” I put a hand on his arm before he can go.

He looks up in surprise. I never touch my guards. I never touch anyone.

“Thank you for what you’ve done,” I say. “Please make sure your wife knows I’m grateful for your family’s sacrifice.”

He frowns a little. “It’s not a sacrifice.”

“It is.” I pause. “I’m saying this now, because I want you to know that if you reunite with your family and choose not to come to the mill, I would understand.”

“I will be at the mill. I swear it.”

I shrug, then give a little laugh, though there’s no humor to it. “If I’ve learned anything from being king, Saeth, it’s that there are choices we want to make and choices others force us to make. Truly. If your family forces you to choose another path, I won’t hold it against you.”

He stares at me again, and it’s too dark to make out the expression in his eyes.

“Go!” I say. “Before we’re into the light.”

“You have my gratitude as well,” he says. “But with all due respect, Your Majesty, if I’ve learned anything from being a father, our choices are still our own.”

Then he presses the reins into my hand, says farewell to a startled Thorin, and leaps into the darkness.

I keep hoping the rain will let up, but instead, it pours down, soaking us through by the time we reach the crossroads. I’m shivering under my cloak, and it’s making me cough. Two of the men who’ve been following on foot have rejoined us in the wagon, claiming there’s been no sign of anyone on our tail. It should be a relief, but everyone feels so new, so untested. There are others who are still on foot, but we’ve had no sign of them yet. All part of our plan, but now I worry that they’ve been overtaken, that we’ll be attacked when we least expect it. I sent Saeth away, and now I have one guard at my side. Thorin didn’t say a word about it, but I can sense his disapproval. A dark part of my thoughts wonders if he wishes he could leave, too, and I have to shove those worries down.

For a while, the men in the back were chattering with Francis while I sat up front with my last remaining guard, but now that we’re nearing the most questionable part of our mission, everyone is silent.

Thorin looks over his shoulder at the men. “Can any of you drive the wagon?”

I look at him sharply. “Thorin.”

He looks right back at me. “We don’t know who or what might be waiting at the crossroads.”

He’s not challenging me. Not directly. But he’s right: there are too many variables with what we’ve learned about Reed and Sommer and the rest of the guards, and I hear the unspoken question all the same.

Do you want my protection or do you want me to control the horses?

One of the men has shifted forward anyway. The rain is pouring down, and he has to shove a sodden cloak hood back from his face. His name is Bert, and he says, “I sometimes drive mules for supply runs from the shipyards.”

Thorin nods. “Close enough.” He moves over to create more room. “We’re going to draw to a walk at the crossroads, and I want you to keep the wagon straight and true. Don’t stop, even if something happens. Straight and true, all the way back to the Wilds. Yes?”

Bert stares back at him. “But what if—”

“Don’t stop,” Thorin says. “No matter what. It’s an open wagon. If we’re attacked and you stop, the king is dead.”

Bert’s mouth is hanging open. But he nods.

I think my mouth is in danger of hanging open. I clench it shut.

Thorin looks at me. “Let’s move to the back. You should sit between the bales, with your back against the planks.”

Another one of the rebels has moved closer to hear what we’re talking about. It’s Nook, the young man whose father is still following somewhere in the rain. He looks from me to Thorin as we climb over the rail.

“That’s so the king doesn’t take an arrow in the back, right?” says Nook.

Thorin glances up in surprise, then offers a brief nod. “Exactly right.”

Nook glances around. “Should we move more bales? What’s going to stop an arrow from the front?”

Thorin pulls a crossbow from where he stashed one against the floorboards. “Me.” But he looks at Nook again. “Moving bales is a good idea, though.”

They start tugging. I help, and I try not to think about the fact that my sole remaining guard and this boy are putting themselves in harm’s way to protect me. I hope the choices I’ve made so far are worth it.

I keep thinking about Quint saying how Corrick has an edge that I lack.

I try to imagine my brother hiding behind hay bales, and I fail. I tug at the hay, then have to put an arm against my mouth to muffle my sudden coughing.

Thorin eyes me, then looks out at the darkness. The rain against the trees is deafening.

I’m not completely useless, though. “Do you have another crossbow?” I say to Thorin when I can breathe again. “I can shoot.”

For half a second, he doesn’t answer, and I’m sure he’s going to tell me there aren’t any weapons left. I harden my gaze, ready to demand one. I might not be able to breathe through a sword fight or run very far, but I do know how to hit a target.

But Thorin nods and digs a few more out from under another hay bale. “Stay low,” he says to me.

I nod.

A shadow bursts out of the trees, and Thorin snaps up his own weapon. He draws a dagger with his other hand. A cloaked figure leaps over the side of the wagon, but before we can see anything, Francis tackles it. He and the shadowy figure go sprawling into the hay-covered floor of the wagon, rolling, fighting for purchase in the rain. Someone lands a punch, and then Francis cries out. There’s a thump against the wood as the stranger slams him to the floor. Nook inhales sharply, and I realize he’s got a blade from somewhere, too.

“What?” cries out Bert from the driver’s bench. “What’s happening?”

“Keep driving!” Thorin grabs hold of the stranger’s cloak and puts the crossbow into his back. I don’t think he’s going to shoot, but Nook looks like he’s about to leap forward with that dagger.

“Hold!” I snap. I keep my own crossbow pointed. My heartbeat is a roar in my ears, matched by the pounding rain. “Who is it?”

The stranger lifts his hands in surrender. “It’s Reed!” he says, his voice strangled from the grip Thorin has on his collar. “I was advised to climb into the wagon.”

Thorin lowers his weapon, and Reed turns around. He jerks his cloak straight, but he meets my eyes and chases the agitation off his face. “Forgive me.” He gives a peeved glance over his shoulder at Francis. “I didn’t expect to be attacked.”

“We haven’t reached the crossroads yet,” Francis says.

“The roads are flooded from the storm,” says Reed. “I had to walk out a bit. There are trees down across the path, too.”

My heart is still pounding, refusing to settle. “Can the wagon get through?”

“It was too dark to tell on foot. I didn’t want to risk a lantern.”

“What about Sommer?” says Thorin. “Or Saeth?”

Reed glances around as if realizing Saeth is no longer with us. “I haven’t seen anyone else. How many others are joining us?”

“You and Sommer,” says Thorin. “Saeth went to fetch his family. You haven’t seen anyone?”

Reed shakes his head.

Thunder rolls overhead, and the rain continues to pour down, rattling against the wood of the wagon, punctuating the silence between us. The horses begin to splash on the path, and I wonder how deep the flooding is.

I told Saeth we’d give him extra time, but now I’m worried about getting trapped by this storm.

The wagon rolls on. My breath keeps rattling into my chest. Maybe the weather is delaying them all.

Somewhere in the distance, a shout breaks through the sound of the storm. My eyes lock on Thorin’s to see if he heard it.

He did. “Stay low,” he says to me. He looks at Reed. “We had four men in the woods, trailing the wagon, watching for trouble. You didn’t see them?”

“No.”

Thorin’s eyes skip over the other guard’s form. “Were you watched? You didn’t bring weapons.”

“I tried to tell you. Much has happened. Huxley searched our homes and confiscated our weapons. No one knows who to believe.”

Thorin swears and hand Reed the last remaining crossbow.

Thunder cracks again, and we all jump—including the horses. They shy left, causing the wagon to shift and rattle. Up front, Bert shouts, “Whoa!” and the wagon tips dangerously before righting itself. Wood cracks, hooves splash, and I realize we’ve driven right into the flood. Another cry sounds in the distance, closer this time.

Followed by the clear snap of a crossbow.

Nook cries out, then slaps a hand over his shoulder. “It hit me. It hit—”

Reed shoves him back into the bales, pressing a hand over his mouth. “Don’t give them a loud target, kid. Stay down. Are you all right?”

Nook huffs a breath, then nods fiercely.

“Could it be the night patrol?” hisses Francis.

“The night patrol would announce themselves,” I say.

“It could be thieves,” says Nook, but even he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

It’s not thieves. That means someone betrayed us. One of the rebels who was following? Sommer?

Or even someone from the Wilds who knew we were going? A thousand silvers is so much money.

I think of the desperation in Francis’s eyes when he thought that woman had Moonflower.

Then a worse thought occurs to me. Saeth.

I have no idea what he would have found when he approached his wife and children. Our final words to each other were about choices. Could his family have been in such dire straits that he would’ve taken the reward to save them? I thought the worst outcome would be Saeth not returning.

But he knew where to find us. He knew exactly what time we would be here and how much—how little—defense we have.

“You said we had men in the woods.” Reed looks between me and Thorin. “Other guards?” he says hopefully. “Or soldiers?”

I shake my head. “Neither. Rebels from the Wilds.”

Reed turns dismayed eyes back toward Thorin, who shrugs. “It’s been a long week,” he says.

Another crossbow snaps, and we all press low. I don’t know where it lands.

Bert, driving the wagon, makes a choked sound, then jerks sideways, ducking down onto the floorboards under the seat. I can hear his breathing from here. “I can’t see them,” he calls back to us. His voice is shaking.

“That means they can barely see us,” says Thorin. “Keep driving.”

“I’m trying!” the man calls back. “The water is deep! There must be mud!”

And there must be. The wagon keeps shuddering, and I can hear the horses struggling against the footing.

“Is there any chance you were followed?” I say to Reed.

He shakes his head fiercely. “I saw no one.”

“There can’t be many of them,” says Francis from the back. “They would’ve attacked the wagon by now.”

Nook is looking between all of us, his eyes wide, his hand still pressed over his shoulder. “Is that true?”

“Maybe,” I say, though it’s more likely they’re testing us, waiting to see what kind of resistance we have—which isn’t much. Our weapons are limited, and we don’t have more than twelve bolts for the crossbows. But there’s no point in scaring him.

Francis crawls low, through the hay, to get closer to us. He takes a look at Nook’s bleeding arm, then offers me a censorious glare. “Did we go through all this to trade one guard for another?”

Reed moves like he’s going to shove him back. “You are speaking to the—”

Then wood cracks underneath us, and the wagon shudders to a stop. At the front, Bert snaps the whip, and the horses surge forward, but we don’t move. More wood cracks.

An arrow hits the wagon, then another. An unfamiliar voice yells from the woods. “They’re stuck!”

“Get us moving!” Thorin shouts at Bert.

“The wheels have caught!”

My guards exchange a glance. I’ve seen that look before, so I’m already a step ahead of them, uncurling from the hay, tightening my grip on the crossbow.

If we’re attacked and you stop, the king is dead.

We need to get out of the wagon. My breathing has already gone tight and thready. “Which way?”

“They’re shooting from the north,” says Thorin. He points. “Head south. Reed, take point.”

“You’re running?” says Francis.

“You are too.” I grab hold of Nook’s sleeve and tug. “Come on. We need to take cover.”

The water is deeper than I imagined, swelling almost to my knees when we leap out of the wagon, mud grabbing my boots underneath and making it nearly impossible to walk. It’s no wonder the horses couldn’t pull the wagon. Reed is in front of me, Francis to my left, Nook to my right. That dagger is still clutched in his hand, and I wonder if he has any idea how to use it. Thorin is at my back, and I hear Bert splash through the water a moment later.

But then he cries out, and I begin to turn.

Thorin puts a hand against my shoulder, propelling me forward, and we finally move slightly uphill, out of the water and into the cloaking darkness of the trees. The mud is still deep, and I’m gasping from the effort of getting this far. I still have an arrow wound on my leg from the last time I was chased through the Wilds, and it’s barely healed.

I cough hard. I’m not going to be able to run. I’m not.

Then we break past a copse of trees and find ourselves facing a line of four heavily armed men, and I realize it’s not going to matter if I can run at all.