“T his is a trap.”

I knew it was a trap.

I was careful to appear calm, but the paper in my hands trembled like a leaf in the breeze, betraying me.

We had been traveling for nearly a week. Ishqa, Sammerin and I stayed away from civilization, instead choosing to journey through the plains and forests. This was the first time we had stepped foot in a town in days—and this settlement barely qualified, more resembling a ramshackle collection of buildings put here by people who had stopped to rest along the road and simply never left. A cluster of homes, a single inn, a single pub, and a smattering of stores. We would get some supplies, we had decided. We would not stay the night—too risky, with such a recognizable group. In and out.

Everything had changed when I saw the news bulletin nailed to the post of the pub: “War criminal Maxantarius Farlione has been apprehended in Saroksa.”

Apprehended.

He was out of Ilyzath? How?

I was holding the paper so tightly that it crumpled around my fingertips. “How did he get out?” Sammerin murmured, as if to himself.

I couldn’t even speak.

“This is a trap,” Ishqa said again, as if we hadn’t heard him the first time.

I’d heard him just fine, and I also knew he was right.

It wasn’t even a good trap. It was woefully transparent. This was not the sort of news that would be pumped out so far into the reaches of Ara’s Threllian colonies. Nura wouldn’t be eager to advertise the fact that she had let a prisoner, let alone one so high profile, slip from Ilyzath’s grasp at all. Not unless she had a good reason for doing so.

I was that reason. Even when she was distracted by the war with the Fey, Nura had never stopped hunting me. And here was her chance to lure me right to her.

“She’s making good use of her bad luck,” Sammerin said.

“If he ever escaped at all,” Ishqa said. “The entire thing could be a fabrication.”

I read the headline over and over again. There was a little line drawing accompanying the article—supposedly portraying Max, though the resemblance was questionable. Still. I found myself tracing the scratchy ink lines.

“We cannot go after him,” Ishqa said.

Sammerin let out a slight scoff, as if to say, That’s a ridiculous statement.

It was. Ridiculous.

I didn’t dignify it with a response, instead examining the article. Saroksa.

It wasn’t that far from here, perhaps two days travel southwest. It was firmly in the heart of Ara’s Threllian colonies, which meant that it wasn’t far from the former Mikov estate.

“I am sorry, Tisaanah,” Ishqa said, gently. “Why?”

“Even if we cannot rescue him now, we will find him in the future.

After we have found the Lejaras.”

“Oh, we are going after him now,” I said, simply.

Ishqa blinked at me, the closest I had ever seen him look to stunned. “But it is a—”

“Trap. I know. But I am still going.”

“He might not even be there,” Ishqa said. “It could be a trick, to draw you out.”

“I’ll verify it before we make ourselves too vulnerable.” “That is not enough.”

At last, Sammerin spoke. “It will have to be enough. Obviously, we are going to go after him. Trap or no trap.”

Gods, I could have kissed him.

Ishqa looked at us, his jaw tight. “That would be foolish. This goes beyond simple self-sacrifice. Risking the queen of Ara coming into possession of that, or even learning that it exists…” He gestured to my hand and the gold spreading across it. “That is very, very unwise.”

Internally, I knew it to be true.

Outwardly, I said, “We won’t allow her to take it.”

“I respect your confidence,” Ishqa said, in a flat tone that told me he did not respect it at all. “This is exactly the sort of rash action that Caduan fears that you will take. Make no mistake, he will hear of this. And when he does, the fact that you are bringing the wayfinder so close to Nura’s grasp will only make him more motivated to find you and take it back. It will validate all of his worst fears.”

True, again, but I was getting tired of being confronted with immovable truths that would change nothing.

“Do you expect me to leave him?” I snapped. “Truly? What if it was your son’s face on this poster? I understand everything that you’re saying, but it doesn’t change anything. It just is what it is. Either you help us, or you stay here and wait for us to return. Those are the only options I can offer you.”

Ishqa’s lips went thin with disapproval, but he did not argue.

I turned to Sammerin, who gave me a small nod, affirming his support. “What’s next?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

Nura would have nearly unlimited visibility of the area. No doubt the prison would be well-guarded and under close surveillance, especially if this was a trap designed to lure me.

I had only myself, Sammerin, and Ishqa. We were good, but not good enough to fight our way in on sheer strength alone.

What did I have that Nura didn’t?

Yes, she had manpower, but where did that manpower come from? Would it be Arans brought here from the mainland? The war was not going well in Ara. She would need her soldiers there.

So… perhaps these were Threllian slaves, overseen by Aran captains. An idea took root. I had to suppress a smile. There it was.

My fingertip brushed the angle of the drawing’s jaw.

I am coming for you.

“We do not have time to waste,” I said. “We’ll talk as we move.”