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in.’’
    ‘‘Why not bully them into turning Odelia over?’’
    ‘‘The girl we parleyed with was, what—seventeen?—
    and scared silly. If she’s the oldest one in the house, then those twenty rifles are in the hands of frightened children. Frankly, I’d rather not have to execute an eight-year-old because she shot you by accident.’’
    ‘‘The family might have been soldiers, Raven, but they’re farmers now.’’
    Raven
    shook
    her
    head.
    ‘‘We’re
    talking
    thirdgeneration soldiers. They’re like a different species by that stage, and all they know is training their daughters to fight alongside of them. Every girl in that house probably got a toy gun as a teething present, and a real gun at the age of eight. Every window is shuttered and barred. The doors are reinforced and barred. The house probably has food enough to last a siege, and access to fresh water. You could throw a hundred soldiers against those twenty children and lose.’’
    Ren eyed the house in question. Mostly stone, with a slate roof, it looked like a fortress. Flowers grew around the footing, softening the impression, but she noticed for the first time the lack of bushes near the house. The trees were in full summer foliage, yet the house remained unscreened, allowing a view for miles in three directions. West of the house were barns and outbuildings, checking winter winds. None of the buildings touched the house directly—they could be set fire to and not take the house with them. A cupola, she noticed now, on the highest peak of the house, looked over the A BROTHER’S PRICE
    23
    barn roofs to the west. A dark line of a rifle barrel showed that even the cupola was guarded. In this remarkable house, instead of lying dead in woods, her charmed younger sister found refuge. It figured.
    Ren laughed aloud as it occurred to her how typical the event was of Odelia’s life. ‘‘Odelia always had the luck of a cat. A countryside full of sheep-witted farmers, and she finds a veritable fortress to land in.’’
    ‘‘I see you’ve stopped worrying about her.’’
    ‘‘Currently she seems safer than me. That is, if these farmers weren’t part of stealing the cannons.’’
    ‘‘Doubt it,’’ Raven said after considering it for a while.
    ‘‘Locals might have run the barge aground—sandbars change overnight—but they wouldn’t have left it there for us to find. The barge was left because it couldn’t be moved. What with the draft horses in the barn and twenty little sisters, this family could have pulled the barge free. Whoever is riding herd on those cannons, they’re scrambling right now.’’
    ‘‘The attack on Odelia was a distraction.’’
    ‘‘Most certainly,’’ Raven said. ‘‘A handful split off to keep us busy so the rest could deal with the cannons and small arms.’’
    Ren cursed softly; they had been so close to catching the thieves. ‘‘Damn Odelia. Why’d she have to go off alone?’’
    ‘‘She wouldn’t be Odelia if she had a lick of common sense.’’
    ‘‘Riders!’’ came a call from a sentry. They turned and watched the troop of Queens Justice ride up. The leader was a graying, trim woman with a crooked nose. She blinked in surprise at the royal presence, then flashed a snaggletoothed grin at the princess and her captain.
    ‘‘Lieutenant Bounder, at your service, Highness. Heria Whistler came to fetch us, saying that a soldier had been left to drown in their creek. One of yours, I take it?’’
    ‘‘My sister Princess Odelia.’’
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    Wen Spencer
    Bounder blanched. ‘‘Mothers above, is she all right?’’
    ‘‘She’s in there.’’ Ren waved toward the imposing farmhouse. ‘‘They wouldn’t let us in until you arrived.’’
    Bounder laughed. ‘‘Sounds like them, making royalty stew like a neighboring farmer. Glad to see you had sense to wait for us. You have to cat-foot around the Whistlers.’’
    ‘‘They’re trouble?’’ Raven asked.
    ‘‘Oh, not