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of this wagon,” a voice said, and Ceridwen strained to place it. Not someone she knew, and not one of the soldiers guarding them.
    A man laughed. “Forget it—we have our orders.”
    â€œOrders, yes. But do you have gold?”
    Coins jingled. Lots of coins, from what Ceridwen could tell. Someone was buying them?
    Her nostrils flared. Probably a perverted Ventrallan lord who had seen the Summerian wagon and thought what all people thought when they saw Summer’s flame—slaves for sale.
    One of the soldiers whistled. Silence held for a beat.
    â€œYou can even keep the wagon,” the purchaser prodded. “Don’t want your queen finding out anything too soon.”
    Your queen. This person wasn’t Ventrallan.
    Finally the lead soldier snorted. The coins jingled again. “They’re all yours.”
    Keys rattled. Footsteps moved toward the door. Ceridwen lifted higher, her body pivoted between Lekan and whoever might come at them. She slowed her breath, buther heart didn’t listen, thumping against her ribs as a key slid into the lock.
    The door creaked open.
    She slid forward, ready to lunge—
    The buyer, a soldier, blinked at her in the hazy light from lampposts along the road. His skin shone black against the encroaching shadows, and behind him, a woman stood among a cluster of horses and more soldiers. Her dark hair was knotted into a bun just above the stiff collar of her gray wool gown. On her back, glinting in the twilight, sat an ax.
    The fight drained out of Ceridwen on a rush of breath.
    â€œGiselle?”
    The queen of Yakim had bought them.

4
Meira
    THE FIRST THOUGHT that hits me when I wake up is: I’m really tired of passing out because of magic.
    A small fire clicks and pops to my left, its smoke permeating the air. I force my eyes open, thankful I’m met with the manageable darkness of night instead of an explosion of sunlight, my head thumping in time with the passing seconds.
    â€œYou can heal yourself, you know,” comes Rares’s voice.
    I roll onto my side, my fingers digging into my forehead in an attempt to push away the last remnants of agony. A ring of trees surrounds our clearing, thick foliage hanging from drooping branches. Rares doesn’t look up from where he’s running a sharpening stone against one of the kitchen knives I stole.
    â€œIf I knew how to control my magic that well, I wouldn’t have followed you,” I snap. “What did you evendo to me? How did you do it?”
    Rares tests the blade with his thumb and sighs. “I’d expect ill-cared-for knives in a pauper’s kitchen, but the Ventrallan king’s? This is a disgrace.”
    My glare deadens. He mutters that not even chickens deserve to be butchered by such blades.
    Just as I draw in a breath to shout my questions at him, Rares looks up.
    â€œMaybe I should teach you patience first.”
    I pull onto my knees, fighting a wave of dizziness. I’m so close to the fire that sparks shoot off the crackling branches and prickle against my skin.
    â€œHow do you have magic?” I demand, my voice flat. “And how can you use it on me?”
    Rares rests his elbows on his knees, fiddling with the knife as he considers me. “You’re worried I won’t explain myself, and that even if I do, I won’t tell you everything, and you’ll be left with incomplete information. You’re worried that you made a mistake in trusting me, but even more that you didn’t find me soon enough. Did I cover everything, dear heart?”
    â€œI—”
    â€œAnd while I could assure you that I’m nothing like your previous mentors, I’ll do you one better—now that we’re safe, or as safe as we can be, I’ll tell you everything, as I promised I would. Every detail, every reason, every flutter of a curtain that brought us to this moment. Well, not every curtain—some of them have been right