Prince Jacob swears.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” says Noah. “I told you that when we first caught him.”

“Tycho and I cannot return to Rillisk without being recognized,” says Grey. “Rhen has likely sent guardsmen there already.”

Harper’s expression is grim. “He has.”

Jacob folds his arms. “Fine. Whatever. I’m still not sending him to another country where we might never see him again.”

“You are all welcome to travel to Syhl Shallow,” I say. “I can guarantee your safety as well.”

They go silent and stare at me.

Wind cuts through the yard, pulling tendrils of hair from my cloak. “I came here seeking peace. I would like the opportunity to prove it.”

No one says anything.

Finally, Tycho says, “I heard that, in Syhl Shallow, the queen executes her prisoners, then eats their remains.”

Now my hands form fists. “I heard that, in Emberfall, the crown prince beats innocent boys nearly to death for political gain. Ah, forgive me, I watched that with my own eyes.”

Tycho flushes and looks away.

Grey runs a hand across his jaw and sighs. “We will head northwest, toward the mountain pass.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You agree?”

“Not yet. But if Rhen is searching in Rillisk—if he suspects I will find allies and friends there—it makes sense to head in the opposite direction.” He levels me with his gaze. “Though he may be seeking you as well, and it’s no secret which way you’ll go. A princess from Syhl Shallow will find few friends in Emberfall.”

“Then we’re well suited to help each other.”

Jacob looks to Harper. “You should come with us.”

“I need to go back.”

“No!” he snaps. “This is too far, Harp. You know it’s too far. You wouldn’t come with me before, but you can come with me now.” He pauses. “We can finally go home.”

She pales a shade, but she’s steadfast. “Jake—Rhen isn’t cruel. You didn’t see him last night—after—after you left—” Her voice breaks.

“I don’t care,” says Jacob.

She sniffs back her tears and straightens her back. “I care.” She pauses and glances at Grey. “And Rhen cares, too. Grey—he had no idea.”

“He knows now,” says Grey. His voice is soft. “And still he sent soldiers to Rillisk.”

“Please.” She glances at Jacob. “Please. What he did was horrible, but you have to understand—”

“I understand we are at risk,” says Grey. “And time is not on our side.”

“Come with us,” says Jacob.

For a moment, Harper glances between him and Grey. Her eyes linger on Grey for a moment too long. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him,” she says quietly.

“A princess should not apologize—” he begins.

“I should,” she says. “And a prince should.” She takes a step back. “I’ll do what I can. I promise.”

After Harper leaves to return to Ironrose, we take the wagon. Jacob and Noah drive the horses, while a heavy length of canvas sheeting covers the back. Grey and Tycho both lie facedown on a thin layer of straw, speaking in low voices that I cannot make out over the creaks and rattles of the wagon—nor the steady beat of my pulse. I lie faceup near the side, my hands clasped over my abdomen, watching the canvas lighten as the sun finishes rising.

My comfortable carriage ride with Nolla Verin a few short days ago feels more like a dream than a memory.

I’ve been wondering what my sister thought when Parrish came back with my message. I’d like to think that she is hopeful for me—or at least worried for me.

As we drive, I wonder about Princess Harper. Grey claimed there was nothing between them, but there is surely something. By helping him, she puts herself at risk. She puts her country at risk. Along with the missing military support promised by Disi, it creates more questions than I have answers for. I could understand if she hoped to ally with Grey as the rightful heir, but she would never send him away. Especially not with me. She must know my mother will seek to use Grey against Rhen, but she seemed desperate to see him safely away, no matter the potential cost.

Eventually the wagon rattles to a stop, and we emerge in the middle of a forest so densely packed with trees and foliage that the sun fights to find us.

Jacob is beginning to unhitch the horses, and Grey says, “Turn them loose. They bear the royal brand. We’ll have to go on foot.”

“You want to walk to Syhl Shallow?”

“I do not want to walk anywhere at all.” Grey looks up and around, blinking at the streaks of sunlight that peek between leaves. “We can find horses in the next city.” His eyes shift to Harper’s brother. “I would ask for your sword.”

Jacob snorts. “Well, I would tell you no.”

Grey takes a step closer to him. His wounds have seeped through his shirt to create a maze of pink and red lines across his back, and he moves stiffly. “Your life is not at stake. Mine is.”

Jacob folds his arms, and his eyes turn flinty. “You can barely stand up straight. What are you going to do with it?”

“Just give him the sword,” says Noah.

“Okay, sure.” Jacob gives Grey an up-and-down glance. “If you can take it, you can have it.”

Grey’s hand flies so quickly that I barely realize he’s moved until his fist cracks into Jacob’s jaw. I gasp as the other man starts to fall. Grey grabs the hilt and pulls the blade free before Jacob hits the ground.

“Done.” Grey points the sword at his waist. “The belt as well.”

Jacob pushes himself up on one arm and spits blood into the leaves. “I hate you.”

Noah sighs and picks up a heavily laden satchel and swings it over his shoulder. His warm brown eyes look to me. “Lia Mara, is it? Let’s start walking. Come on, Tycho.”

He turns. Compared to the other men, I appreciate his quiet, no-nonsense demeanor. I hurry to fall in step beside him. Tycho is a shadow at our back.

“You don’t know where you’re going!” Jake calls from behind us.

“I know which way northwest is,” Noah calls back. “I’m not stitching you up again, Grey.”

“You said you took an oath. You have to stitch me up no matter what.” But leaves and underbrush crunch behind us, so I know they are following.

For some reason, I expected that we would walk a short while before finding a town, but we trudge through the woods for hours. The terrain is rough and the going slow, so no one talks until I’m starving and Grey is limping and Tycho’s breathing is labored. The boy swipes sweat from his eyes, which are red, and I wonder if tears are mixed in.

“Perhaps we should rest,” I say, and Tycho shoots me a grateful look.

Grey casts a look around. “We’re less than five miles from the creek. We can camp there, then set out again after midnight.”

Five miles. Now I want to cry. I shift to walk beside Tycho. His jaw is tight, and he’s forcing his legs to move.

“Five miles won’t take long,” I say, and I’m partly trying to convince myself. “And a creek means water.”