By the fourth night, the summer heat has grown oppressive, and everyone is bitter and snappish. Grey and Jacob have been sniping at each other for hours, and I’m ready to pick up a bow and shoot them both. Even Tycho has left Grey’s side to sit against a tree on the opposite side of tonight’s campsite, where Iisak has taken roost in the darkness of the branches. A frost-coated leaf drifts down from above, and Tycho catches it, grinning. “That’s a neat trick.”

I can’t help but smile at the wonder in his voice.

On the other side of our campsite, Jacob is arguing. “We stole weapons,” he says. “I don’t see why we can’t steal horses.”

“One weapon would not be immediately noticed,” says Grey. “Five horses would be—and their tracks easily followed.”

“Yeah, but on horseback, we could get away faster.”

Grey’s expression is cold. “On horseback, we are a larger target—”

“I’m going for a walk,” I say. My sister could be challenging in her own way, but at least we never bickered. “I’ll take the bow. Perhaps we can eat something other than wild goose.”

“Look,” says Jacob, not even paying attention to me. “I left one jerk of a prince behind. Don’t be too quick to fill the role.”

I scowl and sling the quiver over my shoulder, then head into the forest with the bow.

Silence immediately greets me, warm and welcome in the slowly darkening twilight. The bow is sleek and heavier than I’m used to, the polished wood like satin. I circle the camp in gradually widening arcs, moving farther away as the sun begins to disappear. I take aim at a rotted log about a hundred yards away and let an arrow fly. The arrow sinks right into the softened wood, only a few inches below where I hoped. Maybe the weight isn’t as bad as I thought.

I stride through the trees to fetch the arrow. When I straighten, movement flashes in the distance. I freeze.

A deer—no, a buck. Large and brown with beautiful dapples across its hindquarters. Two hundred yards away at least, but as wide a target as I’ll ever get.

I raise the bow and nock an arrow on the string.

Suddenly every hair on my neck stands up. I hold my breath.

I’m not alone. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

I spin, ready to fire.

A hand catches the bow, gripping the arrow in place, and I gasp, staring up at Grey. The point of the arrow sits against his chest.

Fury flares like a torch in my belly. He must see the words ready to boil out of my mouth, because he shakes his head quickly and puts a finger to his lips, then points.

The buck has been joined by three deer.

Grey is so determined and self-assured that I expect him to wrestle the bow away from me, the way he claimed the sword from Jacob.

He doesn’t. He lets go of the arrow so I can turn back around.

I’m painfully aware of the position of my fingers on the bow. I wait for a correction of some sort, a comment on my stance or a question of my ability, but he’s silent at my back. I draw the bowstring tighter and release. The arrow flies.

The buck falls without a sound. The other deer scatter in a burst of motion.

“Nice kill,” says Grey.

The word makes me shiver. “Thank you.”

He walks toward the clearing where the animal fell. It’s no wonder he was able to slip through the woods without detection. When he’s alone, he moves like an assassin.

I sling the bow across my opposite shoulder and hurry to follow. The buck is larger than I expected. From a distance, it was beautiful, but up close, its eyes have already gone glassy. I shudder.

Grey yanks the arrow free and wipes it in the grass, then holds it out to me. Bits of blood and other things glisten at the tip.

I swallow, then jam it into the quiver, thinking of that trapper and his daughter, the ones my sister condemned to death. “Shall we—” I have to clear my throat. “Shall we drag it?”

“We don’t want to ruin the hide. I’ll find a branch.”

He does, then strips tiny twigs from the length. We use our dagger belts to lash the legs to the wood. I feel jittery and unsettled inside, especially when Grey hoists one end onto his shoulder and the head flops to the ground, antlers dragging.

I must be staring too long, because Grey says, “It’s heavy. I can fetch Jacob.”

“No—no, I should be able to manage.” I get my shoulder under the branch and use my legs to lift, and the weight nearly takes my breath away. Each step is more of a stagger.

Mother would be mortified. Anything requiring brute strength would be seen as lesser—a burden relegated to a man. Being quick and lithe and agile are valued in women. Being thoughtful and decisive.

Not hauling animals through the woods. Maybe I should let him fetch Jacob.

The thought feels like a slap to the cheek. I was not worthy of being queen. Perhaps I am only good for hauling animals through the woods.

I’m not even good for that, because I’m about to drop this branch. I gasp, “Grey—one—moment—please.” Without waiting, I shove the weight off my shoulder.

Grey eases his end to the ground, then turns to lean against a tree. Darkness thickens the air, and I can’t make out his expression in the shadows. I wonder if he’s disappointed. Or possibly exasperated. I shouldn’t care, but I do.

“My apologies,” I offer.

His eyebrows flicker into a frown. “No need.”

The buck’s head is cocked sideways on its antlers, the dead eyes staring at me judgmentally. I grimace and glance away.

Grey is studying me, but he seizes his end of the branch. “Ready?”

No, but I nod.

He takes more of the weight this time, but I barely last two minutes. The buck flops to the ground again. I’m panting.

“Can we not drag it?” I gasp.

“You think it will somehow weigh less on the ground?” He’s not even a little breathless.

I scowl at him ruefully and drag a hand across my forehead.

“We need the skin,” he says. He stretches his arms overhead, flexing his shoulders, the only sign that this is an effort for him as well. “The fur will give us a good story if we’re confronted in the woods. Trappers and fur traders will grow more common as we head north.”

The mention of trappers and fur traders makes me frown. I take hold of the branch. “I’m ready.”

This time I barely make it twenty-five paces. I’ll have a good bruise tomorrow. I lean against a tree and breathe.

“You have exceptional aim,” says Grey. “Where did you learn to shoot that way?”

“We have competitions every year,” I say, and my breathing is ragged, but I welcome the distraction. “The Royal Houses of Syhl Shallow all send entrants. Archery, mounted games, things like that. Have you nothing similar here?”

He shakes his head. “The guardsmen would sometimes fight to entertain the nobility, but nothing so official.”

“What a shame. The Queen’s Challenge is quite a spectacle.” I smile, remembering. “It is a time of celebration.”

He doesn’t smile. “It is unusual for me to think of times of celebration in Syhl Shallow.”

I flinch, thinking of Tycho’s comments about my mother eating her victims.