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walked, she cast surreptitious glances into the shadows between the stalls. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard a strange voice. Once, she’d been sitting in the grand Vicerin banqueting hall and an old man had whispered in her ear. But there had been no old man there. Another time, she’d heard laughter in the rose garden below her private chambers. At night, voices called to her from behind the dresses in her closet.
    If Sylva worried about people learning that her adopted sister was a princess, Elodie had a far greater fear: that Lord Vicerin would find out she heard voices and decide she was mad. As soon as he knew the truth, he would send her away.
    Isn’t that what you do with people who are insane?
    Might that not be what her real mother had done, all those years ago, when she’d discovered there was something wrong with her daughter?
    Soon they found themselves back in front of the very first stall they’d looked at. Elodie pointed out the closest roll of blue. “This one,” she said dully to the stallholder. All her excitement about finding the correct shade had melted away with the mysterious voice.
    While Elodie was searching in her purse for the right coins, a red-haired girl appeared from behind a nearby tent. She was tall and looked just a few years older than Elodie—perhaps the same age as Sylva. Her long skirt rippled in the breeze, and the high sun flashed off something hidden beneath: a short metal sword in an open scabbard strapped to her thigh. Staring straight at Elodie, the girl walked toward them.
    Elodie put her purse away.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” said Sylva.
    â€œSomething’s wrong,” said Elodie. Heart racing, she grabbed Sylva’s hand. “Come on.” Her other hand went instinctively to the emerald dangling on its gold chain around her neck, fingers clasping the green gem as they always did when she was nervous.
    â€œAren’t you going to buy the silk?” said Sylva.
    The approaching girl pulled her hair away from her face. Her eyes flicked sideways. Following her gaze, Elodie spotted a young man in a green tunic lurking beside a nearby ale tent. As the girl tossed her hair, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
    Without warning, the fabric stall tipped forward, spilling rolls of material across the ground. Elodie’s silk unfurled in a billow of bright blue. A food stall went over, and suddenly people were shouting. Someone picked up a cabbage and lobbed it into the crowd. A wooden bowl flew like a discus. Scuffles broke out.
    Sylva’s grip tightened on Elodie’s hand . . . then was suddenly snatched away. At the same instant, a fat man appeared from nowhere and barged into Elodie, nearly knocking her off her feet. By the time she recovered her balance, she was adrift in an ocean of bodies, her companion nowhere to be seen.
    â€œSylva!” she shouted, suddenly frightened.
    Elodie tried to force her way through the throng. Where had they all come from? Then she heard a sound that chilled her blood: the unmistakable sschink of a sword being drawn.
    Had Sylva been right after all? Was the king’s army even now storming the gates of Castle Vicerin?
    â€œElodie!”
    Sylva’s face appeared, wide-eyed with fear. An instant later she had vanished, swallowed by the crowd. Elodie pushed against the press of people, ducking as missiles flew over her head. But Sylva was gone.
    A man’s hand gripped her wrist. She screamed but nobody listened. She tugged but the fingers were locked tight. The man started to haul her through the crowd. All she could see of him was a broad back clad all in green. Was it the same man she’d seen lurking by the tent? She tried to struggle, but he was too strong.
    Kidnap-and-rescue , Elodie thought, remembering the favorite game she’d played years earlier as a child, when Sylva’s older brother Cedric had dragged them both through the nursery