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an apothecary in Tallinyne.”
    “ Work ?” she said, aghast. “Heavens no. And don’t you fret about those missing talents.” She reached forward, patting my knee. Her cheeks were fairly glowing, and her sparkling eyes hypnotic. “You’ll have them soon enough.”
    “I will?” I said, feeling slightly dazed and wondering what she was talking about.
    Her needles began to fly again, and, still feeling lightheaded, I took a pastry from the basket, hoping a bit of food would do me good.
    “They’re raspberry— your favorite,” she said without looking up.
    I froze, my lips half-closed over the delicacy. My mouth watered as I inhaled the sweet scent. But I dared not take a bite. How did she know my favorite? How had her sister— whoever she was— known I loved flowers? My previous fears returned, and I studied the woman closer, wary that she wasn’t as harmless as she appeared.
    I remembered a story Papa told me when I was little— about a princess and a poisoned apple. My tongue flicked the delicate bun. This was no apple, and I was the complete opposite of a princess. But still…
    “Who are you?” I asked, as blunt as my fellow passenger had been with her questions.
    “Your escort,” she said, a dimple forming in the cleft of her chin. It reminded me of Papa. She grabbed a pastry herself and took a large bite from it. Apparently my fear of poisoning was unfounded.
    “My name is Merry Anne,” she added a moment later. The corners of her mouth turned up. “Merry with an E.”
    I decided anyone as jolly as she likely could do no harm. I ate the pastry with much enthusiasm, then had another and felt better than I had in forever.
    Merry Anne proved not only jolly, but clever, too. She continued asking me questions as the hours rolled by, and I responded all the while wondering if she already knew the answers. When I told her I hoped to find Cecilia, Merry Anne leaned forward, giving me another pat on the knee and fixing me with one of her ever-bright smiles.
    “Cecilia is not like your other siblings, and life at the castle has not spoiled her.”
    “You know her?” I asked, delighted. “She works at the castle?”
    “No need to fret—”
    At that precise moment, I noticed Merry Anne begin to do just that. She leaned out the window, her neck and torso stretching rather far for as compact as she appeared in her seat. “Oh, dear.”
    “What?” I said, attempting to see for myself what had her troubled.
    “No. You mustn’t.” She pulled me back against the seat. “We’re about to be beset by robbers.”
    “Are you certain?” I scooted over, glancing out the opposite window and seeing nothing but lonely road.
    Merry Anne snapped the shades closed— all four at once somehow— blocking my view.
    “Let me do the talking,” she instructed. “When the thieves see how poorly you’re dressed, they should leave you alone.”
    Several tense minutes passed. Merry Anne’s nimble fingers flew ever faster with the needles until the skeins of yarn were all but gone. No thieves appeared, and I’d nearly made up my mind she was a few bales shy a full hayloft, when both shouting and hoofbeats sounded outside. We slowed to a stop.
    “Not a word,” Merry Anne reiterated, winking at me.
    The carriage door flung open, and a wild-haired, wild-eyed man clambered aboard. He plopped onto the seat beside me, and I shrank to the far corner— not because I was afraid, but because his stench was overpowering. Unable to stop myself, I wrinkled my nose and held my arm up to shield my face. Having been raised on a farm, I’d believed myself immune to foul smells. I was wrong. His odor rivaled a barnful of manure on the hottest summer day.
    Thumps sounded above us, and the carriage rocked, throwing me toward him.
    I pressed my feet to the floor and scooted away again, as shouts came from outside.
    “What have we here?” the outlaw demanded in a deep, throaty voice.
    “An orphan child on her way to Dexter,” Merry