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beside his head.
    “My queen.” Our brother’s voice reaches our ears a moment before his hand alights on our shoulder. “Come away from the boy.”
    We shiver as we turn, meeting Illestros’s gaze. He is disappointed in us. We have failed our brother, the most powerful prophet the world has ever known, at the moment when our success means everything to our people.
    We shiver again.
    “Release him.” Illestros motions for our man to ease the tension on the ropes. “Take the prince to his cell and give him a restorative to drink.”
    “We will try again later,” we whisper.
    “There’s no need.” Illestros watches with pitying eyes as the solider unstraps Jor and leads the limping prince from the room. The boy casts a glance over his shoulder as he goes, his expression filled with a chilling mix of hatred and resolve. He may never confess, no matter how we torture him, and what will we do then?
    “But we had no answer,” we say, shamed by our admission. “We must try again.”
    “It would do no good, my queen. The boy has no answer to give.” Illestros strokes our back, soothing us with his touch before soothing us with his words. “He is not the fairy-blessed child. It is the girl.”
    The girl. Aurora. We never imagined Rose would choose her daughter as her champion.
    “A hawk brought word from the Locked Forest this morning,” Illestros says, handing over a small scroll. “The Boughtswords believe they have captured the lost prince of Norvere and are demanding his ransom be paid.”
    “But the prince is here,” we mutter as we read the missive.
    “We know this, but they do not,” Illestros says. “You were wise to keep the boy’s capture a secret. They say a boy dressed as a fairy attempted to hire them to attack the castle, and when they refused he put up such a fight twelve men were injured before he was contained.”
    A frown tugs our brows together. “It could be a Fey boy. Surely the princess—”
    “They sent a lock of hair,” Illestros says. “My divinations confirm it belongs to one briar-born.”
    “Then it is the girl.” Our relief is tinged with only a hint of fear. “And she is blessed with strength in battle. Will this knowledge be enough?”
    “Perhaps.” Illestros takes our hand, drawing us across the room and up the stairs, out of the blackness of the dungeon. “If not, there is still time to discover her secrets. I have sent word to Keetan and his men. They aren’t far from the Locked Forest. They will have her in hand by tonight.”
    The Locked Forest. Only two days’ hard ride from the castle. We could have as little as two days left. We do our best to believe it will be enough.

Chapter Four

Niklaas
    I catch up with the boy a field before the splitting of the road and force him onto a deer trail in the woods. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem compelled to argue for argument’s sake and allows me to lead the way through a grove of southern beech trees and into the denser forest on the hillside.
    We are halfway up the hill, barely out of sight, when the sound of hoofbeats pounding across hard dirt rumbles through the trees.
    I motion for Jor to stop, straining for a sign that a rider has turned off to follow us. There wasn’t time to conceal the hoofprints leading into the woods. If the mercenaries are watching the ground, one of them will spot the place where we left the road.
    But the hoofbeats soon fade, replaced by the silence of watchful woods. Jor lifts a pale brow, but I raise my hand, motioning for the boy to wait. Finally, when one bird and another resume their song, I urge Alama forward, thanking the gods for a bit of luck. Jor and his horse follow behind, and we travel in blessed silence for close to a quarter hour. I thank the gods for that as well.
    My headache has blossomed into a carnivorous flower determined to devour my brainmeats from the inside out. The last thing I want is to be forced to make conversation with the Brat Prince.
    But sadly, no