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of the ten men-at-arms. They set off marching, and Eliana was obliged to trot in order to keep pace. She wasn’t even wearing her one pair of shoes! Her bare feet struck the dirt road in a pace almost as quick as the beating of her own terrified heart. Her only comfort was that this must, simply must be nothing more than a strange dream!
    She clenched her hand into a fist, rubbing her thumb against her mother’s gold ring. With her other hand she touched the gold necklace. But for once, neither could give her any comfort.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Real Gold
     
    The king’s men did not make Eliana walk the full twenty miles to Craigbarr. In the nearest town—the very town where all Eliana’s friends and acquaintances lived, the town where she attended services at the little church each Sunday—a cart was found, and she was loaded into the back of it like some prisoner. This was almost worse than being surrounded by the men-at-arms. At least when marching in their number she could hide herself behind their armor and lances.
    In the cart she felt horribly exposed. Every one of her neighbors flocked to their windows and gates, gawping at her, whispering, some few daring to call out to her. She could not look at them, could not summon a voice to answer. What answer would she give anyway?
    What in heaven’s name had she done?
    This question rattled round in her head, jarring along with every rut and bump in the long road to the king’s palace. She was no closer to an answer when they stopped for the night at a humble inn and she was locked in a lonely, cold room to herself. She was no closer to an answer the next morning when, shivering, she was loaded back into the cart and driven on into unfamiliar countryside, farther from home than she had ever been.
    And she was no closer to an answer when she saw the king’s city spread out before her and beheld the amazing high rooftops and glittering gable windows of Craigbarr itself. This sight was too much for her, and she hid her face in her hands as though she could hide herself from the curious stares of the city folk who watched with interest as the cart rolled down the center street. She wondered . . . did they know why the king had sent armed men to fetch her, a humble miller’s daughter, from her lowly home?
    The cart lurched to a halt. “Open in the name of the king!” the voice of the messenger boomed.
    Eliana dropped her hands from her face, looking up in time to see the great, wide palace gates swing open like the jaws of a beast ready to swallow her alive. The cart surged into motion again, and Eliana grasped its railing to keep from falling over, her fingers white-knuckled with terror. They passed into a tremendous courtyard, and vague impressions of marble grandeur and glorious paving stones plucked at Eliana’s senses.
    But her gaze fixed on one thing only: the wooden scaffold, half built, standing in the center of that yard. Laborers pounded away with hammers and nails, and even as Eliana watched, the gallows post was set into place.
    Her blood turned to ice in her veins.
    After that, the world seemed to collapse upon itself in a hazy horror. Too dizzy to take in her surroundings, too numb to understand what had happened, Eliana felt strong hands grasp her upper arms and drag her down from the cart. Perhaps she fainted, though no peaceful oblivion of darkness enveloped her.
    Instead, it was as though her conscious awareness simply blacked out until she found herself inside the palace, but in a room unlike anything she would have expected to find within the walls of beautiful Craigbarr. It was low-ceilinged and bare, with only a single window. Its only furnishing was a spinning wheel, which stood in the very center. Piled around it were numerous bales of straw.
    For some reason this sight, even more than the scaffold, filled Eliana with dread. She feared her heart had ceased to beat, and some moments passed before she realized that the men-at-arms had left her alone in