Anna came to on the grassy hillside beside the tracks. The sound of the train was distant now, fading fast.
Oh no.
Vargas.
She pushed herself up and ran back toward the station. The platform was empty when she reached it.
Too empty.
As she passed the station house, she saw them.
Anna ducked behind the side wall and peered around the corner.
Vargas stood with three other men. All wore plain clothing, well-made, but ordinary. Clothing meant not to be noticed.
It seemed strange on Vargas.
The cut was better than a commoner’s, but unmistakably wrong on a prince of the blood.
The other three men felt familiar. Anna’s chest tightened. She knew she had seen them before, though no names surfaced.
They weren’t talking.
They were waiting.
For something.
Or someone.
A horse whinnied. A carriage rolled into view between the houses.
Anna’s pulse spiked.
She couldn’t let them out of her sight. This was the first real connection she’d ever found, the first thread tied directly to Sten.
They boarded quickly. The street was empty. As the carriage lurched forward, Anna broke from cover and sprinted.
She leapt.
Her fingers scraped wood, then she caught hold. She clung to the back rail as the carriage picked up speed, muscles screaming.
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A heavy thud struck the roof.
“Faster,” a voice bellowed.
Anna’s grip tightened until her knuckles burned white.
She knew that voice.
She had heard it only once before, during the executions of the Spring Conspirators, three years ago.
The Marshal.
The man who had overseen the scaffold.
Her stomach lurched. She wanted to let go. To drop. To disappear.
But she couldn’t.
Not now.
She finally had a clue.
Of course the Marshal rode with Vargas. Of course. He was part of his retinue.
Time blurred. Fear narrowed her world to the pounding of hooves and the ache in her arms.
The carriage slowed.
Sensa.
Again.
What was it with this village?
Anna dropped from the carriage as it rolled past the last houses and followed on foot, keeping her distance as it wound through the narrow lanes.
It stopped in front of the Lion Rose Inn.
The men disembarked.
Vargas.
The Marshal.
And the other two.
Recognition hit like a blow.
Captain Sorkin, head of Vargas’s guard.
And Amon.
Head Wizard of Vargas’s court.
Anna’s breath caught.
Why would Vargas ever allow Amon outside the court?
She had seen him only once in the Garden of Oleanders, after she had sworn her allegiance and her life to Sten, while Rowan bound the oath. Amon had passed through the garden without slowing, and Rowan had gone deathly pale.
A true believer, Rowan had whispered.
A fanatic.
The inn door closed behind Vargas.
Anna barely realised how long she stood frozen before it burst open again.
A woman stormed out, cloaked, her face hidden.
“Stop,” Vargas called after her, not angry. Frustrated. “Let me handle this.”
He caught up and grabbed her arm.
As he pulled her back, the cloak slipped.
Anna’s heart stopped.
Princess Augusta.
Sten’s sister.
This was it.
This was why Sensa.
This was where she was meant to act.
Augusta tore her arm free. “What can you do?” she hissed. “Nothing.”
Vargas faltered.
Anna had never seen the princess like this, not calm, not composed, but furious and afraid.
Vargas recovered quickly. He seized Augusta’s arm again. “Enough. We’re returning now. I will take care of it. Trust me.”
No.
Anna surged forward and kicked Vargas hard in the shin. He cried out as she yanked Augusta’s arm free.
“Run!” Anna shouted.
Augusta stared at her, confused, startled, then stepped backward.
Behind Vargas.
“No,” Anna screamed. “You’re going to die...”
Pain exploded through her belly.
Anna looked down.
Steel jutted from her body.
It vanished just as quickly.
Blood spilled warm and unstoppable.
She collapsed backward into the mud.
Above her, the Marshal wiped his blade clean.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” he asked calmly, stepping over Anna toward Vargas and Augusta.
Cold crept in.
Then darkness.
So close this time.
Next time.
