Braying in triumph, the Pegasus veered left toward the horses, scattering Vesper’s companions in the chaos. Fire lit the farthest tents and smoke filled the campsite—billowing black curls that converted shouts to hacking coughs and snaked across the horses, spooking them. Eyes wild, the six mounts strained until the lead ropes snapped free of their branchy anchors. Before Vesper’s companions got to their feet, the Pegasus rounded up the loose horses and drove them toward the thorny labyrinth.
Prince Vesper rolled to his stomach, squinting through soot and heat. His head buzzed with grogginess from the draining of his blood. He half-crawled, half-dragged himself toward the fishing tarn and the water flasks. They couldn’t hold enough to staunch the fire, but their contents would stifle the sparks along the edges of the blankets Selena and Dolyn were using to smother flames.
Cyprian and Tybalt drew swords and sprinted after their mounts. Vesper tossed the water flasks in his sister’s direction, then stumbled toward his open tent, determined to get his sword and follow the two men. He’d barely dragged the hilt toward him when his blood sang again, that strange reaction to the winged beast. The thrumming spread through his metallic shin, forearm, and abdomen, rocking the bones behind them—making it difficult to move. In this state, he would be artless with weaponry, but he refused to be completely useless. If Cyprian and Tybalt could hold off the Pegasus, he could lasso their mounts.
He found a coil of rope, then gave a shrill whistle. Lanthe responded, darting out from the herd before the rest plunged through the labyrinth’s entrance. The Pegasus drove the others inside—into the boxed clearing Vesper had faced earlier. The winged beast pivoted, then kicked his back legs. The entrance vines snapped at the impact of his flying hooves, falling and tangling—effectively locking the horses within.
Whinnying, the Pegasus raced past Cyprian and Tybalt, razing them with his wing to knock them off their feet. The beast slanted a glance into the trees next to Vesper’s tent. The same intelligence sparked in his eyes that Vesper had seen earlier. The Pegasus switched his tail in a loud snapping motion, almost as if impatient, then disappeared into a thicket the opposite direction.
Lanthe arrived, stirring up ash with his hooves. Vesper stood, swaying, and prepared to vault onto his back.
The boy came out of nowhere, armed with Vesper’s stolen knife. His willowy body barreled into the prince’s chest before he could mount. Lanthe reared in surprise, skittering backward. The prince’s metallic shin torqued and he lost balance, but managed to catch the lad’s sleeve and jerk the knife from his hand. Growling, Vesper dragged the orphan down with him, both of them plopping into the ash with a thud. Head-butting Vesper in the shoulder, the boy twisted free and ducked into the tent. On his way out, he sneered down at the prince—holding the saddlebag with Lady Lyra’s gifts and the leather pouch containing the jars of night creatures—before Vesper could shake off the humming within his metal plates and get to his knees. The little thief lunged toward the trees, looking back at Vesper for several beats, the expression on his gray-stained face unmistakable: Catch me if you can. Then he was gone.
Lanthe pranced forward again. Vesper picked up his knife and tucked it in the empty sheath at his waist. He stood, dragged himself up to the stallion’s withers, then swung a leg over his bare back.
Selena and Dolyn had the fire under control and sorted through the seared wreckage for anything salvageable. Farther away, at the labyrinth, Cyprian and Tybalt chopped at the maze’s entrance with their axes. The horses nickered within, overwrought but slowly realizing they were safe.
Vesper’s gaze followed the path the Pegasus had made, marked by the flickering cinders left in his wake. This had been a plan. All of it. The Pegasus and the orphan worked together to steal back the lad’s jars of crickets and shadows. The princess’s gifts must have caught their eye while they spied upon the camp. The opal hairbrush, amethyst hairpin, and panacea ring were priceless and irresistible to a thief; but Vesper wanted them back for more reason than that. The pack contained the hooded lacewing cloak of nightsky that the princess would need to safely make the trek out of her castle to Nerezeth’s palace.
Fearing he’d lose the gifts, and even more fearful that he’d lose the boy should he hesitate, Vesper shouted. “The orphan stripling stole the princess’s gifts! I’ll return once I have them in hand.”
Selena rushed in his direction. “Wait until we free the mounts! Let us accompany—”
Vesper kicked Lanthe into a gallop before his sister could finish. He drove the stallion into the trees, ash swirling around them in time with the thrilling pace. Vesper and his mount ducked under low-hanging branches and leapt across noxious quag-puddles, guided through the dim haze by the slip of the boy in and out of the trees ahead. Even when he lost sight of the thief, Vesper found their way again, led by that same inexplicable intuition that had carried him through the labyrinth earlier.
Soon, the ash gave way to a wet, thick sludge. A thicket of interlaced briars rose in the distance to form an enclosed dome, hunched and dark like a mud-slicked wolf. A sense of impending danger bristled Vesper’s nerves. Something bad had happened here. The sight alone made him feel trapped. He struggled against the sense of being stuck . . . pulled under . . . drowning. But he pressed on, his resolve stronger than the cryptic foreboding.
Lanthe slowed to a trot, ribs rising and falling rapidly where Vesper’s thighs and calves straddled him. The stallion came to a stop at a slit in the brambles where the boy had vanished within. Vesper’s odd instinct told him there was a bigger entrance somewhere, large enough for a horse, but were Lanthe to venture forward, they could both get trapped within the bog.
How he knew there was a bog inside, Vesper couldn’t say. It was the same strange knowing that told him there was a fishing tarn earlier. Though the stench of dead and dying things might have sparked the idea this time.
Dismounting, Vesper slapped Lanthe on his flanks—a signal to the horse to go home . . . or in this case, to find someone he knew. The prince watched as the stallion trotted in the same direction they’d come. Lanthe’s sense of hearing and smell would lead him back to the camp, and Vesper’s troop could use the horse to find his whereabouts.
Plunging through the thin opening, Vesper gripped the knife at his waist and raised his metallic forearm in front of his face like a shield. His boot soles sucked in and out of the mucky ground. Thorny shrubbery snatched at his clothing, piercing through. Aside from the reek of decay that burned his eyes and coated his tongue, he hardly noticed; it was no different than being home and facing the Grim. There was even a similar glow like moonlight guiding his footsteps.
He wound through the brambles: left, right, and left again. When at last he broke through, he was face-to-face with the thief. An odd, silvery-blue glimmer emanated from the bog, gilding the brambly surroundings and the boy’s appearance. Aside from new burn marks upon his torn clothes, he was cleaner now and donned a pair of boots. His long lashes glistened, as silver-white as hoarfrost, and his scars stood more prominent against his scrubbed, grayish-tinted skin.
The pouch with the night creatures rested across one shoulder. The prince’s saddlebag hung from his other hand, swinging precariously above the gurgling bog. The slimy surface rippled as a snakelike projection resembling a fern leapt out, trying to snatch the pack.
Vesper’s nerves prickled beneath his skin at the dangers within that oddly glowing murk; he could almost feel them wrapping around his neck. He had to get out . . . had to find a way to reason with the thief so he could get them both to safety.
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “What is your name?”
The boy furrowed his brow.
Vesper raised his hands and prepared his fingers, hoping he hadn’t overestimated the orphan’s knowledge of the ancient language. My friends call me Vesper. And you are?
The boy drew the pack away from the water so it hung on his elbow, his expression awed. His hands trembled as they lifted and formed a response. You know how to speak to me.
The prince smiled. Yes.
An expression, akin to surprise, twitched the boy’s pretty lips and he pointed at himself and signaled: Stain.
Vesper nodded. That’s all right. We’re both a bit of a mess, aren’t we? I’ve been wanting a bath all day.
The boy snarled—an airy, frustrated sound. My name is . . . He dropped his hands in mid-sentence and glanced at the bog, as if considering whether to cast the saddlebag in after all.
Vesper signaled: Put the treasures down, please.
With a shrug, the orphan dropped the saddlebag behind him on the other side of a pile of rocks.
Thank you, Vesper gesticulated. I have questions, and you appear to need some funds. I’ll pay you for answers.
The boy grimaced. No answers until you give my mother back.