THE NEXT DAY, Kyra cursed herself for not having slipped away the night before. She was tired, dirty, and completely unnerved by the appearance of the duchess.
Plus, it was raining.
That wasn’t Fred’s fault, but somehow it seemed everything would be easier to bear if she didn’t have to share her misery with anyone.
When Fred had come back without the witch socks the night before, she’d pretended to be sleeping. She felt him lie down beside her and could have sworn he was watching her in the dark of the hayloft. Kyra hadn’t dared risk opening her eyes to see. His breath fluttered against her face, and she felt the lightest touch on her cheek—something soft and warm resting there for the briefest second.
Fred had kissed her.
She heard him settle back into the hay.
She listened until she was sure he was asleep, then peeked at him. She hadn’t gotten used to how beautiful he was. It still sent a jolt through her. She wanted to reach out and touch the curve of his lips.
But she didn’t. Instead she’d nestled in beside him and, despite everything that had happened, fell into an easy sleep, a warm feeling inside.
Then this morning she’d awoken to the sound of rain on the roof and the animals antsy and ready to go.
Fred was unusually quiet, almost somber as they headed out.
The rain alternated between pouring and drizzling. The intense deluge made it difficult to see ahead, and the drizzling, while bearable, made Kyra irritable.
Rosie and Langley, on the other hand, were fully recovered from the incident with the witch. Rosie’s nose was twitching back and forth, sniffing the ground in front of her. The rain didn’t seem to have an effect on her at all.
Fred’s mood sank even further as they walked.
They were getting close to Wexford. Soon there would be other people on the path. Kyra needed to put on a glamour before they encountered anyone who’d recognize her.
The time had come to lose Fred.
As Kyra debated the possible ways she could slip away, she noticed how quiet the forest had become. The rain fell in a fine mist now, but it wasn’t that. The birds that had optimistically started singing when the rain had let up were now silent.
Then she heard the faintest noise.
Someone following them.
She glanced behind, and just for a moment, there it was—a flash of black in the green behind them.
“Fred,” Kyra whispered, “there’s someone behind us.”
“So?”
“Someone following us.”
“Why would someone be following us?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like someone who’s up to no good. He’s wearing all black.”
“So,” Fred replied, “are you.”
“I’m wearing black because it travels well, but that’s not the point. This person is dodging in and out of the trees.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Have you forgotten about the goblins who attacked you?”
“Do goblins wear black and dodge in and out of the trees?”
“As soon as we get around that bend”—Kyra pointed to a curve in the path in front of them—“let’s step off the trail. Whether he’s a robber or not, he’ll pass us by and we won’t have to worry about it.”
“I think I can protect us against one guy.” Fred crossed his arms across his chest.
“But why go to the trouble? Come on.”
Around the corner, the path widened and straightened out. Upper branches of elm trees arched overhead to create a canopy.
Kyra pushed Fred behind the wide trunk of a cedar with Rosie and Langley.
“We’re going to need more cover than this.” Kyra got out her potions bag. Dumping the contents into her palm, she quickly scanned for the cloaking mister.
Beside her, Fred started in surprise. “What is that?” he asked. “It’s got a red skull on the label.”
Kyra cringed. He would notice the most dangerous poison in her bag.
Shoving everything but the cloaking potion back into the bag, she shook her head and said in a quiet voice, “A friend gave me a bag of potions in case of emergencies.” She took the cap off the cloaking potion. “Remember I told you about the confusion potion? I don’t know what they all are.”
“What sort of friend would give you a potion with a red skull on it and not tell you what it is?”
“I’m sure it’s in the bag by mistake.” She started spritzing the cloaking potion over each of them and the animals.
“A red skull means it’s extremely dangerous, Kitty. One of my friends was a potions apprentice. So much as a tiny drop leaks out of that bottle—whatever it is—and we could all be dead.”
“Shh!” They were completely coated now—she couldn’t see Fred or the animals. She felt Rosie lean up against her leg.
“This stuff really works,” Fred said. “Who is this friend of yours?”
“Shh!” Kyra repeated, and squeezed his arm to silence him.
In moments, the man in black came around the corner. He crouched low, scanning the ground. Kyra heard Fred’s sharp intake of breath.
The man moved like a spider toward them.
Dartagn.
Still on her trail. That was bad.
Fred held Kyra tightly in his arms, so close she could feel his breath against her face.
Dartagn drew nearer.
He stopped on the path beside the fat tree they hid behind, his mustache drooping with wet, peering intently at the ground. Their footprints?
Kyra squinted. There must have been something there, or he wouldn’t have been looking.
Dartagn began inching off the trail, heading toward them. He paused and stooped down, studying the earth.
Less than a foot away. If he reached out, he’d touch their legs.
He looked back up, staring blindly at where they were standing. He leaned forward, his hand reaching toward them.
Tup-tup, tup-tup. Tup-tup, tup-tup.
The sound of many feet marching came down the trail.
Dartagn paused, hand outstretched.
Abruptly, he stood and jogged off in the other direction.
Kyra relaxed into Fred’s arms. Somehow, when he couldn’t see her, it seemed okay to let herself lean into him. Just a little bit.
The Tup-tup, tup-tup grew louder.
The first soldiers came around the bend—two men across, row after row of soldiers, until the long line of royal blue filed past Kyra and Fred. An endless procession of blue coats and black boots; glowing, poison-coated weapons strapped across their backs. A squadron of the King’s Army, members of the main ground fighting force.
Finally, the last of the army marched down the trail.
Fred’s forehead pressed against Kyra’s, and they stood together for a moment, completely still as the Tup-tup, tup-tup faded.
“Why is the army patrolling the woods around Wexford, Kitty?”
“I don’t know,” Kyra lied, glad they were still invisible, glad he couldn’t see the expression on her face.
“Why were you hiding from that man in the king’s black?”
“I wasn’t! It’s just—he was creepy! That mustache!”
It was the last thing she said to him before she invisibly swooped down, groped for his boots, and pulled the laces loose.
As she heard him stumble and stop with a “Kitty, hold on a minute, my laces are untied,” she took off running down the path, Rosie clutched in her arms.