ROSIE.
She couldn’t believe he’d named her pig. Her worker pig. Who didn’t need a name.
Kyra bit off a hunk of stale bread as she stomped through the sun-bright forest. They were on a wide birch-lined path, but Kyra saw with relief that the forest grew denser farther ahead. One problem with following a Katzenheim pig—it went down the most direct path, but it wasn’t always the best route for someone who didn’t want to be seen.
Fred better not have ruined Rosie’s nose with all of his food and getting-the-animals-used-to-each-other business.
And the name had stuck. That’s what was so infuriating. She couldn’t look at the pig without thinking Rosie.
Fred was the most annoying kind of guy—beautiful and full of himself. He’d found the whole incident SO amusing. Kyra blushed at the memory of herself sopping wet and half naked in his arms.
Rosie kept looking up at her hopefully, as though she might have another dog biscuit in her pocket.
Kyra dropped a piece of bread for her. She ate it, but Kyra could have sworn Rosie gave her a reproachful look.
There was nothing wrong with old bread. Kyra loved bread. She’d pretty much been living off of it these past few months. Why did Fred have to go and tempt her with hot food and a warm fire?
What could it have been? It smelled kind of like stew, but there was a strong spicy scent of herb. It reminded her of the Gypsy food stalls at the Saturday market—sort of ethereal and woodsy, yet at the same time earthy and filling. Scrumptious. But her favorite by far was the cheese stand. They made this potato dish that was all mashed up with long strings of melty cheese whipped through it. Garlicky, buttery deliciousness.
A branch snapped behind her.
Grabbing Rosie, Kyra dove into the bushes, scratching herself on a clump of prickers. The sound had been distant but closer than it should have been. Daydreaming about food had brought her guard down.
Rosie didn’t seem to mind the rough treatment. Instead of struggling, she snuggled in under Kyra’s arm for a nap.
As the sound of footsteps grew closer, Kyra reached into her velvet potions bag and pulled out her cloaking charm. She spritzed herself and Rosie, and she and the pig took on the patterns of the leaves around them until their individual outlines disappeared completely.
The footsteps stopped suddenly right beside her hiding place.
Through the small spaces between the leaves, Kyra could see heavy black boots with oversized shiny silver buckles bearing the Kingdom of Mohr insignia. A king’s soldier. Glancing up, all she saw was black, black, black all the way to collar height. This wasn’t just any soldier; he was part of the king’s special regiment. Only elite-force soldiers wore all black.
Their weapons weren’t to keep the peace or disarm an opponent; they were meant to kill. Kyra knew because she had enhanced most of those weapons herself.
He thrust the tip of his sword into the hedge and leaned forward to look inside. She had to stop herself from gasping as she recognized the man’s chin-length black hair framing a drooping mustache. Dartagn.
Of all the soldiers to be after her.
He had trained her.
Dartagn crouched down and peered deeper into the bushes. The tip of his sword, glowing green with poison, was inches away.
Behind him came the fffeeet, fffeeet, fffeeet of a small animal scurrying toward them. Dartagn paused to listen.
The animal stopped a few feet away. A squirrel.
Kyra held her breath.
Please leave, please leave, please leave.
She felt Dartagn hesitate.
Kyra palmed a small rock and flicked it to land a scant inch from the squirrel’s tail. The animal took off, shooting out from beneath the pricker bush onto the path in front of Dartagn.
He swore to himself and stood up. His black boots moved away.
Kyra slowly let out a deep breath, but stayed where she was. Once she was sure there was absolutely no chance that Dartagn was still in the area, she stood. She shook the invisible pig in her arms and heard her wake with a loud yawn.
Kyra held tight to her end of the leash as she deposited Rosie on the ground. “So glad you got a nice nap in.”
Kyra spent the rest of the day following Rosie and alternately jumping at every sound that might be Dartagn or another elite-force soldier.
And obsessing about food.
The memory of that spicy stew of Fred’s haunted her. How could someone so annoying make something that smelled so good?
The sun was sinking into the horizon when Kyra heard noises behind her that could only be footsteps.
She dove into the bushes with Rosie for the second time that day and waited for whoever it was to pass by.
Just as the footsteps drew near, Kyra looked again at the pig and realized that she was as solid and pink as could be. The cloaking charm had faded. How had she let that happen?
The footsteps and shuffling noises grew closer.
And closer.
She didn’t want to risk the noise of her cloaking mister.
The next thing Kyra knew, a wet nose was thrust into her face.
And a tongue licked her.
A dog’s tongue.
“Come on, Langley,” Fred’s voice called, already walking away. “There’s nothing in there.”
What was he doing here?
Kyra held her breath.
Langley pulled his head out of the bushes, and Kyra heard him shuffling off after Fred.
A few moments later she heard a loud shout, followed by a scream.