“Guy won’t appreciate you pocketing thirty of the gold he sent with you.”
They laughed. “Who do you really think he’ll believe? You or us?”
Arista considered the fire. She could try to run to it and grab a stick. She concluded she would never make the distance. Even if she did, a stick would be useless against swords. They would only laugh at her.
“Take the twenty and keep your damn mouth shut, or you can ride away with nothing.”
She thought about running. It’s downhill, and in the dark I could—No, I’m not fast enough and the hill has no cover.
Arista would have to make it all the way to the forest before having the slightest hope of getting away, and Etcher could ride after her and drag her back. Afterward, they would beat and tie her, and then all hope would be lost.
“Don’t even think about it, you little git,” the hooded one was saying to Etcher.
Etcher spat in anger. “Give me the twenty.”
The hooded man tossed a pouch that jingled and Etcher caught it with a bitter look.
Arista started to cry. Time was running out. She was helpless and there was nothing at all she could do. For all her royal rank, she could not defend herself. Nor was her education in the art of magic any help. All she could do was make them sneeze and that was not going to save her this time.
Where are Royce and Hadrian? Where is Hilfred? How could I be so stupid, so reckless? Isn’t there anyone to save me?
Not surprisingly, Etcher left without a word to her.
“So this is what a princess looks like?” the hooded one said. “There’s nothing special about you, is there? You look just as dirty as any wench I’ve had.”
“I don’t know,” the other said. “She’s better than I’ve seen. Throw me the rope over there. I wanna enjoy myself, not get scratched up.”
She felt her blood go cold. Her body trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the man set off to fetch the rope.
No man had ever touched her before. No one dared to think in such terms. Doing so would mean death in Melengar. She had no midnight rendezvous, no casual affairs or castle romances. No boy had ever chanced so much as a kiss, but now … She watched as the man with the stubble beard came at her with a length of twine.
If only I’d learned something more useful than tickling noses and boiling water, I could—
Arista stopped crying. She did not realize it, but she had stopped breathing as well.
Can it work?
There was nothing else to try.
The man grinned expectantly as Arista closed her eyes and began to hum softly.
“Look at that. I think she likes the idea. She’s serenading us.”
“Maybe it’s a noble ritual or something?”
Arista barely heard them. Once more, using the concentration method Esrahaddon had taught her, she focused her mind. She listened to the breeze swaying the grass, the buzz of the fireflies, the whine of the mosquitoes, and the song of the crickets. She could feel the stars and sense the earth below. There was power there. She pulled it toward her, breathing it in, sucking it into her body, drawing it to her mind.
“How you want her?”
“Wrists behind the back works for me, but maybe we should ask her how she likes it?” They laughed again. “Never know what might tickle a royal’s fancy.”
She was muttering, forming the words, drawing in the power, giving it form. She focused elements, giving them purpose and direction. She built the incantation as she had before, but now varied it. She pushed, altering the tone to shift the focus just enough.
The crickets stopped their song and the fireflies ceased their mating flashes. Even the gentle wind no longer blew. The only sound now was Arista’s voice as it grew louder and louder.
Arista felt herself pulled to her feet as the man spun her and maneuvered her arms behind her back. She ignored him, concentrating instead on moving her fingers as if she were playing an invisible musical instrument.
Just as she felt the rough, scratchy rope touch her wrists, the men began to scream.
The ruins of Amberton Lee stood splintered on the hilltop. Pillars, steps of marble, and slab walls lay fractured and fallen. Only three trees stood near the summit of the barren hill, all of them dead, leafless corpses, like the rest of the ruins, still standing long after their time.
“There’s a fire up there, but I only see Arista,” Royce said.
“Bait?”
“Probably. Give me a head start. Maybe I can free her before they know something is up. If nothing else, I should spring whatever trap is waiting and then hopefully you can rush in and save the day.”
It bothered Royce how quiet the hill was. He could hear the distant snorting and hoofing of horses and the crackle of the campfire, but nothing else. They had raced as fast as their horses could manage, and still Royce was afraid they would be too late. When riding, he had been certain she was dead. Now he was confused. There was no doubt that the woman near the fire was Arista.