Larkin stumbled to the edge of the dark nothingness of the pit, her cheek hot and throbbing from where Met had hit her. “How long do I have?”

The guards shifted.

“We depart in four days,” West said.

Her eyes slipped closed. “Have you ever seen a”—her mouth refused to form the word wraith—“shadow, West?”

“You need to go down the ladder.”

“I have,” she whispered. “I have smelled their foulness—the mineral rot of the grave. I have felt their touch—all screaming shadows. Heard their inhuman voices.” She turned to face him. His eyes reflected the lantern light. The three men with him had their hands on their clubs. “I would die before I let the shadows defile me.”

She charged him. He’d clearly been anticipating it. But instead of drawing his club, he wrestled her to the ground and held her tight. “Prick her.”

The druids had gilgad venom. The wraiths’ doing, surely. The dart’s sting was familiar, as was the pepper-tasting antidote that halted the poison from spreading to her lungs and killing her.

“My name is Larkin. I am the daughter of Pennice and the wife of Denan. I will not be taken by the shadow.”

As the gilgad venom robbed her ability to move, her eyes grew heavy.

“My name is Larkin,” she slurred. “I am the daughter of Pennice and the wife of Denan. I will not be taken by the shadow. I will not …”

 

 

She woke in the pit. Her head throbbed nearly as hard as her teeth. West sat on a boulder beside her, one hand holding his opposite wrist. He pointed to the rim of the pit, where a man stood with a blow gun and dart.

“Say my name, West,” she murmured.

He pointed to a tureen of soup and some soft bread. “Any more trouble and we’ll dart and drug you. Do you understand?”

“Did you dart and drug Tam?”

“I didn’t.”

She heard what he wasn’t saying—someone else did. Ancestors. Why did she think she could ever make the pipers and Idelmarchians work together? She never should have left Denan’s side.

“Say my name.” She didn’t know why it was so important. Then she did. She wanted him to see her as a person. Not a traitor. A person. With a name.

He pushed to his feet and left without a word. She waited until he and the other man were gone, until only the lantern kept her company. Then she wept.

 

 

Four days passed slower and faster than she could have ever imagined. Four days in which the ghosts of the dead and her dread for the future haunted her.

Garrot’s words echoed through her. “You’re part of my plan, Larkin. I need you alive, but I don’t need you healthy.”

Ancestors, he was aligned with the wraiths. Eiryss’s words from the journal came to her mind.

 

Consumed by evil, agents of night,

Seek the nestling, barred from flight.

 

Wraith Queen. Maisy had said they were searching for their Wraith Queen.

Garrot was taking her to the wraiths. They were going to make her one of them. She felt Ramass’s burning cold, evil embrace, the oily corruption seeping into her soul.

Larkin would die first.

She pierced herself over and over again with her amulet until her arm grew infected and she made herself stop. And all she had to show for it was the same vision over and over again, until she had memorized Eiryss’s and Dray’s every movement. She read the lullabies until she knew them word for word. She became so wrapped up in Eiryss’s and Dray’s past that it began to feel more real than her own.

All that kept her sane was Denan’s promise. He would come for her.

Or she would escape and go to him.

She practiced the moves Tam, Talox, and Denan had taught her until her muscles screamed for her to halt. West brought her another bucket of water and change of clothes. She barely recognized her reflection in the bucket’s still water. Her cheek was swollen and black, a dark wedge of bruising had settled in a line along her jaw. Blood splattered her skin. She probed her teeth, which didn’t feel as loose as they had before.

She washed blood from the creases of her skin, throwing the ruined dress into the shadowed recesses of the pit, and dressed in another simple skirt and shirt. She wished for the soft trousers of the pipers—it would be much easier to fight her way free in pants.

Every day, West brought her soup and some tea for the pain. Knowing she needed her strength, she ate hungrily, careful to chew with only the left side of her mouth—her teeth were still sore—and downed all her water. When she saw the light coming for her, she paced, shook out her limbs to loosen them, and practiced a few kicks and lunges.

Her body was not responding as she liked, sluggish from so many days spent underground with such monotonous food. Plus, she was still healing from her injuries. Her braid was still damp from her bath when West appeared with two other men, a stretcher between them.

He looked at her in disappointment.

She didn’t understand his expression but didn’t care. She flared her shield and sword. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come get me this time.”

He leaned against the wall. “We’ll wait.”

She huffed. “You’re going to have to wait a long time, Druid. I know where you’re taking me. And I will not go willingly.”

“I’m not a druid,” West said. “I’m a soldier of the Idelmarch.”

She eyed his companions, who wavered. She blinked to clear her eyes. They didn’t look like soldiers, but servants. Insulting. “I’m not going to the shadows.”

West only watched her. She shrugged her shoulders to loosen them. Losing her balance, she stumbled to the side and struggled to remain upright. She froze and looked at him in horror. The soup. “You drugged me.”

Whatever they’d given her worked faster and faster. She sat down hard, her magic snuffing out. She would be at their mercy in moments. And afterward … “Everything the shadows say is poison. As soon as they no longer need you, they will betray you.”

“I’m just a soldier,” West said. “I have no more say in the matter than you.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Her body tipped forward. She caught herself, pushed herself back upright. “Help me. Free me. I swear, my husband will reward you.”

West didn’t answer.

She tipped forward again. This time, her hands didn’t have the strength to hold her up. She collapsed, her face mashed against the rocks, her bruises throbbing.

She came around to pain on her arm. West scratched her with a dart—like what had happened to Maisy. She’d retain some of her ability to move and speak. They bound her hands and rolled her onto the stretcher. Pinching herself, she fought a wave of exhaustion as they carried her to the side of the pit. West tied her legs to the poles while the servants tied two dangling ropes. So that was how they meant to haul her up.

West straightened and pointed to one of the servants, a handsome boy about her own age. “Keep her steady.”

They climbed the ladder out of the pit and disappeared over the edge. The servant knelt beside her. His hand cupped between her legs. “You know what we do with traitorous whores, little princess?”

She managed a terrified groan as his hand slipped up her skirt. He covered her mouth. “Oh, shh. None of that. Might interrupt our fun.”

She moaned again.

“What are you doing?” West shouted from above.

The servant jumped back. “Nothing, sir. Just arranging the ropes.”

West dropped down the ladder so fast he nearly fell. “Were you manhandling the prisoner?”

The servant backed away. “Of course not, sir.”

West eyed her mussed skirts. She managed a trembling nod. He lunged, his fist flying into the servant’s face.

The man hunched over, his hands cupping his shattered nose. “You broke it! The forest take you, you filthy—”

West’s foot jammed between the servant’s legs. The man’s face went white, and he fell to his knees. West knelt next to her and rearranged her dress.

“That won’t happen again. I swear it.”

She gripped the sleeve of his shirt. “Not the first time,” she stumbled slowly through the words, “one of you has groped me.” She closed her eyes as Blue Eye’s face flashed in her mind, his hands gripping her bottom.

West’s mouth hardened. “It won’t happen again, Larkin.”

Her name. He’d said her name.

She collapsed, her mind wandering and her body boneless as they hauled her up. Like that first night with Denan. She’d been drugged against the pain and carried over his shoulder into the boughs. The wraiths had come that night, their oily evil coating her one stroke at a time.

Days of preparation in the pit, of planning and determination—all undone. She was helpless. The druids would make sure she stayed that way. She had to face the fact that she might not have a chance to escape. If that were the case, she still had her weapons. She could turn them on herself.

She gasped on a hard sob. She did not want to die. Did not want to leave the people she loved. Did not want them to suffer because of her. But better safely dead than twisted into something evil that would hunger for their destruction.

She dozed then, unable to fight anymore, and woke in fits and starts as they wedged her onto the bed of straw in a wagon already packed with crates of food. West perched on one of the crates beside her and glared at the druids who leered at her over the edge of the wagon. One hocked through his nose and made to spit on her.

West stood, his sword scraping free of its scabbard. “I’ve been charged with making sure no one molests her. And I mean to do my job.”

The man turned and spat onto the ground. He glared at West, motioned to his friends, and moved off.

West watched them for a while, then he crouched down beside her. “Would you rather be completely covered so they can’t stare at you? It might be hot.”

West wasn’t a bad man. Just a soldier doing his job, and he had enough kindness in him to let her keep her dignity. A kind, honest man wouldn’t agree to work with the wraiths—not if he really understood them. She could use that to her advantage. Plant the seeds of truth and wait for them to take root. And maybe, just maybe, West would help her escape.

She managed to nod. He dug around in a bag and produced a large blanket. He laid it over her, mused for a bit, pulled it off again, and arranged the blanket to create a sort of canopy over her. He nodded in approval and hopped down. From the direction of her feet came a pair of clopping hooves.

“How is the mandala root working in conjunction with the gilgad venom?” Garrot asked.

Mandala. That made sense. Her mother gave it to sleepless mothers who suffered from melancholy after the births of their babies. It was dangerous though. Too much led to death.

“She’s groggy and limp, but aware,” West said.

“Good.” The saddle creaked, and the horses made a few steps as if it was leaving.

“Master Druid,” West said.

Master Druid. Of course they’d made Garrot the master. Of course they had. At least she needn’t worry about seeking revenge. There wouldn’t be much of the druids left to pay for what they’d done to her—not after the wraiths were finished with them. But then again, there wouldn’t be much left of her either.

“What do you mean, manhandled her?” Garrot’s shout startled her out of her thoughts.

Hushed murmurs.

“Where is this man?” Garrot grunted.

“I left him in the pit,” West said. “He might be able to walk by now.”

Garrot huffed. “Leave him there. You were right to hide her. I should have commissioned a box for her.”

A pause. The threads of a whisper.

“Well,” Garrot said, “there’s nothing else for it, and West will see to her.”

More whispers, more insistent this time.

“That won’t be necessary,” Garrot said.

“I will not let a bunch of uncouth men around her when she’s vulnerable like this,” Nesha’s voice ground out. She must have been the one whispering earlier. She obviously hadn’t wanted Larkin to know she was here and now no longer cared. Why did she care about what was done to Larkin? They hated each other.

“Really, my dear,” Garrot said. “West apprenticed to healers long before becoming a soldier. He’s more than capable of caring for her.”

“He hasn’t done a great job so far,” Nesha huffed.

An awkward silence. “It won’t happen again, miss,” West said.

Nesha hmphed.

“We will check on her tonight, and you may ask her how she fares,” Garrot said. “Will that satisfy you?”

Tonight? But surely Nesha had just come to say goodbye to Garrot. Surely Garrot wasn’t such a fool as to bring his pregnant wife to a meeting with the wraiths.

“At midday,” Nesha said. “I will help her with her needs.”

A sigh through the nose—probably from Garrot.

“I understand your familial connection, Nesha,” he said. “But you must remember that Larkin is still under the pipers’ enchantment. She is not to be trusted.”

“Of course I remember,” Nesha said.

Garrot hummed low in his throat. “Very well.”

The wagon swayed as someone stepped into the seat. The harnesses jangled, and the wagon lurched into motion. It wasn’t long before Larkin was sick to her stomach. Deciding sleep was better than this, she allowed herself to drift away.

 

 

Larkin woke at midday when West pulled away the blanket covering her and dropped the tailgate. He climbed in with her and propped her against a bag of beans, high enough she could see out between some of the crates. They were on one of the roads that connected the cities—either Cordova Road or Landra Road.

Not in the forest, thank her ancestors.

West settled a tray of cooked beans, some buttered bread, and a waterskin on her lap. He tucked a napkin into her shirt. “Can you manage the spoon?”

She glared at it. “Don’t want it.”

West took a spoonful and swallowed. “There. See?”

She stirred the watery beans as he hopped down. Still not trusting it, she took the bowl in her bound hands and threw it out.

Hands on his hips, he stared at the mess, some of it on his pants.

I need him on my side, she reminded herself. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

He gave her a flat look. “So you’re just not going to eat at all?”

“How long do I have?” she asked.

He seemed to understand what she meant. “The pipers are meeting us for your ransom at a bend in the river in three days.”

“Ransom?” There was no ransom. They were turning her over to the wraiths.

His guilty eyes met hers, and she suddenly understood. Denan thought he was ransoming her. He marched into a trap. She must warn him. But first, she must wake up. She must get out of these ropes and escape the encampment.

Her seat bones hurt. She tried to shift, only to flop around like a stranded fish. The movement made her bladder hurt. “I need to pee.”

West blushed scarlet.

“I thought you apprenticed to a healer?” she asked in exasperation.

“None of my patients were pretty,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. West scooted her forward. When she reached the edge, he carried her a dozen steps toward the forest.

“Where are you going with her?”

West turned, allowing her to see Nesha riding toward them on a beautiful bay, Garrot loping behind her. “To see to her needs.”

Nesha stared at Larkin, her mouth a thin line. She turned to Garrot. “This isn’t something a man should help her with.”

“Nesha,” Garrot said gently. “She’s not safe to be around.”

“She would never hurt me. And besides, her hands are bound.” He didn’t seem convinced. She smiled sweetly at him. “You’ll be right there if anything happens.”

Garrot nodded. Nesha rode to the edge of the woods, clambered down from the saddle, and handed the reins to Garrot. She pointed into the wood. “There, that log will do nicely.”

Nesha maneuvered Larkin’s skirts so she wasn’t sitting on them as West got her into position with her backside hanging over the opposite side of the trunk. Nesha took West’s place, propping Larkin against her. West backed away. Nesha gathered Larkin’s skirts, exposing her backside. Larkin finally released her bladder.

She sighed in relief. Beneath her cheek, Larkin could feel the baby squirming. She rested her fingertips against the shifting—an elbow maybe? Bane’s baby. A piece of him in the world lived on even after his father had perished.

“The mandala is in the water, not the food.” Nesha slipped a waterskin from a loop at her belt and held it to Larkin’s mouth. “Drink all of it. Now.”

Larkin pushed back, not trusting her sister. “What? Why would you help me?”

“Because even after all you’ve done, you’re still my sister.”

“All I’ve done? I didn’t turn a mob loose on you.”

“Drink,” Nesha hissed.

Larkin drained Nesha’s waterskin. Her sister eased it back onto the loop around her waist. “In ten minutes, act groggy and sloppy, like you were this morning. When they give you water, pretend to drink it but pour it out instead.”

Larkin opened her mouth to ask one of a dozen questions piling up in her head.

“West,” Nesha called before she could. “She’s ready.” Nesha held her skirts so Larkin’s backside was covered, but the hem wasn’t hanging in the urine.

West picked Larkin up. Confused, she watched her sister limp back to her horse and smile brightly at Garrot before riding away.