They followed the blood compass through the yellow wood until they reached a two-story tavern in the middle of nowhere. There was no road.
“So what do we do to get her out of there?” asked Lazar.
“We don’t do anything. I can handle this. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“I promise I’ll behave. I just need to know that she’s okay.”
Nepenthe relented. It was the second time in as many days that Lazar had given her his word.
They entered the tavern. It was a robber haunt filled with low-grade magic. A hush fell over the place the second they entered. Everyone there knew they were different. They knew they didn’t belong. Weapons were reached for. And then a murmur went through the place.
“Your Highness . . . ,” someone said.
Nepenthe had forgotten about the Prince’s jacket that hung over her shoulders and about the Prince’s face, which had been drawn a million times in portraits and printed in the papers.
She nodded at Lazar. She knew she could not stop this many people, but he could. She would only let him if it came to that.
“Do not kill anyone,” she whispered.
“We’re here looking for a witch called Ora. She’s a pretty blonde. About my height. We don’t mean any harm. We’re willing to pay a handsome reward for her safe return.”
The crowd remained quiet.
“No offense, but can’t you just hocus-pocus your way to her?” a boy behind the bar joked.
Laughter reverberated through the room.
“I know that she has been here. So just tell me what you saw, and who she was with, and we’ll be on our way.”
Nepenthe zeroed in on the boy behind the bar who had made the joke. “Speak!” she commanded.
There was a gurgling sound in his throat. He opened his mouth and closed it again. She knew what was happening to him. What she was making happen.
“He’s drowning!” someone assessed.
The boy was turning blue.
Lazar looked at her with surprise. She assumed that he did not think her capable of what she was doing. He was either impressed or horrified. She didn’t look back at him for confirmation. She didn’t think she wanted to know. She had to focus. The task at hand was what was important. She had to get Ora back. In the woods she had let herself forget everything. She had forgotten Ora and herself. But it wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it . . .
“Someone tell me where the girl is. Now.”
“I suggest you listen to her,” Lazar added.
“We don’t have her, but she has been here,” a waiter offered.
“And you know who does,” Nepenthe commanded.
“Yes, yes. Just let him go. Don’t kill him. Please!”
She released the boy. He fell to the floor and coughed, trying to regain his breath.
The waiter continued his story. “They were on foot. They couldn’t have gone far. She wore a hood. I didn’t get a good look at her. But she paid with this . . .”
He opened the money drawer and handed over a tiny coin.
“I don’t know what it’s worth, but the girl looked hungry and she was so pretty. I think I would have given them whatever they wanted.”
Nepenthe took the coin, closed her fist over it, and focused her mind. And then she opened her eyes.
“I know where they are . . .”
The boy behind the counter choked up water and finally caught his breath. “Witch,” he said.
She felt herself smile. The boy thought it was an insult. But it was the opposite. She turned to head for the door. Behind her she heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw it was the bartender. He was back on his feet, holding a sword—a sword he would be holding forever. Lazar had frozen his arm solid to save her.
There was a collective gasp as the mass of patrons ran for the door.
“Nepenthe, you were amazing,” Lazar said.
But there was no time for compliments. They left the tavern with everyone else. Nepenthe charmed the coin with a Locator Spell, and they followed it through the yellow wood.