Never Ever After

Genres: YA Action & Adventure

Synopsis

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

Not all fairy tales end happily ever after in this Cinderella-inspired fantasy by the bestselling author of Daughter of the Moon Goddess—for fans of Renée Ahdieh, Tahereh Mafi, and Stephanie Garber.

Yining stopped believing in dreams the day her beloved uncle died. Driven to survive, she’s become a good thief and an even better liar. When she acquires an enchanted ring that could yield the key to a better life, it is stolen by her grasping step-aunt, and Yining must venture into the imperial heart of the Iron Mountains to seize it back.
 
Amid the grandeur of the palace, Yining catches the eye of the ruthless and ambitious Prince Zixin, who tempts her with a world she’s never imagined. But nothing is as it seems as she’s soon trapped in a tangle of power, treachery, and greed—her only ally a cunning advisor from a rival court who keeps dangerous secrets of his own. Desperate to secure her freedom, Yining embarks on a perilous quest where she must choose who to trust, unravel the mystery of her past, and fight for a future that both frightens and calls to her.
 
This sweeping fantasy romance, the first in an enthralling new series, is the young adult debut of the acclaimed author of Daughter of the Moon Goddess and Heart of the Sun Warrior.

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 368

Sample

S unlight strikes the sloped roof of the palace, the tiles shimmering like obsidian. The entrance is flanked by armored guards, the grounds wrapped in a wall of iron. The mines here gleam with it, the namesake of these mountains.

Iron forges weapons and armor. It saves and seizes lives with ruthless indifference, tilting the scales of battle. The one who controls this precious ore is the heart of power in the Three Kingdoms, the true ruler of the realm.

And now, he is dying.

The prince strides toward the king’s chamber, his steps quick yet assured. As he passes them, attendants sink into low bows. Soon, he will be crowned King of the Iron Mountains—but that is not the only reason all eyes slide to him, or why they linger.

The prince’s dark hair is tucked into a shining headpiece, his black eyes wide and clear, his features as perfect as though carved by a master. He is beautiful in the way the moon lights the night, weaving magic into the ordinary—in the way that makes you think life would change if only he would notice you. By the doorway, he halts, his expression tightening. The chamber is lavishly furnished in yellow brocade and rosewood. Yet it is dim within, the windows shuttered, the opulence glazed in shadow.

The chief attendant, the king’s loyal confidant, motions for the prince to enter. “His Majesty has been asking for you.”

“I came as soon as I received word. How is His Majesty?”

The chief attendant’s lip quivers. While he is avaricious and grasping, his devotion to the king is unwavering. He has taken many bribes over the years but never to undermine his master. “The physicians say His Majesty is fading fast.”

“Is there pain?” the prince asks in a low voice.

The chief attendant bows. “His Majesty never complains.”

The prince walks toward the bed. Gold brocade falls in swathes from the wooden frame, leaving just a slender gap between the curtains. A hand reaches out, jeweled rings stacked upon withered fingers. As a ridged nail taps the bed, the prince drops to his knees.

“You are my heir, you will rule in my place. Choose a bride to forge alliances and to secure the line of succession,” the king rasps. “I have led us to the pinnacle of power, we are the greatest among the kingdoms. As my heir, you must protect our heritage and uphold our might.” His breath rattles in his throat. “The chief attendant has my final decree as King of the Iron Mountains—”

“And of the Three Kingdoms and also the Land Beyond,” the chief attendant murmurs, never missing an opportunity to flatter.

“Not in my lifetime,” the king corrects him, in an echo of his steely self. “Yet one day the Iron Mountains will rule not just the Three Kingdoms, but also Thorn Valley and the wretched Mist Island. Those evil magic-wielders tried to destroy us and failed. To conquer them, we must be stronger. We must defeat them once and for all.”

“Father, I will not fail you.” The prince speaks steadily, his hands clenched. “I will vanquish our enemies.”

“This is why I have chosen you to rule. Do not waver, else our mountains will be swallowed by the mist, overgrown by thorns.”

As the prince presses his head to the ground in a kowtow, the highest form of respect, the king slides something across the covers: a thick iron seal the width of his palm, carved with a single chrysanthemum. A glittering jewel hangs from it, as bright as white fire. The prince’s eyes shine at the sight of it.

“The royal seal is yours. Carry it with you always; it holds the key to our future. Use its power to fortify our kingdom, to strengthen our army—and with our iron, we will conquer the realms. Do not fail me again.” The king’s gaze bores into his son’s, but then his eyelids flutter unevenly.

The prince takes the seal, his knuckles white around it. “I swear on my life to protect the Iron Mountains, to uphold its strength, to never allow the shadow of Mist Island to darken the borders of our land.” As the prince fastens the seal to his waist, his expression is grim, the one his enemies see just before he plunges his sword through their chests.

The king’s fingers fumble for the crown laid by the side of his bed, brushing the luminous jewel set between the two carved dragons, its radiance rivaling the stars’, as bright as the stone attached to the seal. “Only once you’ve completed the tasks I’ve set for you—to secure our kingdom’s future—can you claim the crown. Only then will the coronation be held.”

The prince frowns, glancing at the chief attendant, who shakes his head in warning. Such a delay is not customary, but the king has been erratic of late. It’s safer to agree than to risk a confrontation when his health is so frail… when he might still choose another.

“Yes, Father,” the prince says dutifully. “I will rule as you did, as you command.”

Silence falls, punctured by ragged breaths, the occasional cough. At last, the king’s hand falls limp upon the bed. His lined skin is so pale it appears translucent, his veins a dull violet. The room seems emptier, a little dimmer. The prince bows his head as weeping rolls out, the chief attendant falling to his knees. A gong is struck, the mournful sound reverberating.

The King of the Iron Mountains is dead.

T he morning following the full moon is always the best for business. I hate it—dread coiling in my gut with every night the moon swells wider. Market day in Twin Cypress Village attracts vendors from across the Iron Mountains selling rare delicacies, fragrant tea, silk that shimmers like water…

While I sell lies.

“Hurry, else the best places will be gone,” Mistress Henglan urges as she weaves between the stalls. My uncle married her after my aunt died, and when he passed away, she became my sole guardian.

I quicken my pace to follow my step-aunt, her thin blue coat flapping over her long pants. My clothes are the same except a little more threadbare, my pants three inches too short. As the wind blows, I shiver, glancing at the jagged silver-white mountains encircling us like a cursed crown. Beautiful, yet when I look at them too long, something clenches inside me like I’m trapped in their jaws.

Travelers often complain our autumn feels like winter elsewhere, a stark difference from the warmth of the Amber Forest or the shores of the Pearl Ocean. One day, I’ll find out if what they say is true—though it feels like an impossible dream tucked away in my mind.

I glance at Mistress Henglan, the sunlight glinting off the thin iron hoops in her ears, the small dagger by her waist. Our people covet the iron of our mountains, just as those in other kingdoms desire gold and jade. I possess neither, just a rusted knife of some ordinary metal, unable to afford better. While I earn our money, Mistress Henglan hoards every coin. I don’t complain; it’s safer this way, just as it’s safer for me to steer clear of the soldiers and the threat of the mines.

The iron of our mountains is the lifeblood of our kingdom. Our elders tell stories of how it is blessed by the gods, believed to ward off evil spirits and the magic-wielders of Mist Island—maybe why the late king built a wall of iron around his palace.

After all, magic is no laughing matter in the Iron Mountains. Not a trace of it exists in our kingdom, any whispered embers swiftly stamped out. Once, I heard an old storyteller speak of the mystical starfire buried deeper in the mines—claiming they were the shards of a celestial jewel that fell from the heavens, casting their unearthly sheen over our mountains. Those listening had scoffed, denouncing him as a liar. Soon after, the guards came, taking the storyteller away.

I ran away then, afraid to even be caught listening. All that matters is keeping free of the mines. While the mountains glitter from the outside, towering until they seem to graze the skies, the mines tunnel into their depths, where the days are blacker than night, the air clogged with dust and ringing with the incessant thud of chisels. My uncle died there.

As Mistress Henglan points at an empty space between a merchant selling fruit and another with jars of wine, I squeeze into the gap and set down the two small stools I’ve been carrying. A wooden crate from a nearby vendor serves as our table. I drape a piece of cloth over it, setting up a sign that reads FORTUNE TELLER.

I’m not a good fortune teller, not even a trained one, though after a couple of years the lies flow more smoothly. I don’t expect my customers to return. Mistress Henglan and I work across the surrounding villages, never returning to the same market within six months. Each time, I change my disguise, my step-aunt careful to keep her face covered beneath her hood. Today, my skin is painted a sallow hue that lends the illusion of lines I don’t possess, a constellation of auspicious moles dotted across my brow, my hair tucked into a piece of cloth.

“Do we need all this?” I asked Mistress Henglan once.

“Nobody wants their fortune told by a young girl,” she replied scornfully. “You need to look like you’ve seen more of life.”

If only my step-aunt could read the fortunes, but she is the better thief. While I can lift one’s purse with ease, Mistress Henglan can slip a bracelet or a chain from an unsuspecting victim without them stirring.

My insides churn as I sit by the table. What we do is dangerous, but it’s safer than roaming the streets with the other pickpockets. This way, we choose our targets, we keep them distracted. Whenever possible, I try to secure those who look like they can afford it—catching their eyes, nodding like I understand the worries sunken over their faces. No matter their age or appearance, they usually look the same: Tired. Sad. Unwell. They come clinging to a wisp of a dream, seeking answers to impossible questions. They believe me because I tell them what they want to hear, what no honest person would—and when they leave, they usually look a little more hopeful. Or maybe I just tell myself this to ease my own conscience.

It’s still early, the market quiet, the scent of steamed meat buns, bread, and fried dough fritters wafting through the air. By afternoon it will be tainted with the stench of sweat, spoiled food, and waste. As several of the fruit vendor’s customers gather, they begin talking about “the invitation,” and I lean closer to listen.

Mistress Henglan slaps my arm. At once, I straighten, turning to her. She doesn’t beat or starve me anymore, maybe because I do what she wants. Principles tend to fall into the shadow when your stomach is hollowed with hunger.

“We must pay the king’s guards what we owe next week,” she reminds me.

“The crown prince’s guards,” I correct her without thinking. “The king is dead.”

“The whole kingdom knows that,” she snaps. “With a special tax levied for us to show our grief. The only sorrow we feel is in our purses.” My expression must irk her as she pushes her face closer, her eyes gleaming like chestnuts. “Don’t forget, I’m helping you. If we don’t earn enough, the guards will take you to the mines. You don’t want to know what they do to young women there.”

The words hang between us, a familiar threat. One day soon, I’ll leave this place and her. I’m already nineteen; I just need money. I’ve never dared to steal from her before, but if I’m lucky today, if Mistress Henglan wanders off to the dice tables, maybe I’ll get to carve away a little of my earnings before she claims every coin.

I think of leaving all the time now. When my aunt and uncle were alive, things were different. They’d adopted me as a young child and treated me like their own. Some days I wonder about my real parents, but I don’t remember anything of my life before. All I have left of it is a worn handkerchief and a wooden ring—the one Mistress Henglan declared was worthless when she went through my possessions to sell anything of value. I’m tempting fate by still wearing the ring, but it feels wrong whenever I take it off, like something is missing. Fortunately, Mistress Henglan has never remarked on it again, as though she’s forgotten it. As I rub the ring now, it comforts me; it makes me feel safe.

Mistress Henglan was the one who recruited my uncle to join a group of bandits, even before they’d married. She knew these bandits well, perhaps she’d been trained by them too. The treacherous paths between the mountains are a boon to those who know their way around. When the crops perished after a harsh storm, there were few choices left to my uncle to avert starvation: the mines or banditry. Uncle joined them to rob the rich travelers, but he never hurt anyone. Maybe it made him a bad thief, but it makes my heart a little less heavy to think about it.

When my uncle was alive, his broad presence filled the awkward gaps between my step-aunt and me. Mistress Henglan had never warmed to me, but there was peace between us, the brittle kind. After Uncle was caught during a night raid by soldiers, he was sentenced to toil in the mines for his thievery. Whenever I think of him, trapped in the lightless bowels of the mountains, dying alone—my chest grows so tight I can’t breathe. As tears prick my eyes now, I brush them away, but Mistress Henglan’s cold stare slides to me.

“Don’t smudge your face powder,” she warns.

I want to wipe it all off. The yellowish powder itches and makes me look haggard. But then a woman approaches, a brush of white in her hair, her long robe grazing her ankles. A delicate chain of iron glints from her neck, a jade bangle on her wrist.

I incline my head but don’t smile, afraid to chase her away. The woman sits before me, wordlessly pushing three copper coins across the table. I don’t charge much; it’s easier to draw customers in. But at times, through sheer dumb luck, I happen to say something of use. Then they usually offer more—copper or even silver, which swiftly vanishes into my step-aunt’s pouch.

“How can I help you, madam?” I clasp my hands together. “A palm reading, or are there answers you seek?”

Her gaze fixes on me. “Your moles—are you truly marked by the gods?”

“Who knows for certain? But sometimes I sense things, sometimes I’m right.” A safe answer. Braggarts invite more scrutiny and suspicion.

She rubs her necklace, gnawing her lip. “What if you’re wrong?”

“One’s fate can be changed just by seeking answers,” I say evasively as Mistress Henglan moves behind the customer, her bright eyes riveted on the chain. We don’t usually steal iron; the risk is too great, the items easily missed. I shake my head to dissuade her, but she ignores me.

The woman fidgets impatiently. At once, I take her papery hand. “What would you like to know, madam?”

“My husband has changed over the past few months,” she begins haltingly. “Returning late at night, losing his temper more often. I used to be his closest friend, now he barely sees me.” Tears well in her eyes. “Is he… possessed by an evil spirit?”

More likely he’s taken up with a new mistress, but she doesn’t want to hear that. “Do you have a token of your husband’s?”

As she hands me a fat circlet of jade, I rub it between my fingers like I’m thinking hard, fighting the temptation to slip it into my waistband. When I return the ring, the customer’s necklace is gone, tucked in Mistress Henglan’s pouch.

“He’s not possessed.” The honest part of my prediction. “But his spirits are burdened by an outside influence. Put away what money you can for safekeeping; it will come in useful one day.” Useful for her when he installs a concubine in the household.

She nods, sitting straighter. As she leaves, a girl takes her place on the stool. Business is brisk this morning. Mistress Henglan’s smile widens as she ushers in customer after customer, each leaving with their purse a little lighter, missing a trinket or two. Regardless of my lies, I try to advise them well. I tell a man the woman he likes doesn’t match his horoscope when she clearly prefers another. I advise a mother with a screaming child to keep sweets from her diet, and an old man to reconcile with his brother whom he’s still mad at, though he’s forgotten why. Most of what I say is gleaned from listening to the other fortune tellers or the chatter on the street. Small things, gravely spoken, embellished with enough detail to give them color.

At last, there is a break between customers. I take a long drink from the waterskin, my voice having grown hoarse. Mistress Henglan wanders to where a game of dice is underway. I breathe easier when she’s gone, though I hope she won’t lose too much. At this hour, the market is crowded. Children carry skewers of candied fruit, villagers huddle on benches as they slurp up bowls of noodles, some chewing sesame pancakes. I reach for the stale bread in my pouch, but release it when I remember the tax we owe.

As I scan the crowd for another customer, my gaze falls upon a young man. His eyes are the clear brown of freshly steeped tea, his black hair framing his tanned face. It’s cut short, unlike those here who wear it pulled high or in a topknot. And he is handsome, maybe more so than Farmer Lan’s son, whom many here stare at. I cast the distracting thought aside. More importantly, this stranger is rich with his fine garments, the jade-studded belt around his waist, the bulging pouch hanging from it. I wait till his eyes flick to mine, then give him my most knowing look, my mouth curved into a half smile. He appears too assured to be a typical customer, but perhaps I can distract him long enough to steal something of worth.

He approaches, angling his head to one side as he towers over me. “A fortune teller,” he says. “How good are you?”

“Most of my customers leave happy.” My smile feels stitched on, his tone setting me on edge. “Would you like your fortune read, sir?”

A mirthless slant of his lips. “Can you read it?”

“As well as you can read the sign on my table.”

“How old are you?”

“Does it matter?” I reply a trace curtly. He acts like a lord, like he’s far more knowledgeable than me, though he looks only a few years older.

He doesn’t leave as I expect but sits down on the stool. His eyes go to the moles on my forehead. “Those aren’t well painted. Is this even your skin color?”

My hands fist in my lap. How did I ever think he was handsome? “I was born this way.”

“You sound offended.”

“Wouldn’t you be if I asked whether you borrowed the clothes you’re wearing?” I lift my head, searching the crowd for an easier prospect than this time-waster.

“What is your fee for a palm reading?” he asks. “Today, I’m bored enough to test your ‘gift.’”

“Three pieces of silver.” He is wealthy and condescending; I feel no remorse in cheating him. The fruit vendor beside me snorts but covers it with a cough. He’ll not betray me, just as I kept silent earlier when he charged a haughty customer twice the usual price. The tax of the ill-mannered.

“A high fee for a village fortune teller.”

“If you can’t afford it—”

“I can. It’s whether I think you’re worth it.”

My patience snaps. “If you won’t pay, then leave.”

He pulls out six pieces of silver, placing them before me. Is this to flaunt his wealth? My pulse quickens as my gaze darts to the dice table, checking that Mistress Henglan isn’t looking our way—then I swiftly scoop up the silver and tuck it into my waistband. Let him be a fool; I’ll take what I can.

He lays his hand on the crate, his fingers callused at their tips. “Will I find what I’m looking for in these mountains?”

Despite his generosity, the desire to thwart him remains. I’ll tell a good fortune… one he deserves. I brush my fingers over his palm, peering closely at it. “The stars are aligned in your favor today,” I begin in my most solemn voice.

“How do you know when you’re staring at my hand instead of the sky?” he counters.

“Don’t listen if you wish, but I won’t return your silver.” I’m trying not to grit my teeth. “What you seek lies just a day’s walk away, past the low hills north of here, and through the bamboo forest.” Right into the bog of stagnant water, stinking of mud and rot.

“You mean the marshlands?”

I blink, caught off guard. I thought he was a visitor, unfamiliar with the area. “Go beyond there,” I improvise, eager to send him as far away as possible. Far enough that by the time he returns, I’ll be long gone. “You’ll see a hill with violet flowers. Climb it, and once you’re close to the top—”

“You are the most precise fortune teller I’ve ever met,” he interjects.

“I don’t think you consult fortune tellers often.” Whenever I encounter suspicion, it’s safer to deflect the attention from myself.

“You’re right.”

“Why are you here?”

He studies me in silence. “I keep my eyes open, vital in any search,” he says at last. “You look like you do the same—that you have something interesting to say beyond your ‘fortunes.’”

The back of my neck prickles. Did he see Mistress Henglan stealing from my customers? If so, he’d have reported us to the soldiers. “What are you searching for?” I ask.

“Information. That I’ll apparently find after wading through a bog and scaling a mountain.” He folds his arms across his chest. “What if you’re wrong?”

“That is the price of boredom.” A rash answer. Something about him makes me want to tilt toward the edge rather than skitter away.

He smiles, a real one this time. I catch myself staring, then look away—just as Mistress Henglan returns, her steps brisk with anger. She’s lost at dice, gambled away a chunk of our earnings. At the sight of my customer, her face lights up. As she approaches quietly, bending to divest his purse, he swings around like he senses her.

She recovers quickly, clasping her hands. “Would you like a cup of tea, Honored Sir?”

Before he can reply, I hear raised voices, followed by the clink of metal. The vendors around me stiffen; any sign of unrest is bad for business. Soldiers turn the corner, their iron armor glinting as brightly as their weapons. Several people are rushing away, pushing through the crowd—my heart sinking. Mandatory recruitment for the mines is rare, but it happens when there is a shortage of workers, the guards rounding up all the able-bodied youths they can find, ignoring their protests and cries. The late king was ruthless in his ambitions. Now that he is dead, our hopes for change lie with his heir.

A woman accompanies the soldiers, my first customer of the day. She stalks toward me, pointing a finger my way. “That’s the thief ! She stole my necklace.”

Dread pools in my gut. At once, Mistress Henglan slips into the crowd, her eyes squeezed in warning to hold my tongue. I hesitate—and then, she’s gone. The sentence for thievery is the same one my uncle suffered: the mines.

The arrogant young man is watching me, a curled finger against his lip. “Thief ?” he repeats softly. “I’ve underestimated you.”

I ignore him, rising as the guards circle me. “I didn’t steal from you,” I tell the woman, though it’s not quite true.

“Do you have the necklace?” a soldier demands.

I shake my head. “No, I swear it. Search me if you want.”

“Come with us,” the soldier orders harshly. “We’ll bring you to the magistrate.”

I nod, inwardly braced for flight. The magistrate is a corrupt official known for his lechery. Six silver pieces won’t be enough to grease his palm. A memory flashes of my uncle being dragged away by the soldiers, his proud head bowed. Months later, his gaunt body returned to us in a shroud.

I won’t let them take me.

I kick the wooden crate at the soldiers, flinging my stool next. As a soldier lunges at me, spear outstretched, the young man stands abruptly and backs away, tripping the soldier in his haste. Is he a coward, or just trying to help? I don’t think anymore, sprinting away. The crowd parts as I push my way through, then closes to conceal my way. Most don’t like seeing another caught; we know how hard life gets.

I rush down a narrow path, cursing when it ends at a wall, a scrawny tree towering beside it. The soldiers’ voices grow louder; there’s no time to turn back. My heart pounds as I clamber up the frail branches, which dip precariously as I reach to grab the edge of the wall. My hair swings across my face, the piece of cloth used to cover it fallen away. I tuck my feet into a narrow crack in the stone, heaving myself over, then make my way down. I’m good at climbing, I’ve played among the trees since my childhood. And I’m even better at disappearing from trouble, a skill honed with Mistress Henglan as my guardian.

Shouts ring out, footsteps heading in my direction. I rush away, but someone seizes my wrist, yanking me through a doorway. It’s dark inside, the air thick with dust. My free hand closes around my knife, slashing it at my attacker—a man, a head taller than me. As he swings aside, I nick the side of his neck just below his ear.

I dart back, but his fingers lock harder around my wrist. I raise my blade again, but he catches my other hand with startling strength.

“Cut me again and I’ll cut you back.” His voice is almost guttural as he twists my knife loose. It falls to the ground with a soft clatter.

“Let me go or I’ll do worse,” I seethe, even as fear pierces me—of him, of the soldiers hunting me.

I thrash wildly, slamming my foot against his thigh. Uncle taught me how to defend myself, among other things my aunt preferred I didn’t learn. As I wrench one hand free, I bury my fist into his gut. He grunts, folding forward, his short hair covering his face. I stare, frozen with shock. It’s the young man from earlier.

“What are you doing?” I bend to snatch up my knife, pointing it at him.

“I don’t mean you any harm.”

“So says every villain.”

He touches the cut on his neck, his fingers stained with blood. “Maybe I should have let the soldiers arrest you.”

So he did help me by tripping one of them. An apology hovers but I quash it, my wrist still smarting from when he knocked my dagger away.

He leans against the wall, his mouth curved. “How are you going to get out of the village? All the gates are sealed, everyone leaving will be inspected.”

Terror spills over, but I leash it, forcing myself to think. If the entrances are closed, I won’t stand a chance by myself with the soldiers looking for me. I must find another way out, one they won’t expect.

“Help me.” I sound bold, but inside I’m bracing for his refusal.

His eyes gleam as he pushes himself from the wall. “Why should I?”

“I’ll pay you.” I dig out the silver from my sash, offering the pieces to him.

“With my own money?”

“I can get more—from my step-aunt,” I lie. “Bring me home and she’ll reward you.”

“Your aunt who abandoned you to be captured while she fled?” He’s sharp, seeing too much. “My payment is going to be a lot more than six pieces of silver.”

He’s reeling me in, though I’m the one who cast the bait. I study him, weighing whether throwing myself into his hands would be preferable to the magistrate’s. At the memory of the magistrate’s oily gaze, how he leers at the girls when he struts through the market, my choice is made.

“You said you were searching for something,” I say slowly. “I can help you.” Today’s promise is tomorrow’s burden.

“I’m not sure how your predictions will benefit me further.” A hint of irony in his tone.

My hands curl. “I have other skills, those that helped me escape the soldiers. I know these mountains; I’ve lived here all my life. I can fight, I can—”

“Lie and steal?” He grins in a way that makes my hand itch to slap him. “I do need a pair of eyes around here. Someone with your skills might come in useful.”

“Then you’ll help me?”

“You’ll owe me a favor.” His smile widens, both charming and vicious. “To be called in when I wish. Within reason, and in good faith.”

The words fall smoothly like he’s struck this bargain before. I hesitate—but more shouts ring out in the distance, the soldiers closing in, their footsteps growing louder.

“I accept.” As I thrust my hand out, he shakes it. We stare at each other before breaking apart. “What’s your plan?” I ask.

He stalks to the doorway. “I have a carriage.”

“That’s it? What if they search it?”

He turns back to me, unclasping his cloak and drawing it around my shoulders. As he pulls up the hood, he looks into my face. “They won’t search my carriage. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Why? Are you the prince?” I ask rudely to mask my unease.

A beat of silence. “Be thankful I’m not.”

I  follow him along a deserted path that leads to a black lacquered carriage drawn by a pair of horses. A symbol is carved at the back, crossed spears entwined with the thorny stalk of a rose. I climb in, lowering myself on the edge of the padded seat, as the young man sits across from me. It’s spacious within, yet feels cramped, like his presence makes it smaller.

The carriage rolls through the streets at a slow pace. All around are the muffled voices of villagers, the tread of their feet. Blood trickles down the young man’s neck, hovering on the collar of his robe. A waste if it stains the cloth. I lean forward to wipe it away—but the carriage slides int