“Get some rest, Storm. We’ve got a long, hard ride tomorrow, and we won’t be slowing down to see to your comfort.” He headed towards a tent on the far side of the fire.

“Falcon, please, listen to me,” she called after him. “For all our sakes, you’ve got to let me take Blazing to Wynter. Our lives depend on it. The world depends on it. Please.”

He just kept walking.

“Falcon!” She jumped up and started after him, only to stop when his men leapt to his defense, swords unsheathed and ready to skewer her.

“You heard the prince,” one of the Summerlanders growled. He had several scars across his face and an ugly light in his muddy brown eyes. “Sit down and shut up, or that little Winterbrat over there will pay for your disobedience.”

Kham glared at the man and subsided into unhappy silence.

She drank the water they brought to her and, thanks to the sword one of the Summerlander’s held at Krysti’s throat, she made no attempt to escape when they freed her hands so she could eat the journey cakes and dried meat they offered. Whatever happened, she would need her strength, and refusing food and drink hurt no one but herself. When she was done eating, they rebound her hands and laid her down with a curt command to sleep, but she remained awake for at least an hour, observing her captors.

Falcon was traveling with two dozen men, half Summerlanders, the other half blue-tattooed Calbernans. A small party, much easier to hide in a country as large as Wintercraig. The Summerlanders either ignored her or watched her with cold malice, but she noticed several of the Calbernans frowning in her direction and whispering amongst each other. She recalled from Tildy’s endless geography lessons that the island-born Calbernans revered women. They didn’t look kindly on anyone who would mistreat them. If she could provoke Falcon or the others into striking her, she just might be able to drive a wedge between the Summerlanders and their Calbernan allies. Kham filed that away for future reference.

Finally, despite the day she’d spent unconscious from the blow to her head, Khamsin fell back to sleep and stayed that way until Falcon came by before sunup to wake her and lead her to a horse.

“I know you’ve learned to ride, so I’m giving you your own horse so you won’t slow us down,” he said. “But your hands remain bound, and you wear the lead cape at all times. And Storm? The boy will ride between you and one of my men, chained to both saddles. Unless you fancy the idea of ripping him in two, I suggest you keep close to my men.”

Anger curled in Khamsin’s belly. Falcon knew her too well. They’d spent too many years together, playing games of war, plotting ways to escape from imaginary captors.

“When did you become such a monster?”

Falcon didn’t even flinch. “I am no monster, merely determined and more familiar with your ways than you would like. The child is unharmed, and will remain so as long as you do as you’re told. Now get on your horse. We’ve a long way to ride.”

True to Falcon’s word, they rode for hours without stopping. When they finally halted to rest and water the horses, the sun had risen, and she did not recognize her surroundings. Kham shook the leaden hood off her head and turned her face up to the sky, trying to pinpoint her location in relation to the sun. They’d traveled west of Gildenheim, towards Konumarr and the Llaskroner Fjord. More than a hundred miles, by her estimate. Well away from the hunting lodge where Wynter was recuperating.

Her only cause for hope was that the deep snow forced Falcon and his men to keep to the roads and established trails through the woods, which improved their chances of being spotted along the way. Wynter had to have scouts. Hopefully, one would cross their path and get word to Wintercraig’s forces.

She’d tried to leave a trail behind her by picking threads from her cuffs and dropping them into the snow. Thanks to the Wintercraig colors she wore, those threads would blend so well into the snow they’d be impossible to spot, but she dropped them anyways in the hopes that Wynter’s wolves might be able to track her scent.

As she dismounted, Falcon’s men lit a small fire and melted snow to water the horses. They didn’t bother cooking food. Instead, they passed around strips of dried meat and fruit. Falcon himself removed the bonds around her wrists so she could eat without aid.

Her arms tingled, little knives of pain throbbing up and down, and she flexed her elbows, wrists, and shoulders. Keeping her tied had also robbed her arms of strength. She could barely hold the bits of jerky and fruit offered to her.

She chewed slowly on the tough strips of meat and watched her brother. He was staring into the fire, lost in thought, and it struck her how much older and wearier he appeared. The charming roguishness that had always lurked at the corners of his mouth and twinkled in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. He seemed so different from the heroic brother she remembered that she had to wonder how much of that brother had ever existed and how much was the product of a lonely child’s desperate dreams of love and family.

“Is it true you sent your men to rape and murder those villagers in Hileje three years ago?” Falcon didn’t look away from the fire. He either hadn’t heard her or was ignoring her. “Falcon?” she prodded. “Did you?”

Now he glanced up. “Is that what you think I did, Khamsin?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I would never have thought you capable of it before, but the last two days have made me realize how little I really know you. Perhaps I never did.”