The knights circled her, drawing closer with their swords unsheathed. Small fires burned, scattered everywhere. Smoke thickened the air. I crept closer, using the smoke as a shield. Her eyes flared once, like bits of broken mirror. I could have sworn she looked at me, before flinging herself right into the fire in the pit in the middle of the hall. The flames licked at the hem of her gown. She screamed as they ate higher and higher, up to her wrists and arms and throat, all scarred with bite marks. The smell of seared hair and flesh made me gag.

Everyone stopped to stare at her.

She’d sacrificed herself so that I could get free.

So I’d damn well get free.

I kept my hand to the stone wall behind me as the smoke billowed into eye-stinging curtains. I followed it to the door and eased outside, where more smoke wafted out of the windows. The horses in the nearby stables panicked, kicking their hooves through their stalls until the sounds of splintering wood and frantic neighs drowned out the screams inside.

I kept to the clutter of the stalls and dovecotes and assorted sheds along the inside of the wall. I made good time, but it wasn’t enough. A glance over my shoulder showed at least five guards tearing across the courtyard after me. The boxes clanged together, slamming painfully into my elbow and hip bone with every step. If I dropped them I could run quicker, but without them I was also running blind, with no idea of what to do once I found a safe place to hide.

The back of my neck prickled. They were getting closer.

I ran until I was gasping, until my sides cramped and my legs hurt. I ran until there was nothing but the adrenaline in my veins, the slap of my boots on the ground, the rush of the air in my eyes. A box studded with rubies tumbled out of the sling, ringing against the stones. The lid popped open as it rolled away. It was empty. I kept running.

I ran until I was falling again.

1192

“Papa!” Viola hurled herself off her pony and into the arms of a tall bearded giant. Her nursemaid sniffed from where she waited for a stable boy to help her off her palfrey. The white linen of her wimple glowed in the torchlight.

“Child, you must not be so informal. You must address him as ‘my lord.’ “

Viola rolled her eyes at her father, who grinned back despite the fact the nursemaid had the right of it.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asked her, swinging her around so that her feet dangled. It was her favorite thing in the world. It made her feel as if she were flying, but without the fear of falling, because she knew her father would always keep her safe.

“I pinched myself to stay awake,” Viola answered. When he set her down she showed off the bruises on her arm with pride. “And I didn’t cry once.”

“My little warrior.” He laughed.

She slipped her hand into his, rubbing the smoothness of his palm. She knew other men got calluses from swinging swords and spears at their enemies, but not her father. He was invincible. Stable hands led their horses away and servants came out of the shadows to unpack the trunks from the wagon. “Why must we always travel so late at night?” she asked curiously as they crossed the bailey to the hall.

“Hush now,” her nursemaid said crossly. “Don’t be a pest.”

Viola pouted, clinging more tightly to her father’s hand so he wouldn’t send her away. Golden torchlight glowed at the windows, secured with thin horn shutters. It was like sunlight and honey. It was a smaller and more ancient keep than Bornebow Hall where she lived, but it was much nicer. She preferred the smoky fire in the center of the hall and the dark wooden timbers above, the steep valleys, and the lake on the other side of the wall where fish leaped in summer.

“I miss you, Da! Couldn’t I stay here with you? I’d be a good girl, I promise.” When her nursemaid snorted, Viola shot her a narrowed look. “I know how.”

Her father let go of her hand. “You know you can’t, child. You’re betrothed to Richard and they want to raise you to be a good wife to him.”

She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling tired and peevish. “Why can’t he live here with us and be raised to be a good husband?”

“Because that’s not the way of the world,” he replied, grinning down at her.

“I run faster than he does,” she confided with a loud sigh. They passed a wooden post set into the courtyard behind the side door into the hall. Chains dangled from hooks set into the top. The dirt all around was packed down and sprinkled with dark spots that looked like dried blood. Viola frowned. “What’s that for?”

Her father’s cheerful expression flickered and died. His blue eyes went to stone and Viola shivered.

“Don’t question your father,” her nursemaid snapped, yanking on the back of Viola’s dress.

Viola didn’t know what was going on but she was suddenly aware of how little she was. Her nursemaid only snapped like that she was frightened. She stood very still. Viola’s father could have been carved out of stone, unyielding and pale in the dark courtyard. He didn’t speak, which was a relief, only turned on his heel and stalked toward the main hall.

Viola followed meekly. The uncharacteristic meekness lasted from one end of the hall to the other, until she lay on her pallet behind the carved wooden screen. Her nursemaid blew out the candles, leaving Viola lying in the shadows, bored and agitated.

She stayed there until her heart stopped racing, until the confusing fear had faded away and she was restless. She listened to the sounds of the servants in the hall, dragging in the wooden trestle tables and sweeping out the floor rushes to be replaced with more fragrant herbs. At Bornebow Hall they settled to sleep by the fire, but in her father’s castle, they kept later hours. She could just make out her father’s booming voice in the courtyard, but not his exact words.