“I’ll go talk to them. Stay here, but be prepared to jump off the wagon and run into the woods if I give you the signal,” he said.

“What’s the signal?” she whispered.

His magic detected the sweet scent of her anxiety. It smelled like molasses. “I scream, ‘Run.’”

“Clever.”

“That’s why I’m one of Valek’s go-to guys for spy stuff.”

She managed a smile. “Just be careful.”

Leif nodded and spurred Rusalka into a gallop. Ideally this was just a routine road check and he could talk his way past them. When he rode into a fog of black licorice, his magic detecting deceit, he knew they were in trouble.

Big trouble.

He spun Rusalka around and drew breath to warn Mara, but the words died in his throat. Another patrol stood behind the wagon. Mara spotted them as well, and the bitter tang of her fear stabbed right through him.

Ah, hell. He grabbed the hilt of his machete.

Mara stood up and yelled, “Rusalka, go home.”

“No!” But the well-trained horse grabbed the bit in her teeth, cut to the right and plunged into the woods at top speed, leaving Mara and his father far behind.

4

YELENA

After Valek left, I paced from the door to the kitchen and back again. The Mosquito was smart and well aware of Fisk’s network. There was no way he’d let them find him unless he wanted them to. He probably had an ambush set up for Valek. At least a null shield no longer trapped him, but he was vulnerable to other magic. An intelligent magician would be able to adapt once he or she realized the shield didn’t work.

I really wanted to get some fresh air, but I was trying to be sensible. There was no reason for me to go out. Turning around, I almost walked into Hilly. She blocked my path to the kitchen.

“Lovely Yelena, there are two runners upstairs waiting to report in.”

I glanced at the door.

She inclined her head. “Do you think staring at the door will make him return faster?”

“No.” In fact, he’d warned me he might not be back until the morning.

“Then why do it?”

“Because emotions don’t always follow logic.”

“Ah.”

“And I’m going crazy.”

“That I understand. Perhaps you need something to keep your mind occupied.”

“The reports—”

“Not enough. What about all that plant information you and Mr. Valek collected?”

“I’m waiting for my father and brother.”

She remained quiet.

I sighed in defeat. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t take a look at it now. Thanks, Hilly.”

Flashing me a smile, she returned to the kitchen as I headed to Fisk’s office. The two young boys sprang to their feet when they spotted me. Words tumbled from their mouths before I’d even settled behind the desk. I raised a hand, and they stopped.

Once I was ready, I asked them to repeat the information. Noting it down in Fisk’s log book, I thanked them for the good work. I assumed it was vital. Fisk had his members gather an eclectic range of data. And from this variety, he was able to make connections and discover golden nuggets of intel.

I collected the files Valek and I had taken from Bavol’s residence. Ignoring the dark brown stains of my own dried blood, I returned to the office. During my initial pass through, I organized them into three categories—useful, useless and beyond my expertise. I marked the third pile for my father.

Getting comfortable, I read through the notes in the useful stack. Bavol had considered the grafting techniques that Leif said Owen’s unknown Master Gardener used to increase the production of Theobroma. He had sketches of how to cut into the tree’s bark and insert a limb from an older tree and then bind them together. The older limb would produce pods quicker than the new host tree, cutting down on the two-year wait for the tree to mature.

I wondered if Bavol had tried it. There hadn’t been any plants in his home or office. Would he have used another location? Maybe in the Council Hall? No. Not enough light. Perhaps the Magician’s Keep? The gardeners who worked for the Keep had an impressive amount of knowledge.

Another hour passed as I continued reading, marking some pages for my father to explain. But one sketch drove me to my feet. I ran to our rooms and hunted through my travel pack, hoping that it was still there after all the insanity of being captured by Bruns.

It was. Thank fate!

Dashing back to Fisk’s office, I compared Onora’s drawing from the Commander’s castle to the sketch in Bavol’s file. They matched. I sank into the chair, mulling over the significance. Onora had drawn the saplings that Owen had carried all the way from Sitia. He called them Harman trees, and they had to be important with a capital I. Now Bavol also had a picture of them, but there wasn’t an explanation to go with it.

I growled in frustration. So close! However, this could be a clue that Owen’s Master Gardener might have worked with Bavol at one point. And they needed a place to work close by. Maybe even one of those glass hothouses. I returned to my reading, hoping for another clue.

“What are you scowling at?” I jumped at the sound of Fisk’s voice. He stood in the doorway.

“Bavol’s notes. Did you have a productive afternoon?”

His light brown eyes shone. “I finally found Lovely Adara the perfect dress for her wedding.”

“You’re seriously excited about that? At a time like this?”