I risk a quick look at Lorna, whose eyes are wide with fear. I wait a moment longer, and we make our way to the carriage.

Lorna’s breathing quickens; panic roils in and between us. Whoever or whatever waits inside isn’t afraid to kill a nobleman. What will they do to bandits?

There’s still no movement or sound from the carriage. Lorna and I stand behind it now. I look down. Lannex’s skull is cracked right down one side; thick blood still spurts from the crevice, and soft, pink matter seeps alongside it.

Lorna looks at me and grimaces a bit.

“I think that’s his brain.” She whispers.

I shush her, though my stomach is beginning to turn from the sight. Whoever did this is a threat greater than even Torrent. Stealthily stepping to the side of the carriage, I nock my bow, ready to release an arrow as soon as I’m in front of the door. Lorna creeps close behind, prepared to fling her hatchet should my weapon fail.

“Don’t move!” I yell. My right arm strains as I tug the bowstring back as far as it will go. I angle myself to face the threat and sense Lorna right beside me. I look straight at what’s prompted our dread, and my grip on my weapon loosens. I point my bow down as I rear back, and my face slackens into stupefied astonishment.

A short woman leans against the plush seat cushions and laughs in delight. She’s wearing a white ruffled blouse, a skirt of juniper green, and holds an apple in her hand. Her skin is darker than mine, and her body is quite round. Against one of her crossed legs leans a bloody mace, remnants of Lannex’s skull still attached to its spikes. Blood, still wet and now darkening, stains the floorboards. She calmly takes a bite of her apple and then turns to face us.

“You must be the gruesome crooks.” Her eyes are a strange meld of yellow and seafoam. She stares into mine and smiles so widely that two dimples pop into her ample cheeks.

“I’ve been waiting for you. I’m Nuri. Welcome to one of the four hells.”

Chapter Nine

Idalia

Torrent’s wrists are jammed so hard into my ribs I want to cry. He hasn’t adjusted his fierce hold since he began running. Part of me is impressed; a much larger part is annoyed and in pain. How am I to scream believably if I can barely breathe? Each bound of his massive legs ends with his feet crashing onto the dirt path; I’m yanked up and then slammed down.

“Scream louder, Verdanian!” He hisses.

I wish he could see me roll my eyes. I truly wish I could concentrate on anything other than the pain in my ribs or his strident breaths warming the back of my head.

I draw in what breath I can and manage another yell, this time louder. I pull on his arm in a desperate hope that he’ll understand how hard his hold is making it for me to shout.