I frown and kick the dirt with my sneaker. “Because I came up with this awesome plan.” Okay, maybe my plan isn’t that freaking awesome.

Cissy grips my hand and leads me to the Rixa tent. Bands of tension grip my shoulders. Lincoln could be in there. I grit my teeth, waiting for the familiar waves of rage to pour through me. They don’t appear. Instead, I feel charged with nervous energy, my stomach doing flip-flops.

What the Hell is wrong with me?

My friend pauses beside the fabric flap that serves as the tent’s door. My breath hitches.

Cissy clears her throat. “Hello!”

An elder woman’s voice sounds from inside. “Yes?”

“We’re two maiden guests for the house of Rixa. May we enter?”

The tent flap opens. A portly woman in a simple black gown peeps her winkled face at us. “No one’s in here but me. Come on in.”

My body relaxes a bit. No close encounter with Prince Pompous. Whew.

Cissy guides me inside. “My name’s Cissy and this is Myla. She needs a gown of welcome.”

The woman sets her plump hands on her hips and looks me over. She has brown hair streaked with gray, a round face, and mismatched eyes of ice-blue and wheat-brown. “Is she the one who’s Lincoln’s, ah, guest?”

I raise my pointer finger. “Technically, I’m more of a prisoner.”

“Behave, Myla.” Cissy stifles a smile. “Yes, she’s the one.”

“I’m Queen Octavia’s handmaiden, Bera.”

Cissy curtsies. “Nice to meet you.” She elbows me softly in the ribs.

“Nice to, uh…” I scan the tent’s interior. My mouth opens wide with surprise. This place is packed with every sort of armor and weapon you can imagine, including baculum. I point to a line of silver swords with zigzag blades. “Those are for killing Viperons, aren’t they?” I bounce on the balls of my feet. “I wasn’t sure they really existed.”

Bera’s plump cheeks round into a smile. “Actually, they kill Viperons and Simia demons.”

Okay, I’ve heard rumors of these blades but I thought they were legends, like a flying carpet or Excalibur. I watch the weapons glimmer on the tent walls, my fingers itching to touch them. “Wow. Can I hold one?”

“No, you can’t,” Cissy shoots me a look that says ‘focus, Myla.’ “We just need a gown of welcome and we’ll be out of your way.” She glances meaningfully to the tent entrance.

She’s right. Lincoln could walk through any second. “Yes, a gown would be great.”