There, ahead, coming over a hill made of treacle tart and whipped meringue, rode what seemed like the beginnings of an army. It was impossible to tell at this distance whether their horses were real or some extremely clever bit of baking, but that didn’t really matter, because a sword made of sugar can still be sharp enough to cleave all the way to the bone. The knights who rode those implacable steeds wore foiled armor that glittered in the sun, and there was no question of their intentions.

“Run, maybe?” said Rini, and turned, and fled, with the others close behind her.

*   *   *

OF COURSE THEY TRIED to run: to do anything else would have been foolish.

Of course they failed. Of the five of them, only Cora ran with any regularity, and while she could be remarkably fast when she wanted to, she was more interested in endurance than in sprinting. Sumi was skeletal, lacking the large muscles that would have made it possible for her to take advantage of her light frame. Rini ran like someone who had never considered exercise to be a required part of daily life: she was slim but out of shape, and was the first to fall behind.

Kade and Christopher did the best they could, but the one was a tailor and the other had just come within a stone’s throw of drowning; neither of them were very well equipped to run. In short order, they were all surrounded by armored knights on horses.

Seen up close, the horses were clearly flesh and blood, although their armor appeared to have been made from hard candy and peanut brittle, wrapped in foil to keep it from sticking to human skin or horse hair.

“Rini Onishi, you are under arrest for crimes against the Queen of Cakes,” said the lead rider. Rini bared her teeth at him. He ignored her. “You will come with us.”

“Well, shit,” said Christopher, and that was exactly right, and there was nothing more to say.

Part III: Bake Me A Mountain, Frost Me A Sky

PART III

BAKE ME A MOUNTAIN, FROST ME A SKY

7. Prisoners of Someone Else’s War

7
PRISONERS OF SOMEONE ELSE’S WAR

THE KNIGHTS PRODUCED A surprising amount of spun-sugar rope and bound their captives, slinging them over the backs of their horses like so much dirty laundry. They seemed afraid to touch Sumi, in all her skeletal glory; in the end, they had to sling a loop of rope around her neck, like she was a dog. That seemed to be enough to make her docile: she trailed behind the slow-riding group without protest or attempt to break away.