Kero tightened all over with anger, inadvertently making Verenna rear and dance. When she got her mare and herself under a little better control, she told the old woman of the raid, in as few words as possible, though she wondered why she was bothering. “I’m going to ask my grandmother for help,” she finished. “Now if you’ll please get out of my way—”

“Dressed like that?” The woman produced a short bark of a laugh, like a fox. “I think you have something else planned. I think you reckon to follow after these raiders, and try to rescue this girl they took.”

“And what if I do?” Kero retorted, raising her chin angrily. “What business is it of yours?”

“You’re a fool, girl,” the old woman said acidly, then hawked and spat in the dust of the path just in front of Verenna’s hooves. “You’re a moonstruck fool. That’s a job for men, not silly little girls with their heads stuffed full of tales. You’re probably acting out of ignorance or out of pride, and either one will get you killed. Go back to your place, girl. Go back to women’s work. Go back where you belong.”

Every word infuriated Kero even more; she went hot, then cold with ire, and by the time the old woman had finished, she was too angry at first even to speak. Verenna was no help; she reacted both to Kero’s anger and to something the mare saw—or thought she saw—under the trees. As Verenna danced and shied, the mare’s panic forced her to calm herself down in order to control the horse. She finally brought Verenna to a sweating, eye-rolling standstill a scant length from the old woman.

Whoever she was, the old hag was at least as foolhardy as she accused Kerowyn of being, for she hadn’t moved a thumb’s length out of the way during the worst of Verenna’s antics.

“What I do or plan to do has nothing to do with pride,” Kero said tightly, through clenched teeth, as Verenna tossed her head and snorted in alarm. “There’s no one left down there that’s capable of riding out after her. No one, old woman. Not one single man able to ride and lift a weapon. All that’s down there is a handful of frightened servants and pages, and two old, arthritic men who never learned to ride. If I don’t go after Dierna, no one will. If I wait until that so-called ”proper“ help arrives, she’ll be dead, or worse. People who intend to ransom a captive don’t ride in and try to slaughter every able-bodied adult in the place. I don’t have a choice, old woman.”

She wanted to say more, and couldn’t. Fear stilled her voice in her throat. She was right—but—Everything I said is true-and-everything she said is true. This is going to get me killed, but I’ve come too far to turn back now. I made my choices back at the Keep.

“I made my choices, and I’m going to live or die by them,” she finished, hoping she sounded brave, but all too aware that she probably sounded like a foolhardy braggart. “And I’m going to see my grandmother whether you bar the way or not!”