"I mean it." Laira glared. "Trust me. I used to hide in the southern forests from the rocs. Sneaky and small—this is how we survive now."

"I'm neither sneaky nor small, even in human form."

"Smaller and sneakier than a dragon! Please, Maev. I was right about the burrow. I've spent my life slinking and hiding. I know how to remain unseen. And I know you never thought much of me, never thought I'm a warrior or a strong queen or . . ." She let her words fade away. No, this was not the time to bring up that pain. She sighed. "Let's just walk for a while, seeking tracks, seeking the others. Maybe they're not far."

Yet as the two walked through the forest, stepping over fallen boles and twisting roots and mossy boulders, Laira couldn't help but dig up that pain. She glanced at Maev as she walked. The young woman, once a wrestler and now a princess of Requiem, grumbled and cursed under her breath with every step. Beside Maev, Laira always felt inferior.

I'm short and weak beside her, Laira thought. The top of my head barely reaches her shoulders. I'm ugly beside her, my jaw crooked, my mouth tilted. I'm not strong, not beautiful, not tall . . . and yet I'm her queen. Her stepmother.

After marrying Jeid, Laira had wanted to become friends with Maev. She would bring wildflowers to Maev's hut among the birches, only for the woman to nod and toss them into a bowl, forgotten. She had tried to speak to Maev over meals, to ask about her dreams and hopes, only for Maev to drink deeply of her ale and sing raucously, ignoring Laira's attempts at conversation.

I want to be close to you, Laira thought, but you push me away.

She sighed. Of course Maev would push her away. Not only was Laira different in every way, she was three years younger than Maev. Few women wanted a stepmother, and what woman wanted a younger stepmother?

I'm too young, too weak, too different, Laira thought. Will she ever respect me?

"I reckon Dorvin must be singing now," Laira said. "He always sings, probably even when hiding from sphinxes. Maybe we'll hear him. Don't you hate his songs?"

Maev gave Laira a cold stare, then looked back ahead. "I don't feel like talking. Makes too much noise."

As they kept walking in silence, Laira lowered her head. Even this was more than Maev had said to her all autumn.

"If we keep our voices low," Laira said, "we—"