They raced to their dormitory, rushed in, grabbed their packs, then rushed out. Still empty of food or water, the sacks remained light. When Farilane had discovered the monks were welcoming, she had hoped for an extended stay—several days, at least. She had more questions. What more did they know about Bran? How did he die? Was Kile right about the other two in the tomb? What might they know about Falkirk de Roche? All those answers were lost—one more opportunity erased by her annoying family.

“Where are we going?” Sheldon asked as they rounded the wall, leaving the monastery grounds.

“We can’t outrun Teshlors on horseback,” Kile said.

“We stay low in the tall grass,” Farilane explained. “Make our way back to the forest. We ought to be able to lose them in there, especially if we can find that greenway again.”

“Back in the forest?” Sheldon complained even as he dove into the wildflowers.

They were only a few hundred yards distant when Farilane heard the thunder of hooves come rolling in. They paused, lying flat, and peered across tassels of tall grass as the line of horsemen arrived at the monastery. With their human eyes, neither Sheldon nor Kile could see, but the princess counted four Teshlors, the First Minister, her brother, Nordyan, and his servant Stephen, as well as a handful of wranglers in charge of three pack animals. Only three? Where are the wagons? Her brother always traveled in lavish style. He must be in quite the hurry, otherwise he would have demanded a bridge to be built over the Bernum and a proper road constructed to Dibben to accommodate his entourage.

“This is our chance,” Farilane declared. “If we can make it to the trees before they come out, it’s a good bet we’ll lose them.”

“Why are we running from your family?” Sheldon asked.

“Because I’m not supposed to be here, remember? I told you I was defying the emperor. I’ll only be locked up in my chambers, but they will likely imprison, or hang, both of you.” This was almost certainly a lie, but the princess didn’t feel that detailed explanations were warranted or sensible. The safety of the forest was still more than a hundred yards away, and Teshlors were excellent riders. “Stay low. Move fast.”

These two commands clashed. Speed required standing. They did their best to trot bent over, but the packs interfered with their legs. Unless they were on their knees, the grass wasn’t tall enough to hide them. Farilane made a snap decision, betting speed would be superior to stealth. “Just run!” she ordered. Gripping tight to the book and letting her sack swing wildly, she bolted for the trees.

They are dismounting, saying hello to the abbot. If we can close the distance to the tree line while they aren’t looking, we stand a good chance of—