She heard shouts. Farilane was certain she recognized the voice of her brother. Dammit! I’m not the only myr here.

The princess clutched the book in the crook of her right arm, which freed her left to help her sprint. All the pretty flowers lashed her legs, and uneven ground threatened to trip her. They were nearing the bottom of the slope that started at the monastery. Ahead was a pretty hardwood grove open enough to be dappled by sunlight. Holly bushes and chalk-white trunks of peeling birch trees called to them. Beyond those, the grass and flowers gave way to fiddlehead ferns and fallen, moss-covered logs. On the far side stood the dark, dense-packed trees of salvation.

“Keep going,” she gasped, with no real understanding of where the others were. “Almost there!”

From behind she heard the horses.

Farilane leapt a rotted log, charged up an embankment, dodged an unexpected rock, leapt a branch, and darted around a bush. By then, she could hear the jangling of a bridle, the loud puffs of a horse breathing hard, and the drumroll beats of its hooves.

Sensing the rider coming up on her left, she tried to veer right, but she couldn’t outrun a horse, nor could she best a Teshlor of the First Order. Especially not this one.

With no more effort than a father lifting his newborn daughter, Ethan hoisted her off the ground and pulled her up in front of him. As he did, Farilane caught hold of one of the reins and jerked hard, twisting the horse’s head around. Still at a gallop and blind to what lay ahead, the animal struggled to turn. The horse hit another log, slipped, and then toppled. Both riders were thrown into the fiddleheads.

“Stay away from me, Ethan!” she ordered as she rose. Her left hip had struck part of the log, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. More importantly, the book had flown from her hand, and now it was lost in the ferns.

“Your Highness, please,” Ethan pleaded as he got to his feet. “The emperor demands you return immediately. Your brother is—”

“I saw him,” she said, backing up, searching through the delicate leaves for the book. “The little weasel. What a grand adventure. Why hunt fox when you can run your sister to ground?”

“Why are you being so obstinate? They only want you to be on hand for your birthday. They are planning a big party for your two hundredth and don’t want you to miss—”

More horses approached. Enzio had Kile across his saddle, and the young knight Layton had a tight hold on Sheldon, neither resisted. Behind them came Nordyan and Martasen Dray, who looked as ridiculous on the back of a horse as any rat would in a saddle.