“Dahlia happened, just like for you. Except she acted more her age to me, a full-grown temptress. Couldn’t resist the Drahma’s call, could I? Should’ve known better. Thought too highly of my own intellect. But a spider should recognize a spider, shouldn’t it? Won’t make that mistake again. If I do, I’ll slit my own throat.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Where are they taking us?”

“You don’t want to know, lad.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Fine. You’re right. If you’re old enough to leave home, you’re old enough to face the truth. We’re going to Nal Eston.”

“But that’s…that’s in the…in the—”

“The Wilds, lad. Aye. Dangerous place, if the stories tell it true, and I have no reason to believe they don’t.”

“But why there?”

Garwin shrugged his big shoulders. “To sell us to poachers, most likely. They’ll need a regular flow of fresh bodies to assist in their work. There’s a thriving black market for the pelts of dangerous predators. The Wilds just so happens to have more than its fair share of beasties.”

“But we’ll be killed.”

“Probably. But it’ll make a damn good story, won’t it?” The man’s grin shone white in the dark.

Ludo struggled to mirror the man’s mirth. Mostly because he was scared to death.

“Stop your yapping and go to sleep!” Mister Rose shouted from outside.

Ludo awoke to a strange sensation. A sort of wet scratching at his face. He opened his one good eye to find Dahlia with her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration, poking something toward the mass of scar tissue where his other eye used to be.

“Don’t move or I’ll cut out your good eye,” she said in a bright tone far too cheery for the grisly message it conveyed.

He didn’t move, refusing to blink until she pulled back, studying her work. “Much better. Can hardly tell you lost it.” When she noticed Ludo’s confusion, she asked, “Do you want to see?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question, so his mouth opened and then closed without saying a single word. “Here we are. Take a good long look. I should be an artist, I think. Don’t you agree?”

Ludo stared. His patch had been removed while he’d slept, and in its place was a drawing of an eye, complete with dark, curving lashes. It was much bigger than his real eye, and, if anything, made his face look a hundred times more frightening, especially because the ink drawing was surrounded by red, gnarled scar tissue that had never fully healed properly. In short, Ludo looked like a monster.

“Gods, everyone’s a critic,” Dahlia said, apparently reading his horrified expression. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I’ll even touch it up for you from time to time. Maybe we can sell you to a farmer who needs a scarecrow. He can plant you in his field to keep the birds away.”

“I thought we were going to Nal Eston.”