One of the guards swore and pushed Ayla to the floor of the carriage, away from the open window. Ayla could hear the carriage driver shouting and cracking the whip over and over again, trying to get the horses moving, but it was too late. Within seconds, the driver’s shouting cut off abruptly, replaced by the shrieking of panicked horses. The guard who had pushed Ayla swore again, louder this time, and went for the door, one boot landing just a hair’s length from Ayla’s nose. “I’ll fend them off,” the guard barked at the other three. “Protect the queen’s ward!”

And she leaped out into the darkness, slamming the carriage door behind her.

Ayla lay there on the carriage floor, frozen. Just weeks ago, she’d been in this same situation—trapped in a carriage, surrounded on all sides by an angry mob, helpless in the midst of a fight. On that day, she’d been too scared to do anything. She’d watched Rowan die from behind a pane of glass. Never again, she thought now, eye level with the guards’ boots, heart pounding in her ears. She would not be the cornered fox tonight. She couldn’t freeze up. She couldn’t panic. She had to think.

The people attacking them were not the monsters she’d been sent here to investigate. They were just people, just—bandits, the scout had said. And they had to want something; they wouldn’t just attack for no reason. All right, so, what did they want with Ayla and her party?

Of course. The answer had to be the carriage itself. Or—the horses. Unlike the sovereign, Queen Junn had no fields, no crops. No need for horses that weren’t thoroughbred. The carriage might have looked old and worthless from the outside, like it belonged to any old merchant; but anyone who knew anything about horses would recognize their fine breeding. Two horses fit for a queen would fetch a pretty price. Had the bandits spotted them hours ago and waited until nightfall to strike?

The shouts from outside were growing louder, closer. It was hard to tell, but they seemed to be coming from all directions. The bandits were swarming the carriage. How many were out there? How long would a single Automa be able to hold them at bay?

The other guards seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I’m going out there,” one of them muttered, and slipped out the carriage door—a momentary rush of noise, no longer muffled, shouts and the clang of steel against steel. There was nothing Ayla hated more than just lying here. She pushed up onto her elbows, but one of the two remaining guards shoved her down again, boot on her spine.

“Stay down,” the guard hissed. “Don’t be a fool. If you want to make it out of this, you’ll do as we say.”

“What’s going on out there?” Ayla demanded. “Can you see anything?” Their night vision was much better than hers.

“Just stay down, girl.”

Not very reassuring. In her head, Ayla tried to map an escape route. If she could get out of the carriage, off the muddy road, into the thick trees . . .