Isabel looked to Blackmane, as though seeking his permission.

‘Fairly sure he’s talking to you,’ the defender said. ‘Go ahead. I’ll ride behind you.’

She made her way over to Hodge, and he followed.

‘All these crops you see before you are ours.’ Hodge made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘Wheat, barley, cabbages, carrots, turnips. You name it, we planted it.’

Isabel looked around. ‘When you say ours—’

‘I mean England’s, of course. This project benefits everyone.’

Blackmane was immediately suspicious when he said that. Food should benefit the region in which it was grown. He looked out at the fields, eyeing the uniformed guards patrolling the fence line. There were a lot of them given the size of the area. He glanced at Tatum, who looked equally as perplexed.

Alveye rode up beside him. ‘What the hell is this?’ He kept his voice low. ‘The farmers look ready to fall down.’

Blackmane returned his attention to the fields, spotting workers in the distance. These were not your typical farmers. They moved with stooped heads and rounded backs. These were people weighed down by exhaustion, fatigue, and… He narrowed his eyes.

Chains.

Each worker wore a shackle around one ankle, a chain running between them.

Isabel stopped her horse and lifted a hand to her brow. ‘What is that around the farmers’ ankles? Are they… are they chains?’

Hodge pulled up his horse, and the rest of the group stopped also. ‘We had a few teething issues in the beginning, people disappearing. The chains simply ensure the same number of people who go out to work in the fields at the beginning of the day return at the end of it.’

All eyes went to him.

‘Why would they want to leave?’ Blackmane asked. ‘Why would anyone flee a camp offering food and safety?’

‘I have wondered that many times’ was Hodge’s reply. ‘You would think they would be grateful.’ He pushed his horse into a walk. ‘Though flight risk is less of a problem inside the camp. The majority work without need of weights. Or, as I like to call them, the grateful majority.’

Blackmane and Alveye exchanged a glance.

‘You look tired,’ Hodge said, eyeing Isabel. ‘We are about a mile from the camp now. Let us continue so you may rest.’

They forged ahead in total silence, eventually reaching a ten-foot stone wall with drawn wire atop it, confirming what Blackmane already knew.

This was not a camp. This was a prison.

The gate opened as they approached, a guard standing on each side of it. Their attention was focused inside, ensuring no one escaped in the few minutes it sat open. The defenders shifted in their saddles when the gate closed behind them. Blackmane looked around, taking note of every detail, from the condition of the roads to the number of guards watching them. When he glanced at Isabel, she looked appalled. It seemed Hodge had kept some of the finer camp details from her up until this point.