Arista would have to make it all the way to the forest before having the slightest hope of getting away, and Etcher could ride after her and drag her back. Afterward, they would beat and tie her, and then all hope would be lost.

“Don’t even think about it, you little git,” the hooded one was saying to Etcher.

Etcher spat in anger. “Give me the twenty.”

The hooded man tossed a pouch that jingled and Etcher caught it with a bitter look.

Arista started to cry. Time was running out. She was helpless and there was nothing at all she could do. For all her royal rank, she could not defend herself. Nor was her education in the art of magic any help. All she could do was make them sneeze and that was not going to save her this time.

Where are Royce and Hadrian? Where is Hilfred? How could I be so stupid, so reckless? Isn’t there anyone to save me?

Not surprisingly, Etcher left without a word to her.

“So this is what a princess looks like?” the hooded one said. “There’s nothing special about you, is there? You look just as dirty as any wench I’ve had.”

“I don’t know,” the other said. “She’s better than I’ve seen. Throw me the rope over there. I wanna enjoy myself, not get scratched up.”

She felt her blood go cold. Her body trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the man set off to fetch the rope.

No man had ever touched her before. No one dared to think in such terms. Doing so would mean death in Melengar. She had no midnight rendezvous, no casual affairs or castle romances. No boy had ever chanced so much as a kiss, but now … She watched as the man with the stubble beard came at her with a length of twine.

If only I’d learned something more useful than tickling noses and boiling water, I could—

Arista stopped crying. She did not realize it, but she had stopped breathing as well.

Can it work?

There was nothing else to try.

The man grinned expectantly as Arista closed her eyes and began to hum softly.

“Look at that. I think she likes the idea. She’s serenading us.”

“Maybe it’s a noble ritual or something?”

Arista barely heard them. Once more, using the concentration method Esrahaddon had taught her, she focused her mind. She listened to the breeze swaying the grass, the buzz of the fireflies, the whine of the mosquitoes, and the song of the crickets. She could feel the stars and sense the earth below. There was power there. She pulled it toward her, breathing it in, sucking it into her body, drawing it to her mind.

“How you want her?”