“Of course you can. Sleep in the wagon. It’s the least we can do.”

Arista was too exhausted to argue. She climbed up and, in the privacy of the cart, put the robe on to fight away the night’s cold. She crawled across a lumpy bedding of coarse cloth that smelled of potatoes and onions, and laid her head down at last. It felt so good to close her eyes and let her muscles and mind go. She could hear them whispering outside, trying not to disturb her.

“She’s a servant of Maribor,” one of the boys said. She could not tell which. “That’s why she can’t say. The gods never let them say.”

“Or she could be Kile—a god disguised and doing good deeds,” the other added. “I heard he gets feathers from Muriel’s cloak for each one he does.”

“Hush! She’ll hear you,” Lynnette scolded. “Go clean that pot.”

Arista fell asleep to their whispers and woke to loud voices.

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know anything about a witch.” It was Brice’s voice, and he sounded frightened.

Arista peered out from the wagon. An imperial soldier stood holding a torch, his way blocked by Brice. Behind him, farther up the alley, other soldiers pounded on the door to the tannery and forced their way into the other tents.

“Sergeant,” the man in front of Brice called, “over here!”

Three soldiers walked fast, their armor jangling, hard boots hammering the cobblestone.

“Tear down this hovel and search it,” the sergeant ordered. “Continue to do the same for all these places. They’re an eyesore and should be removed anyway.”

“Leave them alone,” Arista said, stepping out of the wagon. “They haven’t done anything.”

“Ella!” Brice snapped. “Stay out of this.”

The sergeant moved briskly toward Arista, but Brice stepped in the way.

“Leave my daughter alone,” he threatened.

“Brice, no,” Arista whispered.

“I’m only here for the witch,” the soldier told them. “But if you insist, I’ll be happy to torch every tent in this alley.”

“She’s no witch!” Lynnette cried, clutching Wery to her side. “She saved my baby. She’s a servant of Maribor!”

The sergeant studied Arista briefly, sucking on his front teeth.

“Bind her!” he ordered.

Two of his men stepped forward with a length of rope and grabbed hold of Arista by her arms. They immediately cried out in pain, let go, and stumbled backward. Esrahaddon’s robe glowed a deep pulsating red. The guards glared at her in fear, shaking their injured hands.

Seeing her chance, Arista closed her eyes and began to concentrate. She focused on blocking out the sounds of the street and on—

Pain exploded across her face.

She fell backward to the ground, where she lay dazed. Her eyesight darkened at the edges. A ringing wailed in her ears.