“Actually,” Emry said, with as much confidence as she could manage, “I’m going to burn you with it.”

Ignis, she thought.

A wall of fire roared to life between Emry and her attackers. They stumbled back, eyes wide with fright, cursing loudly.

“Amplius,” she hissed. The fire crackled higher, flames licking up the walls of the buildings, eight and then ten feet high.

It was only an illusion, a stage trick, but the men didn’t know that. The color bled from their faces.

“Fleoges,” Emry snarled. Two crumbling bricks rose into the air and knocked heavily into her attackers, cracking one in the nose, and the other in the chin.

Blood ran down their faces, and the men moaned in pain. Emry didn’t care. She levitated two more bricks, letting them hover in front of her.

“Get out of my sight,” she ordered.

The men listened. They scrambled back down the narrow footpath, cursing loudly.

Emry watched them run, her heart pounding. Her hands were shaking as she cast off the spell.

It had worked. She was safe.

From them, at least.

She stared down at her wand, hesitating to put it away. The boy in the beautiful coat was still there, eyeing her appraisingly.

“Not bad,” he said, bending to tuck his knife back into his boot. “The fire was a clever touch.”

His reaction to her magic wasn’t one of fear, but of curiosity. It was as though he’d known she could do it all along, and approved of her demonstration.

Emry grudgingly tucked away her wand. After all, the boy had stowed his knife.

“It was an illusion, right?” the boy went on. “Because there wasn’t any smoke. Unlike the bricks.”

“Why are you following me?” she demanded again, instead of answering his question.

“Who says I’m following you? Perhaps we’re just headed to the same place.”

He let that sit there a moment, as though daring Emry to ask where he was headed. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“There are only so many roads to the castle,” the boy continued. “Although, as I warned you before, this isn’t one of them. Shall we?”

He motioned for Emry to walk with him, and she scowled, reluctantly falling into step. He was tall and athletic, with liquid brown eyes and an infuriating smirk that only accentuated his soft lips. And he seemed familiar, which was maddening, because she would have remembered him.

“How do you know I’m going to the castle?” she asked.

The boy’s smirk deepened.

“An educated guess. Gawain d’Orkney at your service. Although actually, I believe it’s the other way around.”

She should bow, she realized a moment too late. So this was the prince’s cousin, the young royal whose arrival was expected that very night.