Fishing in her carry bag, Fiona pulled out the serpent amulet and dangled it by its chain.

If Han hoped she’d hand it over, he was wrong. Instead, she extended it toward him until it rested on his bare chest. It brightened as it sucked flash out of him. He couldn’t touch it, with his hands bound over his head, but he released a long breath of relief, feeling that release—that connection again.

“Let’s see if this works,” Fiona whispered. Gripping the chain with one hand, she pressed herself against Han, trapping the amulet between them. Then slid her hand down, taking hold of the jinxpiece.

“Blood of the Demon!” she screeched, leaping back so the amulet pinged to the floor. She sucked at her burnt fingers, regarding Han balefully.

“Very well, Alister. I’ll talk to my father. Given the circumstances, I’m sure he’ll consider a deal.” Scooping up the amulet by its chain, careful not to touch the jinxpiece itself, she tucked it away. And left him dangling.

Han tried not to focus on the place on his chest where the amulet had rested for such a short time. He was surprised it had reacted to Fiona. He’d thought with Crow absent, it would…A suspicion kindled in his mind.

Crow? he said, in his head. And again, Crow! There was no answer. Crow was gone.

The amulet. Crow must have slipped back into the amulet during that brief connection. Was that why he’d wanted Han to get hold of it again—so he could escape? Han knew it made Crow miserable to witness the Bayars’ torture of him, after going through it himself. Who could blame him?

Still, Han couldn’t help but feel abandoned.

C H A P T E R  T H I R T Y - S I X

IN THE PASSES

Dancer woke from a sound sleep in the breathless quiet of the predawn. He’d taken to sleeping outside camp in a hammock high in the trees, through the sultry nights of the blood moon of August. He lay quiet for a moment, still linked to the forest network. Then a breeze touched his face, carrying with it the stink of metal and flatland horses, unfamiliar spices, and southern sweat.

He spilled from the hammock, dropped lightly to the ground, and sprinted back toward camp.

He was greeted by the sound of running feet, barking dogs, and shouts of alarm. The camp boiled with people carrying bundles, loading up ponies with movables. Traders expertly lashed their wares to sledges, their apprentices filling panniers to overflowing.

Demonai warriors sat on their ponies, their bows strung and at the ready, their faces grim with purpose.

Bright Hand raced by, toting armloads of bandages, carry bags slung over his shoulder.

“What is going on?” Dancer asked, stepping into his path.