They clattered down staircase after staircase, incredibly loud in the early morning stillness, encountering the occasional sleepy-eyed upstairs servant. Each time, Raisa turned her face away, hoping to go unrecognized. It would cause talk at any time—the princess heir sneaking through back hallways with a soldier the morning after her name day party. They would be remembered, and it wouldn’t be long before the Bayars would know she hadn’t gone over the balcony, that she’d been seen with Amon Byrne. She didn’t wish it on Amon, to have the Bayars for enemies, but she was glad to have him at her side.

She needn’t have worried. Just like before, no one recognized the princess heir in breeches and tunic.

Down on the ground floor, the corridors were broader and there was even more traffic about. They forced themselves to walk, so as to be less conspicuous, though Raisa’s every nerve was firing. They passed through the Great Hall, where petitioners were already gathering in hopes of an interview with the queen.

They walked through the huge arch that led onto the drawbridge, passing under the portcullis. Raisa put a little space between her and Amon so they wouldn’t look like they were together. She might be a clanswoman, on her way back from a delivery to the castle. Amon might be a soldier on the way to his post.

They were midway across the river when she heard a clamor of bells and duty officers calling to one another. With a harsh metallic squeal, the portcullis descended until it slammed into the dirt.

They know I’m gone, Raisa thought.

The guardsmen loitering at the far end of the bridge looked up in curiosity.

“Corporal Byrne!” one of them called to Amon. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe some poor crofter stole a loaf of bread from the princess’s party,” Amon said, rolling his eyes.

The soldier laughed. “They sure seem tizzied up about something,” he said, peering toward the castle.

“Showing off for the southern royalty, no doubt,” Amon said, without pausing. “I’m leaving so that I don’t have to polish any brass.”

Once clear of the bridge, Amon pulled Raisa aside, toward the guard barracks and stables that crouched at the far end of the bridge. “Let’s go to the stables,” he said. “We’ll want horses.”

They were crossing the stable yard when Raisa heard a rattle of hooves on cobblestones, someone riding into the compound excessively fast. Amon pushed Raisa behind him and drew his sword.

Two riders thundered in, wrenching their mounts to a halt just in front of the stable doors.

“Raisa?” One of the horsemen swung down to the ground. He was sweaty and blood-stained, one arm wrapped in linen, his face stubbled. He pulled Raisa into his arms. “Raisa, thank the Maker.”

It was her father.

Joy mingled with surprise and worry, crowding her heart so she thought it might burst. “Father! You’re hurt! What happened? Where have you been?”