Desperate, Han slid his hand inside his shirt and took hold of the serpent amulet. Once again, the power seized him. He extended his arm, spoke an unfamiliar charm. Karn slammed into his prince, knocking him out of the way as flame erupted from Han’s fingers, engulfing the Ardenine soldiers in the doorway. Han smelled burning wool and charred flesh as the soldiers tried to force themselves back out the way they’d come in. They piled up against the entryway, screaming in fear and cursing those blocking their escape.

Han’s heart thudded in his chest. He’d killed before, but that had always been in street fights, blade to blade. Never with magic.

He forced himself to let go of the jinxpiece and turned to find Cat staring at him, openmouthed.

“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Dancer said, still crouched on the floor.

“Leave it,” Han said, tugging at Dancer’s arm. “Won’t do you any good if you’re dead.”

Easy for me to say, he thought. I have two amulets.

Dancer finally stood, abandoning his search with visible reluctance, pressing his bleeding hands against his shirt.

“Let’s go.” The doorway was blocked by a heap of smoking corpses. Han slammed both hands against the window, and the shutters exploded outward. Boosting himself to the sill, he swung his legs over and dropped to the ground. Dancer and Cat slithered out behind him.

Someone shouted, “There they are!” Understandably, no one rushed forward.

They ran for their lives, zigzagging across the farmyard, vaulting over chicken coops and around outbuildings until they found the welcoming shelter of the trees.

Fright lent them a speed the prince of Arden’s soldiers couldn’t match. They passed from the forest into open farmland, leaping over furrows, crossing fields studded with cornstalks and edged with hedgerows and stone walls. Even when they could no longer hear the sound of pursuit, they ran on, following a dirt track that merged into a larger road several miles farther on.

Finally, they crawled behind a tall hedge to recover their breath. Han sat slumped, head drooping, willing his heart to slow down. He felt shaky and weak, tingling all over, as though he’d been chewing razorleaf.

Dancer looked worse off than Han—pale, trembling, perspiring. He propped his head in his hands as if he couldn’t hold it up on his own.

“How’d you do that?” Cat demanded, getting in Han’s face as if she were the one who deserved answers. She seized his wrists, turning his hands palms up. “How’d you learn to throw flame like that?”

“What are you doing here?” Han retorted. “I thought you didn’t want to come.” Then it came back to him, that feeling of being watched that had plagued him since Delphi. “You been following us, haven’t you? I thought I heard someone sneaking around camp a couple of times.”