Jantalaber caught her arm and drew her gently with him as the crowd of refugees followed orders. One massive gate swung open to allow the line of mounted men to trot in. On his golden gelding, Rhodorix brought up the rear, chivvying the others along toward the stables. Hwilli longed to run after him, but Maraladario herself, wrapped in a dark blue cloak shot through with silver threads, stood in her way. Her emerald-green eyes narrowed.

“You’ll come with us,” she said. “Don’t make me ensorcell you, Hwilli. It would go against every principle I hold, but by the gods, I’ll do it if I have to.”

Hwilli could do nothing but weep. She despised herself, she felt humiliated to the core of her very soul, but still the tears ran. The People had broken her, she felt, torn out her soul and replaced it with another. Had she any true strength, she would run away and hide where no one would find her, until at last the refugees had left, and she’d be left behind, free to die with her beloved, but the tears drained her strength, or so she felt, and made it impossible to move, much less run.

Bronze gongs rang out from the priests’ tower, signaling, perhaps, the end of everything. Silver horns blared the signal that the prince himself was approaching. At the same moment Rhodorix and his men came running into the ward from the direction of the stables. They flung themselves down to kneel just as the doors of the palace opened and Ranadar, followed by his retinue, stepped out. Hwilli had no interest in the prince. Seeing Rhodorix had given her part of her soul back, or so she felt.

“Rhoddo,” she called out. “Rhodorix!”

Before Maraladario or Jantalaber could stop her, she broke away and ran to Rhodorix. He scrambled up to face her.

“Don’t let them send me away,” she said. “I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t stay here,” Rhodorix said. “Now, listen. I’ve asked the prince to let my brother go with you. His twisted leg will keep him from fighting, so the prince agreed. Gerro will take care of you and the child. Do you understand?”

His words were making little sense. Hwilli grabbed his arm with both hands. “I want to stay with you,” she repeated.

“You can’t.” He pulled his arm away. “It would mean your death.”

“I don’t care.” She raised her head to let him see the tears. “I’ll die with you when it comes to that.”

She took one step toward him, but hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. Master Jantalaber had reached her. She twisted in his hands, struggled to get free—until she heard a voice she recognized even in her grief.

“What’s all this?” Ranadar, the prince himself, came striding up to them.

Rhodorix knelt, head bowed. When Jantalaber let her go, Hwilli flung herself down beside him.