“The stream crossing narrows farther down the hillside,” Magpie explains. “You’re heading in the wrong direction if you want things to get easier. Only gets wider from up here, but it ain’t deep. If your horse can’t cross this you’ve got bigger problems.”

Hawk chuckles. Mereden and Lark do, too. I don’t hear anyone else laughing, though, and my pulse pounds in my ears. Barnabus is here. I’ve been found out. Woodenly, I pick up a soggy piece of clothing and pause, panic rising in my throat. I’m going to lose everything. I’m going to be destroyed. Not only will my father and grandmother be in danger, but our hold will go down in flames. And Hawk—

“Clumsy twit,” Gwenna says in an exasperated voice. “Let me help.” And she kneels next to me and pulls everything back out of my pack. “You’re not going to be able to fit everything in again. Watch how I do it.”

“Thank you,” I mouth to her, squeezing my trembling hands into fists.

The horses grow louder, the sounds of their hooves in the mud and the jingle of harnesses like death knells to me. I glance over, peeking out the side of my hood, and there are at least a half dozen horses around the edge of the stream, the men wearing a familiar livery. I recognize the house colors of their jerkins, the Chatworth Hold deep blue with the bold yellow trim that stands out even to my bad eyes. One of the men is walking, leading a horse by the reins. And then to my horror, Barnabus himself rides up, eyes the stream, and turns to look at our group.

I quickly hide my face again.

“What is going on here?” he asks, voice just as cultured and haughty as I remember. I used to love how precisely he said each syllable, as if he were biting them. Now I know it’s just a tactic to put himself above others. To show them that he’s superior because he has holder blood.

That, or I’m still bitter about him calling me ugly.

His words make me freeze in terror, though. I clutch my canteen tightly, a knot in my throat.

“What do you mean, what is going on here?” Magpie’s voice is an amused drawl. I imagine her with her hands on her hips, confronting him with that world-weary stare of hers. “What does it look like is going on here?”

“It looks like a religious ceremony of some kind,” Barnabus answers, his voice stiff. “Are you some sort of nature cult?”

Gwenna snorts, a sound so low that only I can hear it. I want to be amused, too. Normally I’d laugh at the idiotic suggestion that we’re a nature cult…but I’m too afraid that I’ve been caught. That I’m going to be dragged back to Honori Hold in disgrace, without a single artifact. That everything has been ruined.

“Why in the five hells would we be a cult?” Hawk sounds annoyed.

I can almost see the dismissive look that Barnabus would send in his direction. “You’re all wearing the same clothes. It looks like a religious training program.”

“Your men are all wearing the same clothes,” I hear Lark mutter loud enough to be overheard.

Mereden giggles.

Magpie shushes both of them. “It’s a uniform. This is a training program for fledglings of the Royal Artifactual Guild.”

I tense, waiting for him to remember my fascination with it. How I was always reading books about the greats of the guild. How I’d been obsessed with learning Old Prellian glyphs.

“Ah.”

I wait.

“That explains the colors. Carry on, then,” Barnabus says, as if we needed his permission.

I slowly help Gwenna restuff my pack as the horses splash across the stream. When I dare to look up, they’re on the far side of the stream, nothing but horse withers and Chatworth cloaks meeting my stare.

They’re gone. I’m still incredibly rattled, though.

I’m shaking, and Gwenna puts a hand over mine, as if to comfort me. “I don’t think he noticed you,” she whispers. “He barely glanced in our direction.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod. Then my stomach churns, and I realize I’m going to throw up the cold breakfast I ate a few hours ago. I barely manage to crawl away a foot or two before I’m puking in the mud, bent over.

When I recover, Hawk is looming over me, a heavy frown on his face. He hauls me up to my feet, brushing me off, and then cups my face in one hand, studying it. “What’s wrong with you?”

I manage a faint smile, downplaying the situation. I don’t want him to realize why I’m so stressed. “It’s nothing. Just feeling a little ill.”

He pulls his canteen out and pops the cork free, offering it to me. “Drink.” Turning, he says to the others, “We’ll go back to town. Let you rest. We’re pushing you too hard.” And then his gaze lingers on me. He reaches out and tucks a lock of scraggly hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I just sip the water, feeling like the worst woman alive. I should tell him that we haven’t been worked too hard. That I’m not sick because I’m overtired, I’m sick because the knot of anxiety in my gut seems to be growing larger by the moment. But I can’t say anything.

It never occurred to me that my two lives might collide. That someone from my past might show up in my present…and now I have no idea what to do if it happens again.

TWENTY-TWO ASPETH

14 Days Before the Conquest Moon

Hawk hired a nearby woodcutter to cart us back to Vastwarren that night, and we spent the whole next day catching up on sleep. The next morning, we head to the guild library. There, Magpie goes over the history of Old Prell and common types of artifacts that are found in the tunnels. Normally I’d love this sort of thing. I love talking about the Prellian Empire with others, and nothing excites me more than artifact discussion. But I can’t concentrate. Barnabus’s return hangs over my head like an executioner’s axe.

I’ve been woefully blind to the dangers here. Anyone who recognizes me could blackmail me. They could demand funds from my father—funds that aren’t there. We could be exposed in an instant.

Destroyed in a heartbeat, and no one would do more than shrug. Their fortune was gone, someone would point out. Their artifacts gambled away. What did they expect?

I stare at the book in front of me, not seeing a single page. It’s a book on the pottery of Old Prell, and there aren’t enough copies for all the students, so I’m sharing with Kipp, who turns the pages with the sticky end of his tongue. The Prellian Empire was famous for its ceramics and the sorts of things they enchanted the jars and vases with. I know everything in the book already, but I’ve never seen this particular reference and part of me knows I’m going to regret being unable to concentrate. Yet every time I try to focus, I see Barnabus on his horse. I think of what will happen if he finds out I’m here in Vastwarren and not high in the mountains, safely ensconced in Honori Hold and weeping bitter tears over our broken engagement.

He’ll make a move if he knows I’m here. At home we’re surrounded by retainers and guardsmen who have no idea that our artifacts are gone. They blindly trust in my father’s might. Their lives are at stake, too.

Should I turn around and leave, then? Go back home and marry someone like Barnabus and reinforce our family’s holdings through a connection? Or is it already too late because Barnabus knows I’m here? If he lets that out, I’ll be ruined.