The spears rattled against each other and I froze, holding my breath, waiting for Miro to speak.

But the wagon bumped on, swaying on an uneven road, and I tucked myself up against the rear hatch.

The quickest way to escape was directly through the canvas. Even if I’d had my knife, it would take too long to saw through the ropes holding the canvas down. I ran a finger along the oiled fabric, stretched taut.

Easier to slice through, considering I was using a fairly blunt instrument.

My hands were weak, refusing to grip the pen with my usual strength. Whatever Miro had used, it left me feeling feeble and shaky, the headache growing in strength as though my wakefulness had summoned it to life. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as the muted crush of pain crept towards the back of my skull.

What had he drugged me with? I’d never felt so ill in my life, and all I could do was hope it would wear off eventually . But that was a fear for later.

Now I was struggling to fight the fear of what Miro intended, why he’d poisoned me and dropped me in the back of a supply wagon, and where we could possibly be.

I swallowed again, thirstier than I’d ever been in my life, and angled the pen’s tip against the canvas.

I’d have to do it quickly, then. Climb out and run for the deepest part of the forest. I could retrace my steps once Miro gave up… if he gave up.

Save the pessimism for later. Just get out first and figure the rest out as you go. 

“Go,” I thought, and pushed all my weight into the pen, dragging it through the canvas, hearing the rip of cloth—

Shaking, sweat beading my temples, I looked up at the two-inch long tear. Pale dawn light stabbed through it, mocking me, driving nails of pain through my eyes.

The wagon lurched to a halt.

“I hear you, sleeping beauty.”

Goosebumps broke out over my arms. I gripped the pen as tight as I could, nearly fumbling it, flooded with despair.

How had he taken me from the keep? How did I manage to get here?

Where was Bane?

Footsteps crunched outside the wagon, rounding to my left. There was the soft sound of hands tugging at the ropes, Miro humming cheerfully to himself, and he finally tore a corner of the canvas free, lifting it back to expose me crouched there like a rodent, pen in hand to stab.

I tried, swinging as hard and fast as I could, but my limbs were weighed down by the drug, like bricks were tied to my hands. Miro caught my wrist easily, plucking the pen from my loose grip and sliding it into the breast pocket of his waistcoat.

“Perfect timing, Lady Silence.” He grinned down at me. “I was about to get you up anyway. We’re at the first stop.”

I blinked owlishly at the misty world beyond the wagon, and for a moment relief swamped me at the sight of the crowns of pine trees surrounding us. We were still in the Rift. There was still hope.

“Come on out.”

I had to cling to the hatch of the wagon to pull myself upright, and Miro took me under the arms, hauling me over the side. I landed on the gravelly path, swaying in place, and as soon as he removed his hands I ran for it, dashing towards the trees.

And almost over the edge of a cliff. The road butted right up to the edge, only feet away; the trees on the other side of the gully gave the illusion of solid ground between them and the road.

If Miro wasn’t a step behind me, I would’ve gone over the edge. As it was, I had a good view of the steep drop, a hundred feet of jagged layers of shale to the rocky banks of a creek below, and then Miro’s hand tangled in the laces of my bodice, ripping me backwards onto solid ground.

He dropped me with a heavy thump, and I curled up on the stony ground, fighting the urge to throw up from the pounding headache and the wave of vertigo, my hands curling around stones too small to do any damage against him.

“Let’s not do that again.” He crouched next to me. “You’re far too valuable to actually kill. Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m tying you up for now. Good behavior earns you rewards. But as I said before, if you fight me, you’ll lose. Are you going to make this hard?”

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut for a moment, then shook my head. I knew when to be realistic. Miro got up, rustling in the wagon, and I coughed. And coughed again, spattering saliva on the ground.

For now, I was too slow and shaky to run. Too weak to fight.

But I could leave a scent trail so strong that Bane would smell me from miles away.

I ran a trembling hand through my hair, rubbing my aching scalp, and felt the bloodrose still tangled behind my ear. Squinting up, I saw Miro’s back turned.

Moving as fast as I could, I raked my nails over my head, getting a handful of petals and several loose hairs. I shoved them into the pine needles at the edge of the road, and struggled upright as Miro turned around.

“There we go, lay back down for a moment,” he said soothingly, and forced me down to my stomach, clasping my arms behind my back. He hogtied me, wrists to ankles, and rolled me onto my side, leaving me like a trussed pig in the road. “This is only for a moment. Just a little taste of what could happen if you want to play stupid games.”

He winked and got up again. I hissed between my teeth, the ropes just tight enough that I couldn’t wriggle my way out. But even if I couldn’t get loose, I could move my fingers.

I ran my fingers over the stones behind my back, trying to spread my scent as far and wide as possible while I watched Miro.

He’d stopped the wagon sideways on the road. He unhitched the horse from the wagon, and led it to a stump, draping its reins over a knot of wood. With enviable ease, he untied the canvas cover, extricating the jewel boxes and shoving their contents by the handful into the horse’s saddlebags.

Then he got behind the wagon and pushed.

Several eternal minutes later, sweating, the veins bulging out in his neck and forehead, Miro pushed the front wheels over the edge of the cliff. There was a screech, a harsh scraping as the wagon tipped under its own weight, and I wriggled desperately in the road as the crash filled the quiet forest.

Miro looked over the edge, raised his brows, and glanced back at me. “Can’t bring that where we’re going. This far north, the trails are risky.”

Hell. Instead of spreading my scent, I wish I could’ve shoved him off the side with it; but with my luck, and the dizziness brought on by his poison, I probably would’ve sent both of us over the edge, and I didn’t want to die.

It was bad enough to be caught like this. Between the corset and my hogtie, breathing was becoming difficult; I stole shallow sips of air, leaking tears from the growing ache.

He returned to me, seeing the tangled mess of my hair and skirts, and I glared back defiantly.

To my surprise, he laughed, genuine good humor in his voice.

“I can’t fault how determined you are,” he said, picking up a few of the blood petals, one of my hairs looped around his fingers. “Sure, he would smell it. But he’s never going to come this way. He’s never going to look for you at all.”

I watched as he twiddled his fingers, sending petals and hair flying into the middle of the path while he smiled.

“You can spit on every tree from here to Foria if you’d like. It doesn’t matter.” He loosed the knot, releasing my aching wrists from my ankles, and hauled me to my feet. Another bolt of pain went through my temple. “You gave me the perfect gift to make sure of it.”

I stood there unmoving, simply glad to have my body no longer painfully twisted, and he led the horse over.

Never had I felt more powerless, more invisible, than I did now. Like a saddlebag to be packed up and slung over the horse’s back. I desperately wanted to know what he meant, and couldn’t ask. My pen glinted in his pocket, teasing me with how near it was, and yet so far away.