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I only half heard him, my blood thudding with dread. Of course they would search us before allowing us onto their land.

Zeke looked knowingly toward my saddlebag. “I’ll bet a noblewoman on the run would have a few uncommon objects in her possession. Objects that might get her discovered.”

There were the rings Perla had slid off her own fingers after she’d freed me, the xerylite engagement ring Erik had offered me while I was in chains, and the lattice-handled knife I’d used to stab him. A governess wouldn’t possess such items. Yet I would gladly display them all in place of the coveted Ansoran-forged compass I carried.

Breathless from this new seep of panic, I repeated, “What do you want?”

“What do any Daradonian Wielders want from one another?” Zeke asked, smiling. “Alliance.”

2

During my thirteenth summer, a heat wave had caused the silver penny blossoms to whiten and shed like snow throughout Vereen. While the craftspeople had ground them into dyes, my best friend, Tari, and I had strung them into flower crowns while drinking crushed-ice lemonades.

That cool, sharp lemon flavor was all I could think about as we arrived in Ansora, the nation whose Wielders lived free of persecution. Because the night was as airless and muggy as an armpit at the height of that Verenian summer.

“Ready, partner?” Zeke asked as our group of refugees jostled off the dock. With most faces tipped toward the tall, glimmering buildings of a nearby harbor town, nobody was paying us attention.

Still, I replied in a low growl, “We’re not partners.”

“Whatever you like to tell yourself. Just keep that sleeve rolled nice and high so they can see the damage.”

I resisted the impulse to blast him into the ocean. Unfortunately, I needed Zeke on dry land for our plan to work.

No, his plan, to which I’d contributed glaring silence—half-furious because he was blackmailing me into it and half-irritated because it was quite brilliant.

The Ansorans will welcome arrivals in an orderly fashion, he’d explained, with one exception. Those who need immediate medical attention will be taken to the physicians before the checkpoints. Now, I wasn’t raised to speak poorly of a woman’s appearance, but you certainly fit that description.

He was right: I was a walking example of the horrors of wound infection. The Ansoran welcoming party would surely usher me to the medical area, giving us the perfect opportunity to hide our unsavory possessions before returning to the checkpoint. Then we would sneak back afterward to retrieve them.

I loathed the idea of letting the compass out of my sight, but what choice did I have? While the compass appeared ordinary, I didn’t know how notorious it was on this side of the sea—whether the average Ansoran citizen would recognize its ornate case or disregard it completely. But once opened, it would point to the nearest Wielder, thereby announcing its status as a Spellmade object.

And although the empress of Ansora hadn’t dispatched Keil to Daradon to search for the compass as I’d once believed, the Ansorans might still want to keep its power for themselves if given the chance.

“We’re coming to the end,” Zeke murmured. “Lean against me.”

I recoiled. “You reek of dullroot.”

“Well, you don’t exactly smell like roses, darling.” He hooked my waist and yanked me toward him. “Now lean against me and try to look a little less pouty and a little more like someone I’m trying to scrape off death’s doormat.”

My temper spiked, and I thrust a reckless wave of power against him. Zeke grunted, just about avoiding spilling sideways.

“Touch me again without my permission,” I said, “and the Ansorans will be scraping you off this dock.”

Zeke kept his distance as the dock gave way to a sheltered plane of land, the honey-colored atmosphere glowing under many golden lamps. A rope kept us sectioned away from the rest of the harbor, while small, enclosed tents—the checkpoints—interrupted its length, separating us from the bustling workforce beyond. There was nothing outlandish about the scene, though perhaps there were more linen outfits than hemp, more golden embellishments than silver. Yet I could taste the difference in air, humid and unfamiliar.

And suddenly, the sense of newness was so terrifying that I had to stop myself from spiraling into panic. I was in Ansora, a place I’d always considered a safe haven.

So why did I feel so painfully far away from everything I’d always known?

Zeke angled closer. “Will you deign to lean against me now, your ladyship?”

I ignored the hollow feeling in my gut and let him support me as we shuffled toward the rope divider.

Zeke was approaching a guard in a black-and-gold uniform when I halted.

“Not her.” I assessed the guard with a quickness I’d learned at court. “Look at how she’s standing: rigid, with her hand on her sword. She’s smiling but she’s expecting trouble.”

“Him, then?” Zeke nodded toward a young, bored-looking guard rolling a loose stone under his shoe.