Chapter XXIV - Enemy

~ This chapter certainly isn't what I want.

It's below my standards for writing, but I forced myself to post it because I've been over it a million times, rewriting, editing, cutting, pasting, etc. etc. etc. So, despite it's weak points and problems, please do read it and tell me what's wrong with it. I save all your comments and plan to go through them when I finish; changing, editing, and improving with your help. That's why feedback is so important to us writers! Don't be shy--please don't be shy. :-) ~

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An hour earlier, the gray-hued sky had opened its cloud-gates and a cool drizzle fell from the heavens. Tancred absently listened to its soft murmur as it struck the roof of his house, relishing the calming noise.

A moment later, the second of quiet peace was shattered by Jaedon voice. “Perhaps they hired a bounty hunter.”

Tancred’s eyes closed; a muted sigh escaped his lips.

The older man continued, his voice pensive: “The handle of the dagger is unmarked, so the assassin could be from anywhere in the world: Rulaan; Elangsia; Meru; the regions around the Cirthian Mountains; even Aerilya.”

It had been two hours since the assassination attempt. Tancred and Jaedon had reached their small home soon after the attack and had been discussing their situation since then—a situation that seemed to worsen with each passing minute. They had arrived at one agreement so far: they would both sleep on the floor in the artifact room, which had no windows and therefore was the most secure from intruders. Jaedon staunchly refused to leave Tancred alone for the night. The near-disaster had shaken the grizzled warrior more than he would admit. Therefore the two of them had gathered bedding and spread the blankets on the floor, creating semi-comfortable sleeping quarters.

“I doubt if it was a bounty hunter,” Tancred finally replied to Jaedon’s suggestions. “I’ve evaded them before and their tactics are predictable. They would have no way of knowing that Tancred Ralyn and Cormac Alstair are the same man. And even if they did have that information, they would not know that Cormac/Tancred and the Hunter is the same man as well. It’s too unfathomable for the average bounty hunter to make out.”

“They might not know for certain you are the Hunter,” Jaedon pointed out, his voice barely a whisper, “but that wouldn’t stop them from trying to kill you if they suspect you for spying. Or, Montel might have gotten angry and hired somebody to kill you just because he finds you objectionable.”

“Montel,” Tancred growled under his breath, rolling unto his back. Curse him.

“Yes, Montel,” Jaedon responded somberly.

A long hush ensued, and Tancred wrestled with his anger. Already he had rethought the sequence within the palace a thousand times, wondering if there was some way he could have saved Zoe. There must have been something...some failure he made. How else could things have gone so drastically wrong?

I cannot think thus, he thought roughly, opening his eyes. Dwelling on images of Zoe within the palace felt like chunks of salt were being ground deeply into a raw, painful wound.

“What if,” Tancred changed the subject, “the assassin wasn’t working for Brastus or Montel?”

“It’s pretty clear he wasn’t working for Brastus,” Jaedon grunted. “The king is so arrogant he’d be sure to supply his assassins with daggers marked with the insignia of Elangsia. Montel might have hired him, but it does seem a little unlikely for him to act so drastically when he merely dislikes you.”

Silence stretched for a moment as they each ran through different names in their head, trying to figure out who would have the resources to find the location of the Hunter and order him killed.

It did not take long. “Captain Alquin Ricald,” said Tancred, the name disagreeable on his tongue. “He’s obsessed with killing the Hunter.” He released a short, bitter laugh. “Little does he know he already murdered him.”

“Yes...he could be the one.” Jaedon sounded completely unemotional, but Tancred was not fooled. Jaedon had loved Liam Ralyn with the love of warriors; they had been blood-brothers and dear friends. There was no lost affection between Ricald and Jaedon of Mairbrac. If Jaedon were a man given to hatred, Tancred was certain Ricald would be Jaedon’s primary target of loathing.

“There was something odd about the whole attack,” Tancred mused, finally stating what he had been mulling over with some bafflement for the last two hours.

“What do you mean?”

“When I jumped and took you down to the ground after the knife was thrown, it took me three full seconds to roll and get back up to an attack position. When I was firmly on my feet and had my weapons drawn...” Tancred’s voice trailed off as he relived the scene in his mind. “...the assassin did not immediately flee when he saw his initial attack had failed. That’s odd enough, but still, that is not what bothers me. What bothers me is that he did not kill us in those three seconds that we were completely defenseless. He must have been equipped with more than one dagger. Something—I cannot say what—stayed his hand. He chose not to kill us.” Tancred shook his head slightly. “Show me one single bounty hunter who would do that.”

Jaedon was silent.

Tancred exhaled. “Why would he choose not to kill once the advantage was his?”

“Could it be a sort of game for him? A battle of wits and skill, you against him?”

A strange idea, but not entirely implausible. Tancred knew there were many men who would love to kill him. The idea that one had finally located him and now wanted to prolong the process of slaying the Hunter was certainly believable.

It would add a new and difficult twist to his plans, however. If there was an assassin close at hand in Ruma, he would have to be sharper than ever when he was out in the city. There was also the constant danger of Jaedon being targeted. And, when Tancred rescued Grace from the Ricald home, he would have to protect the little girl until she was safely smuggled out of the Elangsian capital.

Jaedon did not know of Tancred’s resolution to free Grace. Tancred himself had just made the decision in the last couple hours, actually. Seeing Zoe dragged away into the palace had spurred the decision. Zoe’s dedication to the little slave girl was to be commended—and rewarded. Zoe might not be able to free Grace, but he was capable of doing it.

He would tell Jaedon soon, but not yet. He had to plan things out more carefully before laying it out before his mentor, who was sure to be opposed to it. Between freeing a slave girl in the capital of Elangsia, trying to figure out a way to get Zoe out of the palace, and avoiding what appeared to be an assassin, Jaedon was not likely to be supportive of any of Tancred’s plans.

In time, he will come around, Tancred knew. He shifted into a more comfortable position, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. He had plans to construct.

è è è è è è è è è

ONE DAY LATER

Brysa exhaled. The train of her dress swept along the stones on the floor with a quiet swish as she hurried down a corridor in the castle. It was nearing ten o’clock in the evening and few others stirred in the depths of the palace, which was exactly what Brysa wanted. She did not wish for others to know of her late night excursion.

Rebekka had tried to come with her, but Brysa refused. I must do this alone, she thought determinedly. Bringing a servant girl with her might be viewed as weakness—a sign that Brysa could not stand alone when accomplishing her own purposes. Being weak was the last thing she could afford to be right then.

It had been a frustrating day. Zoe had been tight-lipped and mostly silent, often turning her accusing dark green eyes on Brysa with angry forcefulness. Despite Zoe’s stubbornness, Brysa already decided that she would not let that dissuade her; she was too intrigued by the defiant young woman to let anything sidetrack her...and more than a little interested in Zoe’s connection to Cormac Alstair.

“Cormac Alstair,” she murmured, rolling the name off her tongue. He was a spy. That much was obvious to Brysa now. But how dangerous is he? What information is he gathering? she asked herself. And most importantly...how has he managed to stay alive all this time?

She wanted to know more. The infiltrating Aerilyans had intrigued her for a long time now for their bravery—and also for what she saw as their unbelievable foolhardiness. They have no fear, she though, shaking her head as she turned right and started down a dimly lit stairway. An interesting and very important fact that she had gathered over the last few years was that her father was afraid of them; actually afraid of their daring spies. A small smile curled her lips upward and she allowed herself a moment of cynical joy. She had found her father’s weak spot, and she had long planned to find a way to use it against him. She was just waiting for the perfect opportunity. Her smile faded. Hopefully she had not bided her time too long. Now that she was engaged to the prince of the Wild Men, time was running out.

Tearing her mind from that harsh reality, Brysa thought again of her father’s hatred of the enemy spies. A shiver danced up her spine as an old, terrible memory abruptly resurfaced. She had observed more than a few executions in her lifetime, but the very first she had seen had been seared into her memory, impossible to ignore. It had been seven years ago, but she remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

She and her two silent bodyguards had just returned from a ride outside of Ruma’s walls. That was before her father had begun forbidding her excursions outside the palace walls—at age fifteen she was beautiful but still too young for suitors to actively pursue her. She had entered the gates that led into the inner courtyard of the palace and immediately her gaze was drawn to a dark-haired man bound by many strong cords, on his knees and surrounded by Elangsian soldiers and officers. Her father, King Brastus, had stood on a high, overhanging balcony accompanied by a man Brysa later found to be newly promoted Captain Ricald. They both stared down with cold, hating eyes. A black-clad man standing beside the spy had raised his great sword, and before Brysa could avert her horror-filled gaze, the spy was beheaded.

Even now the bloody memory sickened her. But, if it were not for that experience, Brysa wondered if she would know the depth of her father’s great fear and loathing of Aerilya’s spies. Probably not, she admitted. And it was because of that knowledge that she was making her way through the castle in the middle of the night to gather information. It was also the reason behind her interrogation of Zoe earlier that day.

That had not gone very well. She had asked many questions about Zoe’s relationship to Cormac Alstair, but had gotten nothing solid back. Zoe was not going to give in easily. Brysa sighed again as she thought of the end of the long cross-examination of the immovable young woman. Zoe had been tired and angry, but Brysa was likewise emotionally raw. Unfortunately that meant she had revealed more to Zoe than she wanted to. Brysa stopped to catch her breath, placing her hand against the cool wall to her right, and closed her eyes. The memory took over.

Zoe turned her head to stare at the princess. They locked gazes, and Brysa waited with tight-lipped expectance.

“I am not your maid,” Zoe said under her breath. “You have no claim upon my obedience.”

“I have claim over your life,” countered Brysa, also in a low tone. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

“My life without freedom is worth nothing at all. Why should I care if you take that from me as well?”

“You are most insolent. How can you care so little about your life?”

“I did not say I do not care.” Zoe appeared unemotional but her words suggested otherwise. “I merely pointed out that you have ripped from me everything that makes my life significant.”

“So you must have freedom in order to live a life of purpose?”

Zoe’s eyes flashed, revealing a deadly chink of turmoil that almost destroyed her smooth, strong facade of composure. “Freedom is the last thing left to me, princess,” she whispered harshly. “All else was taken from me without warning, like a thief in the night.”

Brysa’s lip curled bitterly. “At least you had it in the beginning,” she snapped. Instantly she regretted her words.

She still regretted them. Because of that simple sentence, a few hastily spoken syllables, she had laid part of herself bare before the sharp eyes of the foreign girl. Opening her eyes and continuing down the hallway, Brysa frowned at the memory. “Too quick with your tongue, Brysa,” she reprimanded herself in a whisper. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

She stopped at last in front of a wooden door. She was in a section of the palace that she did not often frequent. It was the place were her father’s top military men slept after feasts when they were too drunk to leave. Sometimes other soldiers were allowed to stay if they were on duty at the dungeons. Brysa had inquired after Lieutenant Montel, the man who had brought Zoe in, and discovered he was currently residing in that wing of the palace because of dungeon obligations. It was convenient for Brysa; she could question the lieutenant without even leaving the confines of the palace.

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, Brysa raised her hand and rapped her knuckles firmly against the door. Nothing happened for a long time and Brysa savagely hoped the maid she had talked to had given her correct information about the whereabouts of Montel’s quarters. If the girl was wrong and this was the room of some drunk officer who had a palace wench over for the night....

Brysa narrowed her eyes. She was ready to knock again when a shuffling sound was heard behind the door and a rough voice mumbled out, “Whaddoya want?”

“This is Crown Princess Brysa Alustate,” she said in her most imperious voice. “I command you to open this door at once.”

A moment later the door swung open and a disheveled Montel peered hazily out. “My lady?” he growled, obviously surprised. He made an attempt to straighten his stained tunic and hide a wine bottle behind his back.

She surveyed him with disdain. “I understand you are on guard duty in the dungeons?” she queried, her tone skeptical.

He blinked, appearing unnerved both by her appearance and her apparent knowledge of his schedule. “Well...ya see, it’s—it’s not, that is...my shift is over for the night. My lady.” He added the last two words as an afterthought.

“Indeed,” she said, staring at him coolly. She could smell wine on his breath and knew he must have been drinking heavily.

“What can I do for you?” he asked in a slightly clearer tone.

“I have some questions that you will be answering.”

Montel’s face darkened behind his beard, and she knew she had upset him by her authoritative command. He managed to restrain himself by some miracle, however, and roughly opened the door wider. “As you wish, princess,” he muttered.

She entered the room but stood close to the door, which she made a point of leaving wide open. I might be Princess of Elangsia but I cannot trust this man’s honorability for one second, she thought warily. Especially if he’s been drinking.

“What’s it you need answering?” he asked, surreptitiously sliding the bottle of wine out of sight behind a pitcher on a table and turning back to face her.

Brysa decided to get right to the point. “Who is Cormac Alstair?”

Montel’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

“Am I to understand,” she began slowly, pinning him with an unrelenting gaze, “that you are honestly denying me, the Princess of Elangsia, information that I desire to know?”

He appeared to squirm a little. “No,” he muttered, “course not. I just wondered why you wished to know.”

Brysa’s eyebrows rose and she waited.

“He’s a merchantman from Meru...or so he says,” Montel told her at last. “I went to his house a month or so ago but couldn’t dig up any real evidence against him.”

“Who do you think he is?”

“Aerilyan filth, sent to get into our city and learn our secrets. He’s got spy written all over him but the proof ain’t there for me to find. Not yet, at least.”

“What are your orders concerning him?”

“You think I’m going to tell you what my military orders are—”

Montel’s indignant spiel stopped almost immediately as Brysa took a long step forward. Her eyes flashed. “And do you think that I will allow you to get away with blatant insubordination?” she demanded. Emboldened, she stepped forward again and laid a heavy slap across the man’s face. “How dare you challenge me in such a way, soldier. If you wish your head to be the next adornment on the pikes of the northern gates, by all means, continue in your folly!”

He actually paled at the mention of the northern gates. “No my lady,” he said, his voice subdued. “My apologies.”

She waited for a long moment, making him sweat. “Accepted,” she said at last, her tone supremely disdainful. He’s weakened now; press in and get the answers you really want! She glared up at him and asked in a forceful tone, “How is the slave girl you brought in tied to Cormac Alstair?”

Montel frowned at the memory of Zoe and how she was taken from him by Brysa herself. “She lives with him,” he snarled. “She’s his lover. They deserve each other in my opinion. She’s a hotheaded wench who needs to be flogged,” he added angrily.

Brysa seriously doubted Zoe was Alstair’s lover, though it was possible—and Montel sounded very sure of himself. It just seemed implausible for a spy to have such a large distraction along with him on an important mission. She also ignored Montel’s quip about flogging Zoe. His pride was obviously offended and she quickly saw that he wanted to take it out on the slave girl who had come very close to thwarting him.

“Where does Alstair live?”

“Middle-class section of the city.”

“That’s a huge area,” she said, trying to be patient. “Where, precisely?”

One of Montel’s fists clenched, but Brysa forced herself to hold her ground. At last the lieutenant told her the exactly coordinates of Alstair’s house and gave her a detailed report of what his residence looked like. Satisfied she had enough information to find the place if she needed to, Brysa nodded.

“Give me a description of Alstair.”

“Tall, dark haired, tan skin, muscular build, blue eyes.” Montel quickly reeled off the facts, showing her for the first time that night the profits of his military training. “About twenty-five or twenty-six, I would guess.”

He’s very young, Brysa thought, masking her surprise. “I see. Thank you, Lieutenant Montel.” With faint sarcasm she added, “You’ve been most helpful.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he mumbled in reply, obviously not as pleased with the outcome of the conversation as she was.

“Good evening,” she said quietly, turning and beginning to walk out.

Montel’s hand slammed down on her shoulder and he spun her around. Outraged, Brysa’s eyes widened and she reached up to shove his hand away.

“You be careful, princess,” he growled, his face a couple inches from her own and his foul-smelling breath billowing out. “Your curiosity might well spell your doom.”

“And your stupidity may bring your death—immediately,” she replied angrily. His hand dropped from her shoulder and she straightened her dress. “Never lay hands on me again, fool,” she hissed, whirling and stalking away.

It was not until she was far away from Montel’s quarters that Brysa allowed herself to loosen her tense muscles and slow her quick pace. She raised one of her hands and stared at it, feeling oddly detached as she watched it shake like a leaf caught in a gale. The lieutenant had given her good information...but the tension of the confrontation had affected her deeply. Taking in a unsteady breath, Brysa lowered her hand and hurried back to her quarters.

She had much to mull over.

è è è è è è è è è

Zoe watched from beneath her lashes as Brysa hurried back into her chambers. The princess quickly glided to the other side of the bower and pulled a couple pins out of her hair with trembling hands, releasing her glossy curtain of hair to fall down her back like an ebony waterfall. Rebekka, who was just as awake as Zoe, stood to her feet and walked toward Brysa.

Where has she been? wondered Zoe. Brysa looked jittery, as if she had just done something she was not used to. Or maybe something she’s not supposed to do, Zoe corrected herself. She remained seated on the ledge by the latticed window, watching Brysa and Rebekka quietly converse at the other end of the bedchamber. Their words were too soft for Zoe to hear.

Brysa suddenly turned and pierced Zoe with her bright blue gaze. She began walked quickly toward Zoe, trailed by a questioning looking Rebekka. Zoe quietly braced herself. The long interrogation earlier today from the princess had revealed to Zoe that Brysa was no pushover. Be prepared, she warily told herself.

Brysa stopped in front of Zoe and crossed her arms. “Are you Cormac Alstair’s lover?”

His lover? The notion was so absurd; Zoe wondered where Brysa had gotten the idea from. Her relationship with Tancred was tenuous at best. The very thought of him caring for her in that way was insane...not to mention her caring for him. She almost wanted to laugh.

Instead, she simply replied, “No.”

“What is your relationship to him?”

“After all your unanswered questions to me this morning, do you still think I’m going to tell you that?” replied Zoe quietly. “You will learn nothing from me.”

“But you do care for him,” Brysa stated as if Zoe had not even responded.

Again Zoe felt the compulsion to laugh. I care for him, yes, she acknowledged. I care enough to wish him success, and protect his true identity. But I certainly do not—and never will—care in the way she is insinuating. It was too absurd. She said nothing, deciding that if the princess wanted to draw incorrect conclusions, she for one would not stop her.

“Despite your blatant denial,” Brysa mused, “I venture that he cares for you, too. If he took you with him into Ruma, the den of the enemy, he must trust you with his life. Knowing that you’ve been captured must be killing him.”

Guilt smote Zoe at the truth in Brysa’s words. He didn’t even know that I was going to try to rescue Grace. My capture was entirely my fault, yet if I know him, he’s definitely blaming himself.

The fact that she understood what Tancred’s thought process was suddenly struck her as very odd. I haven’t had that ability since.... Zoe paused, confused, and did not finish the mental idea.

“So if I were to let him know that I have important information about his captured maiden Zoe,” Brysa continued suggestively, “I feel confident he would do whatever it takes to recover you.”

“Leave him out of this,” Zoe said, affecting calmness though she instantly felt hot anger at the idea of Brysa manipulating Tancred—by using Zoe herself as bait. “He’s just a merchant.”

“And I’m a penniless beggar girl,” replied Brysa sarcastically. “We both know he’s a spy with the cover of a Meruvian merchant. It’s no use lying anymore, Zoe.”

Zoe slid off the ledge, her injured shoulder protesting at the sudden movement, and stood erect. Her lips were pressed tightly together as her mind raced. Brysa was far too close to the truth for Zoe’s comfort...but what could Zoe really do about that? I have to be careful, she told herself. Don’t reveal anything by accident.

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her disturbing thoughts. Brow furrowed, Brysa whirled toward it. Rebekka and Zoe also glanced at the heavy oak door.

It was very late; close to midnight, Zoe guessed. Who would bother them this far into the evening? She frowned a little. Much earlier that night, Brysa had pleaded out of the evening meal on grounds that she was feeling ill. King Brastus and Queen Maurelle had both sent their sentiments of high displeasure to their daughter, for King Naard and Prince Jaquin of the Wild Men were leaving early in the morning so this had been their last evening in Ruma. Political negotiations and confirmation of the war treaty had finally been concluded the night before, at Brysa’s engagement ceremony.

Despite that, Brysa had staunchly refused to go down for the evening feast. And Zoe had been surprised to feel an amount of grudging admiration for the princess’s tenacity—admiration that she quickly squashed now, remembering Brysa’s hints of a moment before that she would try to lure Tancred in a trap by using Zoe as the enticement.

Brysa cleared her throat and motioned to the door. “Rebekka.”

Rebekka walked forward, her expression hesitant once more. For all her underlying strength, Rebekka was, for the most part, a quiet, unassuming woman who hated confrontation. Zoe walked a few steps forward so she had a clear view of the door and watched as the fair-haired maid stopped and cracked it open, then spoke in a low tone to whoever was standing there.

Her head whipped around and she looked at Brysa with round eyes. “It’s Jaquin,” she whispered urgently.

“What is he doing here?” demanded Brysa.

“He claims he has the right, as your betrothed, to speak with you before he departs for Rulaan early tomorrow.”

Silence fell. Zoe watched Brysa closely, wondering what she would do. Brysa’s hands fluttered at her sides convulsively. The princess’s face grew whiter and whiter. Zoe wondered what was wrong—and then realized Brysa was panicking. It was strange, especially considering how cool and calculating the princess had been just moments before.

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Zoe stepped forward. “Stay where you are,” she said in a half-commanding, half-calming voice. She strode to the door and nudged Rebekka out of the way, then peered through the crack in the door. Sure enough, Jaquin and a couple of bodyguards stood there.

“Princess Alustate is unavailable,” Zoe told the prince bluntly. “Did you not hear she is feeling unwell?”

Jaquin’s face twisted with ill-humor. “I’m not in the mood for jesting, wench. Move aside.”

“I am not jesting,” said Zoe coldly. She stood firmly in place.

“Move aside!”

“You would force yourself into the quarters of the royal lady?” countered Zoe, still not moving. She and he both knew he would not try something so audacious.

Jaquin whipped out a knife. “You are as disposable as you are insolent,” he growled, pointing it threateningly at her throat.

Zoe wished both that she had her own blade and that she could say exactly what she thought about the bloated pig prince who stood before her. Moving deliberately, she reached up with her left hand and pushed Jaquin’s blade away from her. “The princess is not interested in discourse tonight,” she said firmly. “Good night.”

She began to shut the door, but Jaquin’s arm shot forward and stopped it. “Wait!” he bellowed. “What is your name?”

“Nobody.” Zoe’s tone was flat and filled with irony. “I am a slave.”

Her heart was thundering faster than usual as she shut the heavy door in Jaquin’s face. Calling on what reserves of strength she had remaining, she awkwardly dropped the heavy bar across the door one-handed. Then she turned around with a small, decisive nod of her head...and the questions began.

What just happened? I protected the princess. Why? What in the world provoked her to step in and deal with Jaquin for Brysa?

She glanced up and was met with Rebekka’s wide eyes and Brysa’s startled gaze. After a moment Brysa walked forward, seemed to regain her composure, and dipped her dark head slightly in Zoe’s direction. “I thank you,” she said. The words were a little stiff, but her gratefulness was evident.

Zoe remained frozen in place for a second longer, wondering what to say. After a terribly long pause, she shook herself and replied softly, “You kept me from the dungeons; I kept you from your prince. My debt to you is repaid.”

Without another word, she turned away from the princess and Rebekka, entered the small chamber that she had claimed as her own, and shut the wooden door. Leaning against the nearby wall, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply in and out. Despite her words mere seconds before about her debt to Brysa being repaid, Zoe knew she had taken action without so much as one thought about equalizing the score between them. She had acted in order to protect the princess.

What is wrong with me? Why should I care what happens to her? She is my foe, my adversary. She plans on finding Tancred, possibly exposing him and ordering his death.

Her freedom was the important thing. That is what mattered. Brysa cannot matter. Zoe had to escape, and she had to take Rebekka and Tryna with her. Tryna was a worker in the palace kitchen; Rebekka had mentioned that only the day before. Now Zoe knew where three of her four friends were, and that meant there was no time to worry about the fate of Princess Brysa Alustate. She did not have to deal with the princess’s plight. She must take defend herself against her parents and Jaquin and her troubles. It’s not my responsibility to help her.

She tried reminding herself that Brysa was the enemy. I must not lose focus. I cannot lose focus. There is no reason for me to care what happens to her.

Her thoughts were running in circles; she was reiterating things in her struggle to convince herself. With a frustrated growl, Zoe knelt and slammed her good fist into her nearby flat pillow, sending a painful jolt up her arm.

Why did she feel as if she were turning her back on all that was right if she ignored the princess? And in doing so, she further shamed the Romany name. Dropping her head into her now throbbing hand, Zoe fought the despair that washed over her. No choice is the right one. Where am I to go? What must I do?

All night she sought answers...and she found none.