She would never see her again. Ever. That was what being an outcast meant.

  The river was swollen, making the banks soft and muddy, so Fen had to walk closer to the fields of sugar cane, keeping slouched down. There would be villagers tending the crop, waiting to harvest it into sugar and paper for Regentium’s massive stone bins. She didn’t want to be caught by any workers. She couldn’t know if the vines would show themselves, couldn’t trust anyone to keep her wildmagic a secret. Whenever there was a break in the cover, she’d glance skyward in search of corvuses or other winged creatures belonging to the Queen, but she saw none.

  Fen’s stomach started to rumble. She stopped and unwrapped the rice leaf and took a bite of the sweet bun. It would expand in her stomach and make her feel full the rest of the day. This is one of the last times I get to eat my mother’s cooking. Why had she complained about overcooked noodles so often?

  Fen walked, her arm still tingling. Hours passed and the sensation almost began to feel normal.

  She came to the Queen’s Road—a glowing, red-paved highway that ran in all four directions from Regentium. This was the southern section. There were shorter roads that stretched between each main artery, so that every corner of the queendom could be quickly accessed. The Queen had invested every paving stone with a magic that made her soldiers run, ride or roll faster than the eye could see, so that every corner of Illium was within a few hours of Regentium. If anyone were standing on the road as the troops came through, they’d be run over in a heartbeat.

  Likely a squadron had already sped down this way and taken one of the side roads to Village Twenty-One.

  All of the trees and grasses on both sides of the road had been cut away, so it was possible to look a long way in either direction. The moment she stepped out of the sugar canes, she would easily be spotted from the sky.

  Citizens from the five hundred villages had built the road after the War of the Ten Cities. The Royal Historians spoke of how they’d volunteered because they’d understood the road would bring eternal peace to the realm. If the Queen’s Guard could travel with such swiftness to any village, no one would ever break the law.

  Fen sat down near a thick banyan tree and huddled in her cloak. It was still several hours before nightfall—the best time to cross. She looked back the way she’d come. A line of smoke snaked on the horizon. It was most likely someone burning a fallow field.

  Her neck was sweaty, so she pulled her hood back and the cool air caressed her skin. This new red hair felt strange under her fingers. Her black hair—her real hair!—had always been coarse, but these locks were as soft as silk and long enough she could hold them in front of her eyes and stare at the luminescent red.

  “Crimson,” came a cry from above her in the tree. “Caw!”

  Fen’s heart skittered a beat. A corvus sat in the uppermost branches, glaring down at her. “Red hair. South Queen’s Road. Caw!”

  The creature pointed, and its thin, wormy finger seemed to reach right into her heart. Freezing her. “Red hair. Wildmagic. Near South Bridge. Caw.” It would repeat those words when it found the nearest patrol of the Queen’s Guard.

  She carefully removed the crossbow from her knapsack, hooked the stirrup on her foot and pulled, setting the string. She slipped out a bolt, all the while remembering how she had missed the last corvus.

  Not this time!

  The bird-thing spread its wings but did not take to the sky. “Crimson. Caw!”

  It stared down at her with owl eyes. For all she knew, the Queen or one of her minions was glaring through those orbs. Fen set the bolt in the slot and the corvus flapped its wings and took to the air. She raised the crossbow and, using her stump to brace the shaft, tracked the bird, loosing the bolt a short distance in front of it.

  The bolt caught the beast in the chest. The creature made a loop as if to show it wasn’t hurt, and then it plummeted from the sky like a black comet.

  Fen ran, the crossbow still in hand. She found the corvus in a pile of flattened grass. It was on its back, wings curling and uncurling. Its wingspan was as long as her body. Tiny pale hands were wrapped around the shaft of the bolt. Green blood leaked out of its chest. “Red hair,” it cawed softly. “Killed. Me.”

  The beastly thing did look a lot like a little boy who’d dressed up in huge raven wings. Its beak opened and closed. “Mama,” it said. “Queen. Mama. Mom. Maaaaa.” Then it gurgled and its eyes grew dull.

  She waited several heartbeats before kicking it to be sure it was dead. Pressing her foot on its chest, she pulled out the bolt, wiping the green blood on the grass. She slid it back into the quiver.

  Then she vomited. Hard. Took a deep breath and vomited again.

  The corvus was an abomination made by Royal Red Artificers and yet Fen had killed it. With her own hands. And it had cried out like a child for its mother. The Queen.

  Fen wiped her lips.

  “Don’t cough your guts out about it,” a man said, close enough to make Fen stand up straight. “You just gave Servilia a glorious poke in the eye.”

  Chapter Five

  The Voice Behind the Man

  FEN STEPPED ON THE STIRRUP OF THE CROSSBOW, pulled back the string, slipped a bolt in and swung the weapon around. She pointed it at . . . nothing. The words had come from directly behind her, but there was no one there. She jerked her head left and right, and spun around again.

  “Ithak is rather hard to see.” The stranger’s words had a slurred rice-wine tone she’d heard enough times in the village. He also had a different accent than hers. All citizens of Illium spoke Illish—the Queen had decreed that a millennium ago—but he sounded like someone from Regentium itself. And only the Queen and her most loyal subjects lived there.

  “Show yourself!” She spun around until she was almost dizzy. “Right now!”

  “Ithak doesn’t want an extra nostril. Put down the bow.”

  “No!” Fen balanced the bow on her arm. “Go away if you aren’t going to show yourself.”

  “Go away? A lonely red-haired urchin should be begging for friends. And Ithak is the very best kind of friend to have.”

  Was he crouched somewhere and throwing his voice?

  “Don’t try anything!” Fen pointed the bow at the ground. “I won’t shoot you. Unless you deserve it.” She was surprised at how confident she sounded.

  “Ithak will have to trust you. Now look directly toward the tree. Ithak is about to reveal his humble self. Don’t pee your britches.”

  “I won’t!” She gritted her teeth but blushed at the same time.

  His chuckle reminded her of clucking chickens. “Oh yes, you will. And now Ithak stands revealed!”

  Nothing happened.

  “You’re toying with me.” Fen gripped the crossbow tighter.

  “Oh, darn. Ithak flubbed it. Now, here Ithak is!”

  A shimmering occurred several yards ahead of her and then a grinning man stepped out of thin air itself. His arms and legs and torso were covered with bark—the same colour as the banyan tree. Then the bark shifted to a lighter shade to become white-skinned flesh. He was naked! No—he had pale short pants and wore a belt with a pouch. All equally pale. His eyes were owl-like. “You didn’t wet your britches!” He clapped his hands. “Most fall down on their knees and worship me. Or chase Ithak from their kitchen with pots.”

  “Who are you?”

  He bowed. “Ithak is the shadow in your footsteps. Ithak, who can hide in plain sight. Ithak the taker. The stalker. The finder and the keeper.”

  “You’re a thief?”

  His grin widened. “Ithak distributes the wealth of others into his own pouch.” He touched the pouch hanging on his belt. His hand lingered there. His hair, shorn so short it wasn’t much more than fuzz, was red.

  “You’re a wildmagic!” she said. He was smaller than she first had thought—almost the same height as her.

  “Ithak is the greatest of all wildmagics. Now, tell me your name.”

  “It—it’s Fen.”

  He nodded as if she’d answered more than one question. He put his hand on his pouch again. She wondered if he was worried about losing some jewel inside.

  “Is that your true name?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, Ithak knows you villagers. No matter what your colour, you all have other names you hide from the Queen. Ithak has listened late at night as you whisper the old names to each other.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fen had a sudden urge to check to be sure she still had the pieces of vellum her mother had given her.

  “Yes, you do. But Ithak doesn’t care about your names. It was a pleasure to meet you, Fen. Now Ithak must go.”

  Her hand was sweating on the crossbow. “Where are you travelling to?”

  “I’m hastening back to Helwood.”

  “Helwood? Truly? I’m going—” She stopped.

  “You’re going where?”

  Fen clenched her teeth. Her mother had warned her to be careful. “I’m not going anywhere. H-how did you find me?”

  “Ithak was, how shall Ithak put it, expeditiously fleeing a village.”

  “Which village did you come from?”

  He pointed where the line of smoke rose into the air. “Ithak doesn’t pay much attention to their numbers anymore. Just glad the simpletons unknowingly open their pantries to me. They were the same colour as you.”

  “That’s my village!”

  “It was your village.” He rubbed his chin. “By now it’s ashes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pointed at her. “You’re not overly gifted with brains. By morning you’ll be bumping along the Queen’s Road in a cage. Then off with your head and the masses will cheer.”

  “What happened to my village?” She was tempted to raise the crossbow. “Answer me!”

  “It has met with a bit of a burning. Queen’s Guard came in, their torches in hand, corvuses in the sky to guide them. People dead and all that.” He raised his right hand and held his finger and thumb apart. “Ithak came that close to being trampled.”

  Fen’s stomach churned with something worse than hunger. “Did they burn the whole village down?”

  “Oh no. Someone has to mine the dust.”

  “I have to go back.”

  He crossed his arms. “Idiocy! By now several squadrons of Queen’s Guard have arrived and they’ve released the hounds. In fact, since they’re after you, those hounds may be along any moment now.” He scratched behind his ear. “We should part company. Ithak doesn’t like death. And Ithak can smell it on you.”

  “I’m going back,” she said.

  “Are you a dolt?”

  “My family is there.”

  “Let them fend for themselves.” Then he rolled his eyes. “Ithak sees that your mind is set. Be smart and cross the river. That way the hounds will lose your scent.”

  Fen knew her mother could be in the hands of a Royal Inquisitor right now. Her sister too. She hadn’t imagined the Queen’s Guard would burn the village! Fen put the bolt in the quiver and slid the crossbow into her knapsack.

  She took a step and her foot bumped the wing of the corvus. She looked down. The image of its human face would haunt her.

  Ithak picked his teeth with a piece of grass. “If they catch up with you, run right into a sword. A quick death is the best.”

  He was grinning so broadly she wanted to smack him as she strode by. Even as she thought it, she felt something move in her stump as though the vines would come shooting out again.

  “You never told me what your magic is.” He was walking backwards alongside her. “Each magic comes from an element. Mine is from air itself. To make myself unseen. But what is yours?”

  “That’s not your business.” She didn’t stop walking. “But to be honest, I don’t know what it is.”

  “You mean you have no magic? You are so very doomed.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said, unsure whether she was being sarcastic.

  He shrugged his shoulders and waved, saying, “Farewell, corvus-killer.”

  Fen ignored him, slid off her boots, tied them to her knapsack and waded into the river. Hiding her scent was something she should’ve thought of herself. She dived in and began to swim.

  Chapter Six

  Back in the Village

  THE CLOSER FEN GOT TO HER HOME, THE FASTER SHE ran. Her clothes dried slowly. When there were no paths, she forced her way through the brush. The smoke got thicker, worked its way into her lungs and made her cough. She kept her hood tight—corvuses were circling above the smog, their large wings casting shadows. She was glad for the tall grass and much taller bamboo trees.

  Fen skidded to a stop at a clearing. The smoke had taken the form of Queen Servilia looking down at the village. She glared as her head turned from left to right. Was she able to see through that apparition? Fen would be easy to spot from that height. The giant Queen blinked. Her movements were so jerky and repetitive Fen became certain it was a trick.

  She crept up to the outskirts of Village Twenty-One. Several Queen’s guards on horseback, swords drawn, were galloping between the huts on the opposite bank of the river. There was the occasional shout but no sign of the villagers. Her people. Her mother and sister.

  She got down on her knees and crawled until she was right across the water from her hut. Flames were licking at the thatched roof and where one mud-brick wall had collapsed, the interior of their home spilled out like guts. May’s yellow cat pillow sat torn in two in the mud. Several pieces of clothing were scattered across the grass.

  Mama! May! Fen wanted to swim the river. If either her mother or sister had hidden in the hut, then they were dead.

  Fen slowly removed her crossbow and loaded it. She painted her face with mud. Nightfall was coming, the sun already red and low in the sky. She lowered herself right to the earth and became two eyes and two ears.

  A bark sounded, louder and more powerful than that of any dog she’d ever heard—a bark that had been designed by the Red Artificers to instill fear. Another hound barked and her insides went liquid. Moments later, she saw an infernus hound sniffing near her hut, its legs long and spindly, its snout stretched and dangerous-looking. The dog’s eyes, though, and something in the shape of its face reminded her of a young boy. An angry, vicious boy. The hound was so lean it was as if someone had pulled on both ends to make it even longer, even faster.

  Three more hounds joined the first. The pack sniffed through her hut, ignoring the flames. One poked its nose into May’s pillow, another snuffled Fen’s clothing. A Queen’s guard yelled an order and the hounds gathered into a pack and raced along the bank of the river, right across from Fen. She’d heard stories of how they’d ripped traitors to pieces. By the look of the creatures, it wouldn’t take very long.

  One hound broke away from the pack, circled back and found a scent along the riverbank. Fen held still. The hound pointed its long snout toward her, snorting in the air. The hound’s angry boy-eyes glowed red.

  “Get on with it!” a Queen’s guard shouted. He thundered up on his charger. His armour glittered and his red hair was unruffled by the wind. He did not seem as if he’d ever sweated or bled. His purple cloak looked perfectly clean. Even his horse was spotless, as though the mud or soot failed to stick to it. “Go, Gripper. Hunt!”

  The dog gave a low growl and then put its nose to the ground and worked its way west along the riverbank. The Queen’s guard trotted up to the water and let his charger drink. Fen held her breath. Her leg twitched and the horse pointed its ears forward.

  The Queen’s guard looked directly at her. She ran a finger over the crossbow. The armour couldn’t be penetrated, so she would target his neck. She had hit squirrels at an equal distance. A neck was larger than a squirrel.

  Could I kill a man? she wondered. I killed Kang! No. It was the vines—the vines did that. It would likely be pointless to attempt to kill the Queen’s guard—their wounds healed almost at once. Get him in the neck and he’d pull it out and a few moments later be charging after her. Her second choice would be to kill the horse. It didn’t have any armour.

  She’d always liked horses. They were so strong and stable.

  Fen held her eyes open an impossibly long time, worried that even closing them would attract attention. The vines on her stump felt as though they were growing across the ground.

  The Queen’s guard spat into the river, and then yanked the reins and followed the hounds.

  Fen slowly let her breath out between her teeth and blinked several times. Her stump was itching and, without meaning to, she gave it a scratch. The green tendrils were longer and had wound themselves together. She felt the vines. The vines felt her. It was so odd to have sensations there again. She slowly pulled her hand away.

  She waited. Not moving. The sun set. Flames from other burning huts lit the village. She knew who owned each one, hoped the families were alive and well. Her back started to cramp and her legs grew cold.

  Something—a pig perhaps—crawled along the opposite bank. It dipped its head into the water. Only as it started splashing water onto its face, wiping off dirt, did she see it was a boy.

  Not just any boy but Bay, the fishmonger’s son. His face was more than dirty—there were bruises too. His eyes were red from crying.

  “Bay,” she whispered.

  He was whimpering to himself.

  “Bay,” she said, a bit louder.

  He looked up, startled. “Who-who is it? Who-who’s there?” He wiped his nose with a muddy hand.

  “It’s Fen. I’m across the river.”

  He squinted, splashed a little. “Fen-Fen!” he nearly shouted. “It’s just horrible. The guard-guards have attacked. They’ve attacked!”

  “Yes, I see that.” She put a finger to her lips. “Please, keep your voice down.”

  “They burned houses. Burn-burned them! And they have everyone at the square and they’re shout-shouting.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “One hit-hit me. With the flat of his blade. Then he chase-chased someone else and I crawled away. I hid-hid in the reeds. I rolled in pig-pig dung. I stink. Hounds can’t smell-smell me.”