“There’s someone loosing bolts at us,” she said.

  “Oh, you’re clever!” Ithak had crawled to hide behind a small rise of earth. He glanced at his shoulder and grimaced. “The bolt has the Queen’s markings on it.”

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “We? I’m wounded. You go kill the archer.” He clutched the injury, blood pumping over his fingers. “Can you see our enemy?”

  She raised her head and a bolt flew just inches above it. She dropped down again, but not before she’d glimpsed a red-haired shadow about twenty yards distant.

  “A Queen’s guard is directly ahead of us,” she said.

  “Ithak has a brilliant plan—lead him away from me.”

  “What?”

  “Whenever their chicks are in trouble, a bird will draw the cat away. You be the bird.”

  “I’ll get a bolt in my back!” She pressed herself more closely against the ground. “Just make yourself invisible.”

  “It’s hard to do when you’re bleeding.” His flesh was quite pale, and he was looking like he might pass out. It dawned on her that the Queen’s guard likely wasn’t alone. They could soon be surrounded.

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  Fen slid off her knapsack, took out her own tiny crossbow, grabbed the quiver and crawled to her left. She expected a bolt through the head. But with each passing moment, none came. She wriggled in a wide circle, staying behind the ridge or tufts of dead grass.

  Eventually she heard a wheezing that sounded like leaky bellows. Several heartbeats later, the bellows let out a hoarse breath. She edged forward, dragging herself by her fingernails. Her wooden hand felt particularly strong.

  She would have to aim for the heart. No—if it was a Queen’s guard, the armour would be impenetrable. Her best target would be the head. He’d heal, but maybe the injury would distract him long enough for her to tie him up. Or she could use the sword to behead him.

  She wasn’t certain she could do that.

  She peeked over a small hump of pale earth. A Queen’s guard was caught in a sinkhole, only his shoulders and head showing above the liquidy brine. His red hair was coated white with salt. He pointed the loaded crossbow toward where she and Ithak had been standing. The man let out another raspy rattle of air. Whatever magic he had was fighting to keep him alive in the poison atmosphere. And failing.

  “Kill. Kill. Kill,” he whispered. The anger in his voice sent a chill through her innards. “Kill the girl now. Kill. Before you die, my son. Obey your Queen. Obey your mother.”

  The voice was his and not his. It sounded feminine. He was poised to shoot, but if she waited quietly he would sink out of sight and die.

  Her mother had told her to watch with careful eyes. But this was not a time to sit back. Fen stood and looked all around. This was the only enemy and he didn’t notice her. He was perhaps wheezing too loudly to hear her. She pointed her crossbow directly at his head.

  “Queen’s guard!” she shouted. “Turn around very slowly.”

  He spun and cried out, “Die for me! Die!” He loosed a bolt. Fen’s wooden hand shot out with impossible quickness and caught it only an inch from her forehead. She let it fall to the ground.

  Fen blinked. She should be dead. How stupid of her not to shoot him right away.

  “You missed,” she said. No, that wasn’t right. “Your bolts can’t harm me.” She had caught an arrow in flight—a feat only heroes in old stories could perform. But none of them were girls, let alone girls with wooden hands.

  The Queen’s guard threw the crossbow at her and then tried to crawl in her direction, succeeding only in sinking faster. “Come closer and die! Die for your Queen! I command you! ”

  “Stand up, Ithak,” Fen said. “The Queen’s guard is no longer a threat.”

  The guard continued to churn and sink. It was madness! He’d be lost in the mire in moments.

  Ithak limped over. Blood was running along his shoulder and down his pale body.

  “Well,” Ithak said. “Let’s take a seat and watch the rat die.”

  “Traitor! Kill you too. Both of you. Die. Die! ”

  “You’d think he’d be asking us to toss a rope,” Ithak said.

  “He’s gone mad,” Fen said quietly.

  She had such a clear memory of the guard who’d severed her hand. Of how calm and perfect he’d been. This one was nothing like that.

  “Kill you! Cut off your heads. Traitors! ”

  “Queen’s guards are usually more level-headed than this,” Ithak said. “They are intelligent. Begrudgingly, Ithak admits they even have some majesty. Perhaps the salt has rotted his brain.”

  “You must die! For the Queen. For me. Me. The Queen.” The Queen’s guard rattled in another ragged breath. He was turning a pale, pale white. Only one eye was focused. “Get up and kill them for me, son! Kill them for the Queen! ”

  “He thinks he’s the Queen,” Fen said.

  “You’re wrong.” Ithak couldn’t keep the wonder from his words. “This is the Queen herself.”

  “The Queen?” Fen lifted her crossbow. “Here?”

  “Yes. Yes! Hello, Queen, can you hear me?”

  “You mock me? ” The Queen’s guard slammed his fist against the white mud, splashing himself. “You’ll be choked with your own entrails.”

  “Why don’t you come and try,” Ithak responded. “See if you like the stink out here—a stink you made. Your guard doesn’t.”

  “Should we be taunting her?” Fen asked.

  Ithak grinned. “She’s taunted and hunted me my whole life. This great mire is one of the few places she cannot reach.”

  “I’ll eviscerate both of you.”

  “That’s the Queen all right,” Ithak said. “If you had any pity, Fen, you’d just give him a death blow with your sword. Don’t waste a bolt. She’ll keep using him until he’s dead.”

  “I can’t stab him.”

  Ithak shrugged, then winced and held his shoulder. “Good. He’ll struggle in the mire, the magic invested in his armour—his blood—resurrecting him each time he dies until he grows too weak. Eventually, painfully, he’ll perish.”

  “You are worm food. Both of you are marked! ”

  “Ithak has been marked since the day Ithak turned. You tried to get Ithak then. You failed.”

  “I will torture your sister,” the Queen’s guard said.

  Fen went cold.

  The voice was growing more hoarse. “My Royal Inquisitor will summon May to the red chambers this very hour. He will pluck her toenails one by one.”

  “You—you. Can’t.”

  “I will.” The guard’s voice sounded so certain, so powerful. And so much like the voice Fen had heard on waking every morning. “I am the Queen. And May is very frightened. She will be crushed, bone by bone, crying out your name. And the name of your mother.”

  “Don’t you dare touch her!”

  “Come before my walls and fall on your knees. Only that will save her. I promise you safe passage to Regentium.”

  The Queen’s guard was up to his neck now.

  “Your sister is in no more danger now than she was before,” Ithak said.

  “Kneel before me in Regentium,” the Queen commanded. “If you love your sister, you will come.” Then the Queen’s guard fell silent. His eyes closed.

  “Drat!” Ithak barked. “It looks like he’ll die before he sinks.”

  Clumps of salt mud were stuck to the guard’s face. He shuddered. Once. Twice. A third time.

  “Death throes,” Ithak said. Fen found the joy in his voice disgusting. “At least this part’ll be entertaining.”

  Then the Queen’s guard opened one eye. It focused on Fen. He coughed and riding on that air were the words Help me. It did not sound like the Queen. “Help. Meeeeee.”

  Fen stood still for a moment. Was it a trap? The man had said such horrible things only moments earlier. Or the Queen had. And he had tried to kill her and Ithak.

  “Pleasssse help.” His voice wasn’t much more than a hiss. It would be better to let him die. Safer.

  She waited another moment. And another. Mama would never let him die, she thought. Then she let out a huff, undid her belt and tossed one end to him.

  “What are you doing!” Ithak shouted.

  “Something stupid,” she said.

  The Queen’s guard didn’t grab at the belt. She flipped it so that the buckle slapped against his arm. “He’ll be of use to us,” she said.

  “As a chair?”

  She ignored him. The guard’s hand closed slowly on the belt, but when she pulled, it slipped out of his grasp. She got down on her stomach and crawled toward him, spreading out her body so she wouldn’t sink. The closer she got, the more clearly she saw how badly he was doing. Maybe he was already dead. She looped the belt around his wrist, her own hand sinking into the salt mire. She wiggled back to more solid ground and pulled. There was a sucking sound, but he was too heavy and too deep in the mire to move.

  “Give me a hand,” she said.

  “Ha! This vile weapon has been sent to cut us in two. Unless . . . are you hoping to strip his armour and sell it?”

  “No.”

  “Then you are the most dull-witted child Ithak has ever had the displeasure to meet.”

  She pulled. And pulled. The guard slid slightly toward her.

  “Help me!” she said.

  “Ithak is wounded.”

  “All I need is one of your hands. Just take the belt and pull.”

  “Mansren preserve us from this madness,” he said, but he grabbed the belt. They tugged the Queen’s guard forward, bit by bit, until his shoulders were free. In time they were able to drag him to more solid ground. He lay completely still. Fen scooped briny mud out of his mouth. It felt odd to touch his lips, dry as they were. But it had to be done.

  “As Ithak mentioned before”—Ithak huffed and puffed—“he’s dead.”

  “No. They heal themselves.”

  She thumbed another lump out. He’d swallowed a pailful. He was still somewhat warm. Both eyes were closed. “He will not die,” she promised. “If there’s a way to my sister, it’s through him.”

  “Madness! Your sister is in Regentium. She’s dead. We wildmagics have a saying. The dead are dead. It’s not the deepest of sayings, but it—”

  “No!” she shouted. “She won’t die!” Fen put her hand over the guard’s face and pictured him somehow healing and breathing . . . yes, breathing just as she was breathing. The thought became a warm emotion, a movement in her mind. Tendrils of vines grew down into his mouth, up his nostrils. “I won’t allow his death.”

  “You are incredibly stubborn,” Ithak said, but there was wonder in his voice.

  She felt a part of her was pushing his lungs open, pulling them shut, bringing the air into him. Bringing life. She sensed the energy coming from the ground itself. From far below the salt mire.

  The Queen’s guard coughed. He rolled over, spat up a wet, briny liquid and moaned. The vines separated from her, but continued to do their work. His chest was rising and falling. His eyes stayed closed but he grew less pale. She felt his neck and discovered the faintest pulse. “He lives.”

  “Wonderful,” Ithak mumbled. “Now he can poke us full of holes.”

  “He won’t,” she said, with more certainty than she felt. Then the Queen’s guard opened his eyes and grabbed her tightly by the arm, his breath still ragged, his mouth full of leaves. She swore she heard him say “Thank you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Your Life Belongs to Me

  THE GUARD’S HAND FELL TO THE GROUND. HIS EYES slid shut.

  “Tie him up,” Ithak said. “Before he strangles you.”

  She unknotted the hemp rope from her knapsack and tied his wrists, and then she looped it around his midsection. She noticed his scabbard was empty.

  “He has no sword,” she said.

  “Perhaps it was lost in the mud,” Ithak said. “Or . . .” He rubbed his chin. “You have his sword. He was sent to get his weapon back.”

  There was no way to tell the Queen’s guards apart. “He might be the same one.” She finished tying him and removed the scabbard, attaching it to her own belt. The sword fit perfectly in it. She turned to Ithak. “Now, what about you?”

  “Me?”

  “We can’t leave that bolt in your shoulder.”

  “It’s a decoration.” He gave a pained smile. Fen saw he was barely standing on his own.

  “The wound will widen each time you move,” she said. “Then it’ll go septic and you’ll die.”

  “Since when are you a healer?”

  “My mother was gifted in that art.” She clenched her jaw. The best way to mourn would be to survive.

  She convinced Ithak to lie down and then easily cut through one end of the shaft using the sword.

  “Oww,” he said. He’d grown even more pale and had started shivering. “Don’t just yank it out. Ithak will tell you when to pull. The best way is to—aaaah! ”

  Fen was holding the now-free bolt in her hand. She tossed it away. “There.”

  “Ithak told you to wait!” he whimpered.

  “We would’ve waited until the end of the world.” Fresh blood pumped out of the wound. The puncture wasn’t too wide. “You’re lucky. It missed bone and any big arteries.”

  “Ithak doesn’t feel lucky. Ithak feels very pained.”

  She found a small collection of healing leaves and one of the sewing needles her mother had packed for her, as well as several strips of cotton and some ointment. Her mother had thought of everything. She lifted the needle and thread. “I’m going to stitch your wound. You might want to bite a stick.”

  Ithak stared at the needle. “Have you done this before?”

  “I’ve watched my mother do it.”

  He groaned. “Oh, go ahead.”

  Carefully, she stitched the flesh together. It was easier than she’d thought it would be and her wooden hand was adept at holding the needle. Ithak stayed surprisingly still.

  “There.” She smeared on some healing ointment and tied the cotton strips in place. “With luck, you won’t go septic.”

  Other than rasping through his gritted teeth, Ithak was silent. And for the first time, Fen had a moment to think. She was uncertain what to do. The Queen had promised safe passage as long as Fen knelt before her. Fen was certain it would mean her death, but wouldn’t that be a fair trade for May’s life? Unless the promise was a lie. Or she could travel on to Helwood and hide there and hope, somehow, to find another way to save her sister. Either way she had to get to the edge of the salt mire and then she could—

  Fen heard a noise.

  The Queen’s guard was stumbling her way. He half-lunged, half-fell toward her and she stepped out of his path. He missed and, since his hands were tied, his face struck the salty soil.

  “The best Queen’s guard is a dead Queen’s guard,” Ithak said.

  The guard rolled onto his back and glared at her. Fen drew the sword and pressed the blade against his throat.

  “Are you there, Queen?” she asked.

  The Queen’s guard tried to speak, but his voice was caught by the leaves.

  “The Queen is gone,” Ithak said. “She’s left this husk of a soldier for us to feed and water. If you don’t have the guts to slice him up, Ithak does. Ithak will be slow about it.”

  Fen shot Ithak a dirty look and then turned to the guard. “Don’t move!” she shouted. “And don’t bite me!”

  She yanked the vines from his mouth, leaving the ones in his nostrils intact.

  “Breathe through your nose,” Fen said.

  He sucked in through his mouth and coughed.

  “Listen to me! Breathe through your nose.”

  The Queen’s guard snorted in fresh air. He coughed again but soon settled.

  “Good,” Fen said. “Now tell us your name.”

  “Do not give me commands!” he rasped.

  “It wasn’t a command.” She put her hand to her chest. “I am Fen, the person you want to kill. And you are?” The sword in her right hand did not waver.

  “Marcus.” The name sounded familiar to Fen.

  “Is this your blade, Marcus?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “So you are the same guard I met at the river!”

  “You attacked us.”

  “You attacked me! I was only looking in your wagon. And I saved your life. Three times! Once from drowning, once from sinking into the mire and once from choking on the very air around you. Do you agree that I saved you?”

  He gave her a wary, trapped look. “You threw me into the river.”

  “Oh!” Ithak said. “This guard is part solicitor.”

  “Forget the river. Today, I pulled you from the mire. Your life belongs to me.” She had no idea whether he’d accept that statement. “Now, stand.”

  Marcus rolled over on his knees and stood. She poked the sword against his chest. “What do you swear by?”

  “By the Queen, my mother,” he answered.

  “Then swear you will not attempt to harm us.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve already sworn to execute you.”

  “He won’t break his vows to that vile witch,” Ithak said.

  “Don’t call her a witch!” Marcus leaned ahead and Fen poked him in the chest with the sword. It easily cut through his armour. Blood dripped out. He grimaced.

  “Stay still,” she hissed.

  “He’ll heal.” Ithak waved his hand as if waving away her worries. “Though Ithak is curious what will happen when he runs out of his blood wine.”

  “What do you mean?” Fen asked.

  “They’ve spent their whole lives drinking the blood of the Queen.”

  Since childhood, Fen had heard rumours about this. “They actually drink her blood?”

  “Yes. Or something like it. They carry flasks of red blood with them wherever they go. It keeps them forever young. It also makes them think like her. Look like her.”

  Marcus glanced down at his still-bleeding chest. “I should have healed.”

  “You’ll be more careful now,” Fen said. “You bleed just like us.”