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“Yes.”

Startled, I glance at him.

He gives me a slow, pained smile. “Without you, yes.”

My heart jerks at his admission, but I keep sawing at his bonds, while Havil gags behind me. “You were a fool to follow us, to hang around this place,” I whisper.

“I had to see you again. I was careless—or maybe I let myself be caught, knowing they’d kill me.”

“But that’s not like you,” I murmur. The knife blade snaps through the remaining sliver of rope, and the Warlord’s arms fall to his sides. A shattered groan breaks from him, and his breath hitches as he rolls his strained shoulders.

Maybe itislike him, after all. He’s the kind of person who would sacrifice everything for what he loves and believes in—and if I’m one of those loved things—

“Come on.” I tuck myself against him so he can lean on me. “We have to go. The Prince will be sick for a while, but it won’t last forever.”

Havil is standing near the pile of Cronan’s discarded clothes, spewing vomit onto the floor, eyes cinched tight. With any luck, he’ll vomit until he passes out. Maybe he’ll choke on it.

I don’t dare approach him to get the Warlord’s things, so we hurry past him without pausing.

When the Warlord and I stumble out through the door, the guard starts to speak—but Cronan’s massive hand shoots out and grips him by the neck. There’s a flex, a pained grunt from Cronan, and asnap. The guard goes limp, and when the Warlord releases him, he crumples.

But the effort seems to have drained what little strength the Warlord had left. He sways, and his weight hangs heavy on me. I can’t support him for long.

“Can you get onto a horse?” I ask him.

His answering mumble isn’t reassuring. We hitch along through the cold night, until we reach the shadow of the stables. I’m sweating, and my lungs are tightening, spasming—I’m having trouble sucking in enough air. I know this feeling, and it’s only going to get worse.

“Hold on,” I manage to gasp. “I can’t—you have to sit.”

He slides off my shoulder at once and collapses onto the cold mud by the stables, while I take out the spray bottle and inhale one squirt of the potion. Immediately my breathing eases.

I haul the heavy door open, wincing as it creaks. But the three guards must have ridden off to patrol the area, because none of them show up to confront me.

The horse I’m most familiar with is my mother’s mare, though I’ve never had to saddle her myself. But I’ve watched the Warlord’s people saddle and unsaddle their mounts more times than I can count, and although my mother’s saddle is a different style, the principles are the same. Softly I croon to the horse while I find the tack and fumble about the straps and buckles with cold, trembling fingers.

Finally the saddle and bridle are on the mare, mostly. I hope to the gods I’ve done everything right. Otherwise it might all might slide off when the Warlord and I try to mount.

With my heart throbbing in my throat, I lead the horse outside, cringing at every muffledclopof her hooves. Thank the gods for the thin coating of snow, and for the mud outside the stable door. It softens the sounds a little. Still, I need to hurry.

Gripping the mare’s reins, I bend over the Warlord’s slumped figure. “Cronan? Can you mount?”

He doesn’t answer, or move. In the dark, I see the faint glimmer of blood shining on far too much of his skin.

Is he…

He isn’t dead. Can’t be dead.

“Cronan, please.” A sob cracks through my whisper.

63

When the Warlord doesn’t stir, I run through my options. I could ask my family for help, but I can’t guarantee my parents and Joss won’t kill him on sight. I have nowhere to hide Cronan, and I don’t know where any healer is in this town. The only healer I know of is a couple hours away, in Three Bridges, properly sleeping with his share of the ransom money under his pillow.

I have no idea how long the sickening effects of the spray potion will last on Prince Havil. And when he regains control over himself, he’s going to be furious. The wedding is certainly canceled, and it’s possible I’ve started a war between his father and mine. So instead of stopping one conflict, I may have incited a new one.

Brilliant work, Ixiana.

I can’t think about that anymore. Cronan is my priority, now and always.