The small entourage of ten guards and two horse-drawn carriages—one ornately decorated belonging to the Lady and her closest servants and a larger, plainer one for supplies—traveled on narrow roads paved through dense pine forests and vast grasslands.

From what little Meya knew of her country, there were quite a few manors dotting the long road from Crosset to Hadrian. Far at the horizon, she'd sometimes spot castles with villages and wheat fields surrounding their walls. However, the head guard avoided all these settlements, sticking to the dreary wilderness and the wisdom of the river. They stopped only to refill water, ask for directions at inns, and when daylight receded, making the journey swift but excruciatingly dull.

The sun was setting on the sixth day of their journey as they ventured on foot through a patch of forest between Manors Clardarth and Hadrian. The guards wanted to breach the woods and cross into Hadrian before setting up camp for the night. Everyone hurried along on tired feet.

Meya stopped. Sounds of movement came from the forest on both sides of the road. Meya had taken enough trips into the woods to feed her piglets or hunt for honey. That wasn't wind or animal hoof on leaves—it was human feet.

"Get moving, lass! We need to get through this before sundown!"

The guard helming the supplies carriage hollered. Meya opened her mouth to warn him, but all hell broke loose.

Black masses shot forth from the wall of trees like boulders from a catapult. Gleams of silver pierced the dimming light with reverberating clangs. The guards had unsheathed their swords to fend off enemy blades, forming a ragged circle around Lady Arinel's carriage.

The maids were left to fend for themselves. Some froze and screamed. Others fought for safety in the supplies carriage, which was too filled with supplies to fit them all.

Fortunate for once, Meya was standing behind the carriage. With one vicious, practiced tug, she unclasped the collar from her neck and tossed it aside. The fog in her brain lifted. Strength returned to her muscles. She dove for the space between the wheels and flattened her belly on the cold earth.

The air echoed with the sickening sound of metal splitting flesh, usually limited to the vicinity of Brodel's butcher stall. Blood sprayed and spattered on the ground, calling more shrieks.

Meya's heartbeat thundered in her ears as she panted hard for breath. Cold fear coursed through her veins, threatening to freeze her limbs. On one side of the carriage was the forest. Her best chance of survival was to make a break for it while they were busy fighting, run the rest of the way into Hadrian or double back to Clardarth. With luck, she'd stumble upon a patrol guard or fellow peasant who'd lead her to safety.

Two pairs of feet danced between the wheels, blocking her passage. Meya gritted her teeth in desperation. She peered through the other side. Through the gap between the wagon wheels, she counted roughly twenty bandits. Two guards were spread-eagled on the ground, dead. Some bandits were dragging screaming maids out of the carriage.

Meya turned back. The supplies guard and his bandit were still blocking her way out. If only one of them would die or something already, she could finally get out of there.

Meya turned to the battle on the left, then back to the forest on the right, to the left, then back again. She stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle a scream. As if to grant her wish, the lone guard dropped dead, his blood-spattered face obstructing her view. His lifeless eyes bore into hers, unseeing. Meya scrambled back, then froze at the merciless voice thundering from the midst of the bloodbath.

"Surrender now. Or we kill you all."

The ultimatum came from a bandit who seemed to be the largest and the most scarred of them all. The five remaining guards stood united around Lady Arinel's carriage, panting, bloodstained swords raised. Five of their friends were dead on the ground. The bandits dragged over the nine maids to join them, swords and knives held at their necks.

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Stay safe. Don't make any trouble for the Lady. Come home next Fest in one piece.

Meya fumed at her rotten luck. With all the strength she could muster, she pushed the guard's corpse out of her way and scrambled out. Even without the collar, she didn't trust her legs enough yet to stand, more or less rolling off the road into the banks of the forest, landing upon the carpet of fallen leaves with a flump.

"There's one under there!"

A bandit yelled. Meya had no time to care. She picked herself up and dashed off. Something cut through the air and chafed her cheek. She banked sideways and lost her balance, falling flat on her face and getting a good mouthful of leaves and dirt.

Ah, crap.

A hot trail of blood trickled down her cheek to her lips. A rough hand grabbed the back of her tunic, choking her. Meya stood on unsteady feet as she fought to pull her collar away from her neck. The bandit took no notice as he dragged her sputtering, staggering back to the road, then tossed her into the other maids, who sent up a fresh round of screams.

The head bandit walked back to his place amid his minions. His sweaty, suntanned face was riddled with white scars. He surveyed his captives one by one.

"Your Lady Arinel will be married to Lord Hadrian. As per Latakian tradition, the bride must bring with her assets of value according to her pricing category as dowry. We need to know the contents of her dowry, and its whereabouts."

He spoke slowly and clearly with a foreign accent. His voice, soft and calm, clashed with his roughened exterior. A heavy silence everyone dreaded being the one to break descended as the five remaining guards glanced at each other, then looked to their leader.

The head guard gave a soundless yet enormous gulp—Meya could tell from the bulge rolling down his neck. As sweat trickled down his pallid cheek, he returned his fearful gaze to the bandit's leader.

"We don't have the dowry with us," he shook his head. Meya saw the truth in his eyes. "We don't know of the Lords' deal. How much it's worth. Whether it's to be handed before, during or after the wedding. It might even be at the betrothal. That was six years ago!"

His yell of desperation petered into a whimper when the head bandit snatched him by the front of his uniform.

"Am I supposed to care when it is handed?" His voice was colder than a midwinter lake, "Unless you want Lady Crosset to join her sisters, I suggest you learn what and where it is very soon."

"I swear by Freda, we don't carry any treasure! We know nothing about the dowry!" The guard shouted, his voice trembling as hard as his body. "You won't get anything even if you kill us! You'd have to give us more time if you want Lord Crosset to prepare a ransom!"

"I have made myself very clear. I do not want a ransom. Nor a dowry. I want Lady Arinel's dowry." The bandit repeated. He set the guard down to sputter and cough, then turned to his subordinates,

"It seems Lord Crosset exercised more caution than we had expected. If they really do not have it with them, we might have to improvise." He said serenely, then turned to his nonplussed hostages,

"Yesterday, we met another entourage which seemed to be carrying Lady Crosset to her wedding, travelling on the usual route. As it turned out, they were decoys. So, we gave them what they signed up for by sending them to the waiting arms of your goddess Freda. Then, we searched them inside out. Literally. There was no dowry."

That nonchalant revelation stole the air from the clearing. Strength left Meya as she realized how much of a close shave it was. Was this the reason Lord Crosset hired peasants to accompany his daughter? If she'd been assigned to that other group—

The thought numbed her, but she'd meet the same fate unless they found that dowry quick. Whatever it was, it must have been priceless and dangerous enough. Perhaps something the Hadrians wanted so much that they agreed to accept powerless, dowerless Arinel as their bride. Maybe that was why the bandits were so particular in their ransom demand.

Satisfied by the fear in the air, the head bandit turned back to the guard.

"You may or may not have the dowry with or within one of you. There are only two ways we can be sure. Either you hand it to us and we go on our way. Or we cut you all open to retrieve it, then we go on our way."

"Please. No. We really don't have it." The guard stammered. Every eye turned to the silent white carriage. Their only hope. Lady Arinel would know best about her marriage, wouldn't she?

Still, no one dared demand the Lady show herself and negotiate. One breath. Two breaths. Not a sound escaped the carriage.

For Freda's sake, weren't nobles supposed to protect commoners? Why in Fyr's name was she still hiding like a snail in its shell?

Meya reached for the carriage door in desperation, but her stupid, loyal peers pulled her away. Their loyalty was rewarded when the head bandit marched in, yanked one of the girls up by her red hair and dragged her shrieking and struggling away from her friends' flailing arms.

"I'm told spilling innards is an effective means of persuasion. You left me no choice but to experiment."

With that understating remark, the bandit raised his sword high. The girl screamed for her life. The guards charged in as the other maids panicked. Meya's eyes grew wide in terror as the blade lowered.

For Freda's sake! Just how important was that dowry? How many of them would have to die before Arinel relented? Who was to say Meya herself wouldn't be one of them? Wouldn't someone do something? Couldn't she do something?

"Wait! I have a plan!"