Gillian led the party of twenty bandits and twenty stumbling, tied-and-gagged guards and maids down silent hallways and stairwells to the ground floor. Along the way, they passed countless guards slumped against the wall, unconscious. At least, Meya hoped they were. Those were probably Gillian's work, not Arinel's.

Baron Kellis, Baroness Sylvia and Lord Zier were hog-tied and thrown unceremoniously over the bandits' backs, their heads bouncing to their captors' heavy gait. Meya was on Dockar's back. As she was under orders to feign sleep, she couldn't twitch a finger.

Or so they thought.

Meya's crimson silk dress had long, loose sleeves that had elaborate patterns embroidered onto them with minuscule beads and sequins. Her hand hidden under her sleeve, Meya pulled off a thread and allowed the beads to fall soundlessly to the floor.

They walked down another set of stairs then stopped. There was silence, then the sound of a lock clicking in place, a door creaking open on rusty hinges. Cold wind grazed her behind. Gillian was using a sally port to sneak out unnoticed.

The group ventured into the moonlit night in single file, wading across the moat. There were shallower sections towards the back gate, where the castle raised fish and eels in cordoned locks, but Gillian sought out a neck-deep section for them.

Meya guessed it was to dilute their scent so Coris's hounds wouldn't be able to track them down before the ransom drop. She had hundreds of beads to spare, though. Hopefully, they'd suffice.

Clear of the moat, they sloshed their way down the hill and across the choppy moorland. The night wind batted about their dripping clothes.

Half an hour later, they approached the Lord's Forest. The shadow of the overhanging canopy beat down on Meya's eyelids. Under the cover of near darkness, she creaked open one eye and craned her neck to see the front of the line.

Gillian stood at the neck of the forest. He spun around and motioned for someone in the throng to come forth. Meya couldn't see who; she closed her eye and played possum when she felt footsteps stomping towards her.

"This is where we leave you. You will return to the castle and deliver our ransom demand to Lord Coris," said Gillian.

"I shall stay with the Lady." The man growled through gritted teeth. It was Jerald. The shriek of an unsheathed blade echoed alongside muffled screams from the maids.

"You will deliver our ransom demand to Lord Coris."

Gillian repeated, his voice cold and calm as ever. Jerald didn't respond, nor did he move an inch. Gillian sheathed his sword, and the group soldiered forth into the gloom with half the number of crunching footsteps.

The faint, dull light of the full moon peeked through murky clouds and tangled twigs. Though the near darkness meant Meya could open her eyes, she still couldn't move much.

Her hair snagged on dangling, dying vines. Low-hanging branches poked her behind. She rose and fell with Dockar as he stepped over large roots and navigated the treacherous terrain. Fallen leaves crunched whenever he stepped.

Meya wasn't sure the beads would work beyond this point, but for lack of a better idea, she kept dropping them in clumps, faster than ever, lathering them with sweat from her feverish hands.

For what seemed like forever they walked, then they emerged into open space. A vast, choppy moorland spread as far as her eyes could see, dotted with boulders and rapids, bathed in bright silver moonlight. Far at the edge of the moor, Meya could just make out the pitch-black peaks of Neverend Heights. The massive Zarel river carved its path between Neverend's canyons, slicing Latakia apart from Nostra, like a torn shred of parchment barely hanging on to the rest.

One more obstacle stood in the Nostran army's way: Amplevale Fortress. It should be somewhere out there, swallowed by the shadow of the mountains. Though thanks to the canyons, the central-west wasn't the main route for invasions like the low-lying southwest, Amplevale was still heavily manned, supplied with troops and victual from prosperous Hadrian.

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However, Amplevale's men would be useless in a situation like this. From what she heard from Baron Kellis during his talks to Lord Amplevale, Simon's father, thanks to the canyons, Amplevale hadn't experienced direct attacks for two centuries. Their strength was in swift reinforcements to the southwest.

Besides, setting up an ambush in open grassland with mere rocks and hillocks to hide behind was near impossible, especially with the full moon illuminating every dip and chink of the terrain. The bandits would spot them creeping in from a mile away, and she'd be dead in a breath.

Gillian led them about half a mile away from the forest then found himself a boulder to make his seat, signaling his men to scurry about setting up camp.

The bandits shoved Meya, Arinel and Zier against a boulder then looped a rope a dozen times around them, binding them side-by-side to the cold, jagged surface. The Baron and Baroness were given another rock all to themselves to their left.

"What are your demands?" Arinel called.

Gillian, along with everyone awake, glanced at the lady as one, then the other bandits returned to their jobs. Meya expected a negative answer with scathing insults thrown in, but Gillian simply shrugged,

"Nothing out of the obvious." He pored over a map spread on the boulder, studying it by the moonlight, "I asked Lord Coris to come alone with the dowry. If I see one soldier with him, the deal is off, and we silence you all."

Meya shivered at his nonchalant tone. It wasn't a threat. It was a statement.

Arinel was trembling herself, yet forged on with feigned bravado. She was probably trying to keep Gillian talking to gain as much information as possible.

"But there's no deal, is there? Your right-hand man said you'll deliver a requiem for the Hadrians tonight. You're going to kill him and kill us all the moment you get your hands on the dowry. Coris isn't stupid. He won't come alone. Worse, he won't come at all. How can you be sure he won't leave his father and brother to die and become Lord Hadrian himself?"

Gillian didn't respond. Meya couldn't help herself; she opened her eye a slit to see his reaction. Arinel playing devil's advocate only served to widen Gillian's mirthless, secretive grin, as if he knew something about Coris they didn't. Judging from his smugness, it seemed as if this kidnapping was still part of the plan rather than a sidetrack.

"Oh, he'd come." Gillian tilted his head, a triumphant grin still playing on his scarred features.

"I won't count on him being alone, but I count on him coming for one person, even at the cost of his own life."

What?

Meya's heart jolted at that unexpected shred of information.

"Who?" Arinel shot back in an instant. Her fierce voice rang in the deafening silence. The remaining bandits have stopped whatever they were doing and were listening in.

Gillian turned to Dockar, who had walked up nearby. The two men smiled at their shared knowledge, then Dockar turned to Arinel with a grin.

"How about I give you a hint?" He didn't wait for her reply but went on with a laugh. "If you must ask, it's obviously not you, Lady Crosset."

Gillian and Dockar shared a curt nod, returning to business; Gillian ordered his men to stand watch at various spots for enemies approaching from the forest.

Deciding it was time to drop the bomb, Meya nudged Arinel with her shoulder.

The lady spun around, eyes wide. Meya cocked her head questioningly at Dockar. Arinel shook her head, a look of hopelessness and cluelessness in her bright blue eyes. Meya bit her lips. If they went by Dockar's hint, it wasn't Arinel or Meya. That would leave only the Hadrians.

Gillian said there was only one person Coris would come after, but between one's father, mother and brother, how could one possibly choose?

Mum and Dad probably wouldn't have that much of a dilemma if the choice were between Meya and, say, Mistral, Morel or Marin, but Meya wouldn't be able to choose between Mum or Dad or her siblings without going insane afterwards.

Surely there was a reason other than familial love? A reason Gillian and Dockar knew that she didn't?

But, no matter what, it didn't change the bitter reality that here as well, Meya was just as useless and worthless as she had been back in the pig pen of her crumbling mud cottage. No one would see the need to save her life. She was on her own, as she'd always been.

Being on one's own, however, had its merits. Once you were used to it, when things went south, you were always prepared for the worst. And you wouldn't waste precious time hoping for help that wasn't going to come.

A gust of wind lambasted the moor. Meya glanced up at the night sky. It was still as clear as ever, with the round moon settled in its place, like a golden button on a black velvet cloak spangled with tiny diamonds, but an expanse of thick black clouds hovered above the Hadrian forest.

After a shufti to make sure none of the bandits were eyeing her and Arinel, Meya relaxed against the searing cold of the stone. Her arms were crossed, her wrists tied together, but her fingers were free.

Meya wiggled her left thumb into her right sleeve. Her fingertip caressed the cold, smooth, faceted surface of the ruby brooch Coris had given her.

Meya was fidgeting with the brooch while the chambermaids dressed her for dinner. She discovered the brooch was actually a sheath that held a tiny, razor-sharp blade, and so she moved it from her pocket to her sleeve, just in case.

If she could just saw through these ropes, if the wind kept blowing hard, Meya and Arinel might still have a chance at survival.