After Iris had calmed down and, Lyle suspected, fallen asleep, Soren whispered to him, “Are you Lyle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for helping them. Do the Ordics know who she is?”

“No, I don’t think they’ve figured it out yet—they couldn’t really see her in the dark.”

“That’s a good start.”

“But we’re locked in a cage.” And his injured leg was still throbbing from the run and the horse ride. He had decided not to ask the Slovish family for new bandages, thinking he would be fine, but now the cut was sticky and itchy. He highly doubted the Ordics would care, so he would just have to ignore it and hope for the best.

“We are indeed in a cage,” Soren sighed.

“How long have you been here?”

“A few days.”

“Why are they keeping you?”

“They . . . didn’t like my archeology project very much.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. We have to find a way to get her out of here.”

Lyle was relieved to have an adult on the same side as him in this. He had been beginning to think he should have just told Aunt Mary everything. They could have waited until Iris’s mother’s soldiers came through looking for them. I am an idiot, he decided.

He wondered if anyone at home had noticed he was gone yet, or if Brandon had done his job well enough. His brother wasn’t a great liar.

It didn’t matter. He had more pressing matters at hand.

“We’re in Iridia, aren’t we?” Lyle asked grimly.

“Yes.”

“I thought only ghosts lived here.”

“That’s why the Ordics took it for themselves. No one comes here anymore—everyone thinks it’s cursed. I think . . . I’m fairly certain, in fact, that this is how they got into Whitehall. I have heard rumors of tunnels running between Iridia and Whitehall, as an escape route for the royalty of Iridia, back in the second age. The tunnels were supposed to be collapsed, but with enough work the Ordics may have been able to break through.”

Lyle badly wanted to ask what age they were in right now, but didn’t want to sound stupid. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “Could we take that tunnel? Go back to Whitehall?”

“It’s too far,” Iris said quietly. “Without food and water, and already exhausted, we might not make it at all.”

Not asleep, then.

“We could stop in my valley,” Lyle suggested. “Go back around to where we started. We could get supplies there and keep walking to Whitehall.” Perhaps with some more adults this time.

“Maybe,” Iris said hesitantly. He heard her sit up. “But there are multiple tunnels. And we can easily be chased—with nowhere to hide.”

“Good point,” Lyle admitted.

“I think our best shot would be to follow the road,” Iris went on. “There are woods outside the city. If we can just get in there, get out of sight of the road but follow its path—then we can start toward Northfort. It might be slower, but it will be much safer.” Apparently she was going to plan her own escape.

“I know an old road,” Soren said suddenly. “It leads into the woods behind Iridia, and lets out close to Northfort. It will likely be grown over—not suitable for wagons, but there should be a walkable trail, at least. It’s not a common road. Unless they see which way we go, the Ordics aren’t likely to look there.”

“All right,” Iris said. “But how are we going to get there?”

“Wait,” Lyle said. “Hold on. Wouldn’t it be safer to just let them sell you back to your mother? Is it really worth the risk to try to break out of here? What are the chances we could actually make it?”

“We have to try,” Iris said firmly. “Do you remember what Stien said? They could ask my mother for anything in exchange for me. I can’t let that happen.”

“Would you rather die?” Lyle inquired.

“You don’t understand how important this is. We could lose the war. We could lose everything my mother has worked for. Not to mention that they could decide to torture us at any time, or worse. Maybe when they take us out of here to move us, we can find a chance to escape. You know how to fight, right, Lyle?”

Lyle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t want to die out here. “I don’t have any weapons, Iris.”

“We just need a moment of weakness,” Iris insisted. “If they slip up one time, we can escape.”

Lyle doubted that. They were surrounded by armed soldiers.

“We’re under the coliseum right now, I believe,” Soren said. “Which means we should be near the front gates of the city.”

“Do you know how many Ordics are in Iridia?” Iris asked him. “Or if they’re guarding the front gates?”

“No, I don’t know much,” Soren admitted. “I’ve seen about ten different men down here. Some of them are guarding the other cells.”

“Other cells?” Lyle asked. “Are they holding other people?”

“Other children, yes. They’ve captured quite a few. But there’s nothing we can do about that right now.”

“Are you sure they don’t have Clive?” Iris whispered.

“I’ve seen every child they have; they brought them through here first. They must have run out of cells on the other side, to put you up here. None of the children have been Clive.”

“You’re certain? You remember what he looks like?”

“Yes.”

“We should still try to save them,” Lyle said quietly.

“Certainly,” Soren replied. “If we have a good chance. But—Iris, you should know, Maclagan has been here. They talk about him all the time, and he came down here to speak to me once. I’m not sure if he is here now, but he very well might be.”

Iris was silent.

“Who is that?” Lyle whispered after a moment.

“The leader of the Ordics,” Iris said with a tremor of fear. “He . . . doesn’t like my mother very much, and he’s . . . not known for his kindness. Soren, what did he say to you?”

“Nothing of consequence. He just wanted to meet me. If he is near, we definitely have to get you out before he sees you.”

There was a crunch noise from the other side of the room, then a beam of dim yellow light fell on them. Two men stumbled in, their laughter echoing harshly into the small room.

The candlelight made Lyle wince, but as his eyes adjusted he looked over Soren to see him the first time. Sorene seemed to be in his mid to late twenties. His clothes hung from his gaunt frame, and his greasy brown hair framing a gentle, frightened face. Cracked glasses sat on his small nose.

Soren listened closely to the Ordics discuss something in slurred Ordivician as they approached the cell, sounding like they were joking about something. Lyle watched panic enter Soren’s eyes.

“What is it?” Lyle hissed.

“They . . . “ Soren stopped to keep listening, grimacing, but then the Ordics moved to unlock the cell.

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Soren turned to look Lyle in the eye and said in a dark tone, “Don’t let them touch her.”

Lyle understood. Iris did, too, because her eyes went wide. Soren pulled her to her feet and moved in front of her.

“Can you fight?” Lyle asked Soren quietly, watching the Ordic struggle with the lock and barely hearing his own voice over his pounding heart.

“Not trained.” Soren whispered.

“I am,” Lyle said, and stepped between Soren and the door.

The Ordic swung open the door to the cell, and in the same moment Lyle gripped a bar on either side of the door and kicked the man with both feet right in the groin.

The Ordic cried out and fell back. The next man, startled, came forward and threw a wide punch at Lyle as he stepped out of the cell.

Lyle dodged the fist and hooked his arms under the man’s outstretched arm and yanked toward his own chest until her heard a snap. The man cried out in pain but came around with his other fist to punch Lyle in his unguarded stomach.

Lyle took the hit, which knocked the breath out of him, but managed to hold on and swing the man head-first into a stone wall with all his strength. The man crumpled to the ground, groaning.

Lyle leaned both hands against the wall and gasped for breath. He glanced over at the first man—he was still on the ground, and it sounded like he was crying. Lyle almost felt bad, but then he remembered how Soren had said, Don’t let them touch her, and had the urge to go kick him again.

Lyle turned and saw Soren and Iris standing in the doorway of the cell, staring at him with pale faces. “Come on!” he said hoarsely, motioning to the exit. They quickly stepped around the first man.

“Get his weapon,” Lyle told them. As they did that, he carefully approached the barely-conscious man he’d thrown into a wall. He unsheathed the man’s rusty short sword and quickly backed up.

Soren appeared at his side with a determined look on his face. One of his hands was tight around Iris’s shoulders, and the other held a short sword. Iris gripped a dagger.

She met Lyle’s eye and have him a stiff nod. He nodded back and turned to face the dimly lit corridor ahead.

“Do you remember the way?” Soren whispered. “I haven’t seen outside this cell in days, I don’t remember how to get to the gates.”

Lyle thought about it hard—while they were blindfolded, he had tried to take note of every time they had turned, which direction, and how many steps—but after holding it in his head all night, and thinking it backwards, he doubted it would be accurate. “I think so,” he said. It couldn’t be that hard to get out—they just had to hope no one was in their way.

Before he took the first step, he hesitated and looked back down the dark tunnel at the door on the opposite end. “The other children . . . “

The Ordic he had slammed into a wall started to get to his knees, and Soren said, “No time!“ and pushed Lyle forward.

Lyle dug his heels in. “Those are someone’s kids!“

“We have a princess,” Soren hissed. “Go!”

Iris gave a sympathetic look backward too, but Lyle doubted he could beat both Ordics a second time. Clenching his jaw, he led the way forward.

They closed the heavy door behind them and locked it, so they wouldn’t have to worry about the first two men following. Then they entered the dark, musty corridors of the ancient city.

Faint morning light spilled in occasionally from where the rock had crumbled. Lyle heard voices ahead and motioned for them to stop. He very carefully peeked around the corner. There were three men sitting around a table, playing cards and drinking.

This was the only way out from the room with the cages, which meant that these men had let those two drunk men go down to have their way with the captured children. Hate burned in his chest. Two of them had their backs to him, and one would see him out of the corner of his eye if he moved. They were all armed. Even if these men were drunk too, which it sounded like they were, it would take all three of his party to take on these men, and even then they didn’t stand a great chance.

He could sneak up behind one and cut his throat. But he really didn’t want it to come to that. He could hold a knife to someone’s throat, but had no guarantee that would make the other two stay back. They only had one shot at getting out of here.

Something else caught his eye—a longbow and a quiver bristling with arrows leaned against a wall, half-way between him and the Ordics. It was too big for him to easily use, and it was unstrung—but still it filled him with excitement and terror. If he got low enough, he could sneak over to it and have the table block him from the view of the one man half-facing him. As long as no one turned around, as long as he didn’t make a single sound—he could string it and have an arrow pointed at them before they knew what was happening. It was the best chance he had.

He backed up and whispered the plan to Soren and Iris. “Don’t even look around the corner until I call you,” he whispered to them. “They will see you.”

Pale and shaky, they both nodded.

Lyle took a deep breath, touched the back of his neck, then crouched as low as he could. He waited until the one half-facing him threw up his head to laugh heartily, and snuck forward. In a moment, he was behind a chair, and then he crawled to the bow. He waited until they were laughing again, which wasn’t long, then slowly lowered the bow to the ground, out of their view.

It took him a long moment to figure out how to string a bow while lying flat on the ground. Finally he put one end of the string in its notch, then grabbed either end of the bow, bent it with his feet and, with some struggle, looped the second string into its notch. He had to hold in a sigh of relief when he finally managed it. This bow was far stronger than his. It would be hard to use, but with the way his whole body was trembling with anticipation, he was pretty sure he could manage.

Very slowly, he pulled the quiver to the ground, holding the arrows together so they didn’t rattle. He carefully slid one arrow out and nocked it.

Just then, the chair closest to him scraped back, and a man uttered some foul-sounding words of surprise that Lyle assumed were fair after turning and finding someone sprawled on the floor behind you armed with your weapon. Lyle pulled the string back with all his might and let the arrow fly.

The man fell back with a cry of pain. To Lyle’s surprise, an arrow sprouted from the man’s left shoulder. The other men jumped to their feet, but in a split second Lyle was on his feet with another arrow notched.

“Next one goes through someone’s heart,” he snapped. “Hands up. Don’t make a sound.” When they just gaped at him, he shouted, “NOW!”

They tentatively raised their hands, except for the man who was already shot, because he had fallen back against a wall, blood staining his shirt. He stared at the arrow in disbelief. Lyle pointed to the wall and said to the other two, “Go stand over there.” They did so, silently, hands still in the air.

Not taking his eyes or aim off of them for a second, Lyle called over his shoulder, “Soren!”

Soren and Iris appeared around the corner.

“Check if the next door has a lock on the other side,” he told them.

Soren and Iris quickly passed him. All of the Ordics’ eyes followed them. Lyle knew what they were thinking. If that really was the princess, it might be worth risking getting shot to grab her.

“Don’t move,” he warned them. Their eyes returned to the arrow pointed at them.

“It locks,” Soren said.

Lyle was very glad, because he had no way to restrain them. “Is anyone on the other side?”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“All right. Get ready to close it.” Lyle started to back up, still aiming, still not moving his eyes from the three Ordics. It then occurred to him that he was more likely to run into a wall than find the door without looking.

Just as he thought this, a gentle hand he knew was Iris’s took the collar of his shirt and led him back, all the way to the doorway and through it. Soren quickly shut and locked the door.

They all let out a breath.

“How did you do that?” Iris whispered.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said breathlessly, still loosening the arrow. “Come on.”

Sooner than he expected, ahead he saw the end of a tunnel, and dim sunlight.

At the end of the tunnel sat a man in a chair, a half-eaten apple in his hand as he gazed out at the rising sun.

“Don’t move,” Lyle called.

The man turned his head to look at them.

“Hands up.”

The man slowly lifted his hands into the air as they approached him. His eyes were sharp and intelligent as he looked the party over.

“Move aside,” Lyle said. “Or I’ll kill you.”

The man blinked. “I believe you.”

“Good. Move aside.”

The man looked incredulous, almost, but maybe he was just impressed. “Do you know who I am, boy?”

“Lyle,” Soren said through his teeth, “this is Malcolm Maclagan, the leader of the Ordic clans.”

Iris shrank behind Soren. Maclagan’s head tilted to follow her movement with curiosity.

“Never heard of you,” Lyle said, holding the bow steady. The man’s eyes flicked back to him.

After a moment, Malcolm Maclagan broke into a smile. It was an interesting smile, amused and yet dangerous. “Who are you?”

“Get out of my way or I will shoot you.”

Maclagan raised an eyebrow.

“If you die, your cause dies with you,” Soren said firmly. “We are armed and you are not. Let us pass.”

Maclagan looked around their party to the hallway. “Did you kill the guards?”

“They’ll live,” Lyle said. “Probably.” His stomach clenched at the thought of the man with an arrow in his shoulder. Had he killed someone? Would he ever know for sure?

Maclagan nodded. “I see. Thank you for sparing them . . . I think. I’ll move aside if you tell me your name.”

“Why does it matter?” Lyle asked harshly, fingers trembling on the bowstring from the exertion of keeping it steady.

“I’m impressed by you. I want to remember your name.”

“My name is Lyle.”

“Where are you from, Lyle?”

“You’ve never heard of it.”

“All the better. Tell me the name of your town, and I’ll move aside, Lyle.”

“So you can go there to hunt me down?”

“I won’t even look for it, you have my word. You can make up a name if you like. I want a title to remember you by.”

“Ene.”

The man stepped to the side, hands still in the air. “You may pass, Lyle of Ene. I applaud your sheer audacity.”

They cautiously walked past him. Lyle kept the arrow pointed at his heart.

“Oh, and Iris, I’d like you to give your mother a message, if you will.”

Iris looked back, hand gripping Soren’s arm.

“Tell her that now she knows what it feels like.”

Iris’s brow lowered, perhaps in anger. “She is going to win.”

“War is not for children to understand. It is yet to be seen.”

“You made me a part of this war. I understand perfectly, now.”

Maclagen watched her for a moment. “I never planned to hurt you or your brother.”

“Is that right? Because those guards down there . . .” Her voice quivered.

His head tilted. “Did they hurt you?”

“They tried to.”

“I’m sorry. I had too much faith in their care for children, I suppose.”

“Your people are horrible,” she spat.

“Let these men be a representation of soldiers in your mind, not of my people, please, child. Most of my people are peaceful.”

“Iris,” Soren said quietly, but urgently.

Iris gave Maclagan one last glare.

“Promise me you’ll tell your mother what I said, and I’ll promise you won’t be followed.”

After a moment, Iris nodded. Maclagan mirrored her. But then his eyes fell on Soren, and they darkened. Lyle thought that Maclagan seemed more loathe to let Soren go than Iris, but he couldn’t imagine why. Maclagan clenched his jaw, then said to Soren, “If you find it, promise me that you will use it well.”

Soren nodded firmly. “I promise.”

“Do you really think she deserves it?”

“I do.”

Maclagan let out a harsh breath, then waved his hand for them to go. “Eshar be with you. And with me, for letting you go.”