When Sterling came to again, she found herself propped up against something cold. It took her a moment to figure out the cold was coming from a stone wall. It was almost pitch black wherever they had left her.

As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw she was in a small room. A heavy wooden door with a small barred window was directly across from her. The window was too high for her to see out—only a giant could reach it.

She spied a pile of straw in one corner that was probably meant to be a bed. A bucket stood in the other corner. She could already guess what that was for.

Sterling shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor, and the clink of metal brought her attention to her wrists. They were now bound in front of her; the rope replaced with heavy metal manacles attached by a length of chain. Similar ones were around her ankles.

Her nose throbbed painfully when she moved her head, and the taste of blood still filled her mouth. More than anything, she wished for some water to rinse the taste away. Sterling could feel the dried blood crusted on her skin—on her lips. She tried to brush at her face with the sleeve of her dress.

That was a mistake.

The slightest touch on her nose sent pain shooting through her head. The dried blood would have to stay there. Tentatively, she felt around her nose. It was crooked and seemed twice as big as normal.

A hot tear rolled down her face before she could stop it—another quickly followed the first. She brushed them away, careful not to bump her nose.

Now is not the time to be crying and feeling sorry for yourself.

Her brain didn’t listen as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

It was the scraping of the door against the stone floor that snapped her out of her self-pity.

She was determined not to let her captors see her cry. Quickly, before the door swung all the way open, she wiped the tears from her face. She pretended like she was still unconscious, observing from beneath her lashes.

A tall figure entered the room first, followed by a shorter, wider one. The short one approached her and nudged her leg with the toe of his boot. “Looks like she is still out,” he reported to the other, who had stayed near the doorway.

She recognized his voice. This must be the one who had pulled her off the horse and broken her nose.

The taller one sighed. “Leave the cup for her when she wakes up.”

The short one set something down next to her ankle—the cup she presumed—and turned back to the door.

“They should be here to get her soon, and then she won’t be our problem anymore.”

“Are you sure this is the girl they want?”

Sterling couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the short one looking at her.

“She doesn’t look very powerful. They made her sound like she would be putting up a fight. Seems like a regular girl to me.”

What in the world was he talking about?

“I’m positive it’s her. No one else possesses hair like that, and soon she will be making us very rich,” the taller one answered.

She cursed her silver hair. Never in her life had it felt more like an affliction than at this moment.

The short one cackled. “Thank yooou, Princess. Do you think we could get her to do a magic trick before they take her?” he asked eagerly.

Now she was sure he was just plain crazy. This man must have been eating the mushrooms in the woods if he thought she could perform magic. Was this all because she had looked at the amulets in the market? Her interest didn’t make her a magic user.

The tall man did not reply. He simply turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The other followed, pulling the door closed behind him. A few seconds later, it sounded like a heavy bar locked in place.

Sterling opened her eyes and inspected the tin cup next to her feet. Slowly reaching forward, she picked it up and brought it to her nose before remembering she couldn’t smell anything. From what she could tell, it looked like it was plain water.

She wanted nothing more than to drink it and get rid of the taste of blood in her mouth, but a small part of her brain nagged at her. What if it was poisoned?

No, she reminded herself; they said that whoever wanted her—wanted her alive. If these men wanted their payday, it wasn’t in their best interest to poison her water.

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She downed it quickly and let the cup fall to the floor, watching as it rolled a few feet away from her, only stopping when it hit the opposite wall. The water had been warm, and not nearly enough to quench her thirst, but at least she could no longer taste copper.

Sterling drew her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead on them. She let her hair fall forward to hang in limp tendrils around her, like a curtain between her and her cell.

How was she going to get out of this one?

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Sterling wasn’t sure how much time passed as she sat there, huddled in the dark. It could have been days for all she knew. Time had become irrelevant to her.

The tears came again as her thoughts wandered back to her family. She was going to miss Seraiah’s birthday, Sterling thought, irrationally.

Then she felt something brush her hand.

When she lifted her head to see what it was, the door to her cell swung open, and the short man entered.

It seemed it was time to hand her over.

He said something, but Sterling ignored him. She didn’t bother putting up a fight when he jerked on the chain connected to the manacles on her wrists, forcing her to her feet. As he pulled her toward the door, Sterling thought she heard a noise behind her.

She brushed it off. It was probably nothing.

When she reached the door, it came a second time.

Sterling could have sworn it was someone calling her name, but when she turned to look, her jailer shut the door, blocking the cell from her view.

I must be getting delirious, she decided as she shuffled along.

It had almost sounded like Seraiah calling her name, but that couldn’t be right. Her sister was far away from here, most likely at home with Papa. Even if she was out searching for her, it wasn’t possible for her to have gotten into Sterling’s cell.

Still, against all logic, Sterling couldn’t shake the sense Seraiah had been there. She must be losing her mind. It was the only explanation. They’d always been there for each other in times of need, so now, when she needed her sister the most, maybe Sterling’s mind had conjured her.

The man led her up a flight of stairs, huffing and puffing the entire way, and then down another hallway. This hallway ended at a set of double doors. Pushing one open, he shoved her inside ahead of him.

The room was circular and large—cavernous, even—lit by torches in wall sconces. The flames sent odd shadows dancing across the walls, giving a menacing cast to everything. Sterling dared a glance upward to find the ceiling hidden in shadow before the man shoved her again toward the center of the room.

“Almost there, Princess,” he said, loud enough for her ears only.

At the center of the room, a cluster of figures stood together. The tall man Sterling recognized from the market. He had been the seller of amulets. Now, he had his back to them and was quietly speaking to three people in front of him.

These must be the people who had paid for her. She squinted, trying to get a better look at them in the semi-dark. Large hoods covered their faces, obscuring them from view, and she couldn’t tell if they were male or female.

As she and the short man joined the group, the tall man fell silent. The short one put pressure on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees. She hit the stone floor hard enough to bruise, but she bit back her cry of pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

She kept her gaze pinned to the ground, but Sterling could feel the stares of the hooded figures burning into her. While she couldn’t see their faces, she knew they were studying her—taking her measure, determining if she would live up to their expectations.

A hand shot out and lifted her chin, bringing her gaze up to the shadowed hood.

The tall man cleared his throat. “This is the princess you wanted. Do we have a deal?”

None of the figures answered. The one holding her chin let go, and instead, reached out to take her hand. His skin was dry and papery against hers—the nails filed into sharp points, scraped against her skin. He turned her hand over so that her palm faced up.

The figure on the right moved forward, and quick as a flash drew a blade across the skin of her palm. The blood welled up before she even knew what was happening. As it started to sting, the figure who gripped her hand held out a small bowl and turned her palm so the blood dripped into it.

Each drop sizzled as if it were made of acid.

Sterling shuddered with revulsion and yanked her hand away, making her chains rattle against the floor. To her astonishment, the cut healed over, leaving nothing but a tiny red line where it had been. She blinked.

Was this all a weird dream—maybe a side effect of all the times they drugged me?

The figure on the left who had stayed perfectly still up until now stepped forward, extending a large bag. By the sound of it, the bag was full of coins—a lot of them.

The tall man was quick to snatch it and look inside, while the short man hovered eagerly behind him. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said after he had finished his inspection of the bag’s contents.

Then he turned, taking the other man with him, and disappeared through the double doors Sterling had entered only a few minutes ago.

She looked back at the hooded figures.

None of them had uttered a word at this point. The one in the center, who had held her bleeding hand over a bowl, helped her to stand and motioned for her to follow the figure who had paid for her. She decided she would call him Mr. Moneybags.

Mr. Moneybags headed to the opposite side of the room from where Sterling had entered. Slowly, she followed, while the other two trailed silently behind them.

As they approached the far wall, Sterling could barely make out the shape of a door. It blended almost perfectly into the wall. A hidden entrance—or exit, in their case.

Mr. Moneybags used a concealed handle to pull the door open. It looked heavy, at least a foot thick, but it swung open with ease, revealing a narrow, dark tunnel. The blood-stealer moved to take the lead. He seemed to be the one in charge of this odd little group.

The other two waited, presumably for Sterling to follow. They didn’t try to pull on the chain attached to her wrists or shove her in the back like the short man had done. Instead, they simply waited in silence as if they had all the time in the world, and they knew she would choose to move forward on her own.

Sterling took two steps into the darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust before following the leader. The other two stepped in behind her, while Mr. Moneybags closed the door with a resounding thump, cutting off any chance of escape.

The tunnel sloped gently upward, and after what seemed like an eternity of walking, they arrived at another door.

This one had a lock on it.

Blood-stealer drew a key from somewhere inside his robe and unlocked it, pushing the door outward to fill the tunnel with light. Sterling was quick to shield her eyes against the brightness. After being in the dark for who knows how long, the light burned her eyes. The others waited patiently behind her until she was ready.

Finally, her eyes adjusted, and Sterling lowered her hands as she stumbled out the door and into another world.