“Why would anyone want to live in these cold, raw rocks?” I muttered to myself.

“I don’t think anyone does.” Gideon drew up behind me on Wallah and dismounted. The rain had plastered his hair against his head, and his oilskin cloak hung from his shoulders in limp, damp folds as though admitting defeat. “The Kerch and her men take advantage of this location for their own ill-gotten gains, but I suspect they keep permanent living quarters somewhere else. Somewhere a lot more comfortable and inviting.”

“Speaking of comfortable and inviting, did Geppenio give you breakfast?”

He bobbed his head.

“How about Falak? Did he get you a place to bunk?”

“I’ll sleep when the mountains are behind us. If we maintain this pace, we’ll be on our way out by tomorrow morning, and going downhill, we’ll move twice as fast.”

“You can’t go that long without sleep, Gideon. Especially not while you’re still recovering.” The pale dawn light revealed dark circles under his eyes. His burn scars stood out vividly against his pallid complexion.

He pointed at the front of the wagon train. “I’m going to ride up top at the front with Henri. I’ll catch a catnap while he’s on lookout.” He nodded at Wallah, who had wandered over to the other two horses, joining them in search of weeds and stray stalks of grass. “Is there room for him in one of the carts? He could use a break.”

I studied the huge menagerie wagon where Mika and Adaleiz were stabled. “Why don’t the princess and I let our horses walk for a bit? They need the exercise.”

Before long, Falak issued the order for everyone to make ready for departure. Gideon escorted Genevieve and me to the costumes wagon. “Get some rest,” I said, pausing at the wagon’s threshold.

He touched his hand to his brow in a brief salute. “You too, m’lady.” He strode away, and I dreaded letting him out of my sight.

The moment my head hit my pillow, however, all my concerns drained away, and I fell into a deep, black abyss of sleep.

Shouts of alarm and shrill screams awoke me moments later, and I sat up as if someone had dashed cold water over my head. My heart pounded like waves pummeling a beach during a storm. Our wagon rammed against something and stuttered to a sudden, jarring halt. Bolts of fabric tumbled in an avalanche of textures and colors, and one of the costume racks fell over, nearly pinning me underneath.

“They’re here,” said Genevieve, who was already rolling out of her pallet and grabbing for her boots.

I shoved my feet into my own damp boots. My hands shook as I tied the laces. The bitter taste of adrenaline pooled on my tongue. “I was sure they would’ve waited until night.”

“Maybe they knew that’s what we expected, so they took us when we’d be less on guard.”

The princess and I threw open our wagon door and jumped to the ground and into a hurricane of confusion. Strange men and women and a fleet of horses surrounded us, yelling, fighting, shooting, hacking at wagon doors and windows. Most wagons in our train appeared to have survived the sudden stop, though all sat askew along the road, some mashed against each other at odd angles.

A Brigand who had been chopping at one of the supply wagons went down with a howl. The moment he hit the ground, Henri pounced on him, retrieving a silver knife from his victim’s ribs. He wore a quiver of arrows on his back, and had slung a bow crossway over his chest. Briefly his gaze met mine, and he nodded before disappearing around the corner of another wagon.

On impulse, I reached for my lightning, forgetting in that moment of desperation that my powers were hobbled. “Gah!”

“What is it?” The princess huddled close to our wagon, her face pale, eyes huge.

“I can’t get used to not having my lightning. I hate being helpless.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

I thrust my finger at her, pointing at the clasp at the neck of her cloak. “Use the cloak. Don’t let anyone see you. Do what you can to help.”

I turned and scurried toward the rear of the circus procession.

“Where are you going?” Genevieve yelled from behind me.

“To find Sher-sah. Right now, he’s the only weapon I’ve got.”

As if the lion had read my mind, he met me halfway. Svieta must have released him the moment our procession crashed to a stop. “Sher-sah!”

His head whipped toward me, and a low, fierce growl rumbled from somewhere deep inside his chest. He dropped a shoulder, and without a hesitation, I climbed onto his back. Each of my aching, tired muscles screamed in protest, but I gritted my teeth, focusing on the fight spilling out in a chaotic storm. “Find Gideon. He’ll be wherever the worst of the fighting is.”

The ear-shattering report of gunfire exploded somewhere at the head of the wagon procession, and a bone-wracking shriek raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Goose bumps spilled across my arms, and I whispered a quiet prayer. “Please let him be all right.”

The lion raced up the roadway, weaving in and out of wagons and groups of fighters. A few brave souls noticed us and made to attack, but a blistering roar from Sher-sah sent them reeling, scurrying to avoid his monstrous fangs. We arrived at the front of the wagon train at the same moment a Brigand was raising his rifle, aiming at Gideon’s unprotected back. Gideon’s attention was focused on the person before him, a huge giant of a man wielding a monstrous battle ax.

Leaning down so the lion could see my gesture, I pointed at the rifleman. “Get him, Sher-sah.”

The lion leapt, and I held fast, clinging to his back and shoulders until my muscles and joints screamed, but my body’s protests were soon drowned out by the shrieks of Sher-sah’s first victim. My stomach turned over, and bile rose in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed my disgust. Getting mauled by a lion was a horrible way to die. I regretted the necessity of it while accepting that the brigands lived by a violent code, and when they attacked us, they were accepting these kinds of consequences. I might have to do worse for the sake of my people, some day.

As soon as the lion slowed, I slipped to the ground and snatched the rifle from the fallen man, ignoring the blood spattered on the stock and barrel. Whipping around, I caught Gideon’s opponent in my gun sights and pulled the trigger. Perhaps I should have hesitated, should have questioned my intentions, but the only instinct that drove me was the one demanding I protect Gideon.

Not that I should have worried. Making a shot with precise aim required either an innate talent or lots of practice. I had neither. A red bloom of blood stained the giant man’s shirt, proving I’d managed, at least, to nick his shoulder. My shot distracted him long enough for Gideon to step back and steady his aim, proving he harbored no reservations about the necessity of killing in this situation. Sephonie let loose a bolt with a sharp thwack! The giant clutched his chest over his heart, and blood poured between his fingers. He staggered, sank to his knees, and groaned. Moments later, he pitched to the ground face-first.

“Evie.” Gideon glared at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re all right.”

Sher-sah roared again, taking down another would-be attacker before he could fire on us.

“You promised you wouldn’t do anything reckless.”

“I also promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you if there was something I could do about it. I might not have my lightning, but Sher-sah is almost as good.”

His gaze shifted, and he studied the scene behind me, taking in the wreckage and chaos.He lowered his voice. “Where’s Karolina?”

“Invisible if she has any sense. She’s wearing my Thunder Cloak.”

He nodded. “Good. Now if only you had that much sense.”

“Don’t start with me—” A howl rose above the shouting and shooting, a cry both grievous and heartbreaking. Everyone seemed to pause and listen. “What was that?”

Gideon shook his head, and we both hurried forward, running toward the cry. Sher-sah flanked us, deterring interference.

As we reached the middle of the wagon train, I glanced overhead and caught a flash of red curls. Henri’s assistant, Jacqueline, had come running, too, taking an elevated route. She peered at us from her rooftop perch and pointed at an emerald-green wagon several yards down. “Camilla.”

A cold shiver raised gooseflesh along my arms and shoulders. Without waiting for Gideon’s response, I ordered Sher-sah to follow as I ran for the Bianchis’ collection of carts. The lion and I wheeled around the rear corner of Camilla’s wagon. The battered rear door stood ajar, obviously hacked open with something sharp and brutal. The Bianchi matriarch stood in the doorway, her face ashen, hands trembling as she clutched the wall for support. “I miei bambini,” she moaned. “Loro hanno preso I miei bambini.”

“They took the children,” Gideon translated before questioning Camilla. “Quale via?”

She raised a shaky, gnarled finger and pointed up the roadway to where the path disappeared into a narrow crevice between two towering rock walls.

“Of course they went that way,” I grumbled

“Stay here, Evie,” Gideon said. “Please.”