Books by S. D. Smith

Publication Order:

The Green Ember

The Black Star of Kingston (The Tales of Old Natalia Book I)

Ember Falls: The Green Ember Book II

The Last Archer: Green Ember Archer I

Ember Rising: The Green Ember Book III

The Wreck and Rise of Whitson Mariner (The Tales of Old Natalia Book II)

The First Fowler: Green Ember Archer II

Ember’s End: The Green Ember Book IV

The Archer’s Cup: Green Ember Archer III

Best read in publication order, but in general, simply be sure to begin with The Green Ember.

The events in The Archer’s Cup take place during the events in Ember Rising.

The Archer’s Cup

Copyright © 2020 by S. D. Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. There’s always a rabbit joke here, but everyone knows that rabbits don’t tell jokes. Hares, on the other hand, are hare-larious. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at info@storywarren.com.

Trade Paperback edition: 978-1-951305-07-9

Also available in eBook and Audiobook

Story Warren Books

Cover art by Zach Franzen, www.zachfranzen.com.

Map created by Will Smith and Zach Franzen.

Printed in the United States of America

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Story Warren Books

www.storywarren.com

For Rebecca Mackay—

Mea soror cara, ab initio te amavi. Eras mihi
prima audiens et confirmatio constans fuisti.
Deus te semper teneat et custodiat.

CHAPTER ONE

Bow in hand, Jo Shanks flanked Princess Emma as they hurried along the path through East Wood. Emma was the daughter of King Jupiter and the recognized heir to the throne of Natalia. Well, she was recognized by almost all the free rabbits and their lords stationed in secret citadels up and down the map. There were still a few holdouts. The most notable of those opposing her claim? Blackstone Citadel. Their destination.

“Are you sure this is the best plan, Princess?” Jo asked, never taking his eyes off the forest. “Wouldn’t it be better to just get to Blackstone right when they expect us instead of this scheme to surprise Lord Ronan early and wrong-foot him in the negotiations?”

“It was kind of your idea, Jo,” Emma replied.

Jo blinked. “How so?”

“You said, ‘Go straight for the heart. That’s what an archer does—goes straight for the heart.’”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“It sounds exactly like you,” Emma said, “because you said it.”

Jo shrugged. “Well, that was a long time ago.”

“It just happened,” Emma said. “Am I right, Heyna?”

Jo glanced back to see Heyna, Emma’s black-furred cousin and lady-in-waiting.

“It was an hour ago, Jo,” Heyna said. “But you wouldn’t be the first rabbit to strongly disagree with you. I do it all the time.”

“What’s going on?” Cole, Heyna’s twin brother, had stopped to let the others catch up.

“Jo’s being wrong again,” Emma said.

“Oh,” Cole said. “So, just like every other day?”

“Yeah.” Jo kept his eyes on the forest. “Things were different an hour ago. Apparently, I was so right that I swayed the leader of the cause and the hope of all Natalia. Didn’t hear a lot of naysayers back then.”

“We were stunned silent,” Heyna said. “And since it was actually my idea, and you just came along and agreed with me, you were right then and wrong now.”

Jo peeked back at Heyna, who was as alert as ever. She and her brother often joked around—whenever Emma wasn’t near and especially at Jo’s expense—but in the past she had never let her guard down while protecting the princess. Now the doe seemed to have grown comfortable joking in Emma’s presence. The two had had a heartfelt conversation earlier in the day, from what Jo could tell. Heyna seemed more herself now, even with Emma.

“How long till we reach Blackstone?” Emma asked.

“Sundown is in an hour,” Cole answered. “We have a long night of marching ahead of us. But if we keep this pace up, we may arrive before dawn.”

“It was wise to divide the parties,” Heyna said. They had left some of their company behind to rest, including Mrs. Weaver, who was much older, and Lord Blackstar—Heyna and Cole’s father—who was injured. That part of their group would rejoin them at Harbone Citadel. The four friends would press on to Blackstone and try for an agreement with Lord Ronan and his council.

“It was hard for Father,” Cole said, “but he knew it was a good decision. He trusts you, Your Highness.”

“The idea for dividing our company came from an adventure Jo and I had with Captain Helmer, Heyward, Captain Frye, Owen and Studge from the Bracers, and some others,” Emma said.

“The Bracers,” Cole said, sighing, “an elite band of archers from Halfwind Citadel featuring the victor in the famous Archer’s Cup. What was his name?”

“Jo Shanks?” Heyna asked playfully.

“No,” Cole said, scratching his head, “it was definitely someone else who won. Another rabbit entirely—someone not named Jo or Shanks, or Jo Shanks.”

“Nate Flynn,” Jo said, smiling. “And he deserved it.”

“Do you ever wish you could have another shot at glory like that, Jo, another Archer’s Cup?” Heyna asked.

Jo shook his head and assumed a disinterested posture, pausing to look off into the distance like a ruminating scholar. “Bah. Such things are … definitely not beneath me,” he said, now smirking at them. “I would love another chance. But Nate did deserve it. And he’s a top archer. Maybe the best in Natalia.”

“I’m glad to know you’ve still got that spirit, Jo,” Emma said.

“Please don’t encourage him, Your Highness,” Cole said.

“Cole, you’re going to have to call me Emma when it’s just us. And it’s just us four, now. We are cousins, after all.”

“It’s hard for me,” Cole replied, his voice pitched deeper, “but I know it’s a good decision. I trust you, Emma.”

Heyna laughed at Cole’s imitation of his father, but Jo objected. “Hey, I was calling you Emma before you even knew these two—back when you didn’t know you were royalty.”

“Jo, Jo, my old pal of many adventures and not my cousin,” Emma said, “you may address my person as ‘Your Royal Highness, may she ever be elevated above me and highly exalted.’”

“That’s a mouthful,” Jo said.

“That’s a mouthful …?” Emma questioned, waving him on with an overly elegant hand motion while her face took on a prim pout.

“That’s a mouthful … Your Royal Highness … may she never be smellervated below me and generally revolting.” Jo turned to Cole, whispering loudly. “How’d I do?”

“Pretty close,” Cole mock-whispered back for all to hear.

“Jo, you’re a scoundrel, and your attempted jokes greatly displease my royal personage,” Emma said, maintaining her lofty tone. “When we reach our destination, remind me to have you assigned to the most dangerous post in the army.”

“I’ve already got it,” Jo replied. “This banter is nearly killing me.”

They moved on, silent for a while, as the sun sank lower. The darkness came, and they all followed closely behind Cole. Heyna stayed just ahead of Emma, and Jo guarded the rear, bow in hand and arrows ever at the ready.

When they stopped for a break, Jo and Cole did a quick perimeter check while Emma rested. Jo spoke quietly. “Cole, you think you’ll ever marry?”

“I don’t know,” Cole replied, taken aback. “I haven’t thought too much about it. I guess I always thought that was something for after the war. After we win. You?”

“I do think about it. Sometimes I wonder if we wait till the war’s over, then maybe we’ll never leave room for it. We spend so much time fighting in this war; maybe we should fight for love just as fiercely.”

“I’ve never heard you talk like this.”

“I think this war has made me bolder. Everything feels, I don’t know, pretty urgent.”

“Oh.” Cole smiled as he looked back to the spot where the princess rested, guarded closely by Heyna. “Is it Emma?”

“No, no,” Jo said quickly. “I think that’s impossible for lots of reasons. One, she’s the heir, and she probably needs to marry some great lord or prince or—”

“A heroic archer who proves himself in battle?” Cole interrupted.

“It’s not her, Cole,” Jo said, shaking his head. “I think you saw how she came to life with Lord Booker’s son, Morgan, back at Vandalia Citadel. I think her heart is set elsewhere, if anywhere at all.”

Cole nodded; then a grave look came over his face. He glared at Jo.

Jo laughed. “No, it’s not your sister, either. Heyna’s too much like a sister to me. No, it’s no one I know. It’s just the possibility of someone. The hope, I guess.”

Cole nodded. “That’s a relief. I definitely prefer your imaginary sweetheart to my sister any day.”

Laughing, they reunited with Emma and Heyna and, after a short rest, continued their march. As the night wore on, Jo’s feet began to ache, and his vision occasionally blurred. He believed Emma’s plan, adopted after Heyna’s suggestion and his own agreement, was a good one. They intended to reach Blackstone Citadel before they were expected, surprising Lord Ronan. Ronan had also failed to acknowledge Emma’s brother, Prince Smalden, before her. Reliable word had come that the prince, whom his friends called Smalls, had been killed in battle. Emma—who had only learned her true identity recently—was the heir now, and the burden was no doubt very heavy on her.

Jo eased up beside Emma. “Do you think you can turn Lord Ronan?”

“I have to,” Emma replied. “We need his army. We need every citadel’s army, or we’ve lost before we even get to First Warren.”

“So much has to go right,” Jo said. “Us at Blackstone, Lord Blackstar and Mrs. Weaver headed to Corby, Picket and Helmer’s mad scheme to enter First Warren. Do you think they made it?”

“I wouldn’t bet against Helmer or Picket and certainly never against them both together. I’m worried about them, of course. But I can’t focus on that now. I only know we have to get Ronan on our side. That’s my next right thing, as Lord Blackstar says. We have to unite in this fight against Morbin.”

“What do you expect at Blackstone?”

“Opposition,” Emma said. “Feet-dragging. Delay. Excuses. Lord Ronan will bluster and posture and act the part of a fearless, self-assured senior commander, belittling me as a young, inexperienced, ill-equipped novice who’s in over her head. And he’s not wrong. He no doubt will have many good reasons ready for why he won’t fully join our fight.”

“It’s treason,” Jo said. “I’d like to shove his ‘good reasons’ down his throat.”

“Mrs. Weaver says I should plan for the worst but behave as though I believe the best. That’s what we’ll all do. You included, Jo.”

“I’ll do as you say, Emma. I’m with you to the bitter end and through whatever comes.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll fight for you and for the cause till … well, till the Green Ember rises …”

“Or the end of the world,” Emma finished, squeezing his hand a moment before he withdrew it again. “Thank you, Jo. I’m grateful to have you by my side.”

“Hold,” Cole hissed back at them. The four rabbits froze. Jo slowly reached for his quiver. Deftly drawing out an arrow, he then nocked it, peering around as he did. He could see almost nothing in the dark, but he trusted Cole’s hearing and sight. Coleden Blackstar, though young, was a veteran of special operations in and around Kingston, where his father was lord and commander. He and Heyna had also had adventures with the fallen prince, and Jo had come to trust his friend’s instincts.

Jo heard Cole creeping back to them. The four rabbits huddled close together as Cole whispered just loud enough for them to hear.

“Enemy ahead.”

CHAPTER TWO

Jo nodded, then stepped ahead as he and Cole moved to protect Emma. Heyna eased in front of the princess, hand grasping her hidden knife. Cole pointed to himself and then ahead, and Jo nodded.

The two friends had worked alongside Helmer and Picket in the special unit known as the Fowlers for some time and had grown to trust one another. Their friendship was forged in training and solidified in battle.

Jo bent his bow, following Cole’s motions along the sight of his poised arrow. If anything surprised Cole from the shadows, that something would have its own surprise.

Cole snuck around a bend, and the rest waited in silence until, after a few minutes that felt like forever, he returned. Jo motioned to his teeth, shooting a finger down at the edge of his mouth. Is it wolves?

Cole shook his head, then shot up two fingers to his head. Jo nodded. Rabbits, then.

“What do you recommend?” Emma whispered.

Cole listened a moment, his hand up for silence, then spoke softly. “It must be the perimeter guard of Blackstone. If we surprise them, we might have a fight we don’t want. If they find us, we’ll be marched into the citadel under guard. Not the best first impression. I don’t recommend either.”

“So,” Heyna whispered, “we slip past them and head for the citadel itself.”

Cole looked to Emma.

“Agreed,” she said.

“Are you sure you can get us there?” Jo asked.

Cole frowned, and Heyna answered instead. “He could take us right into Ronan’s council chamber without us being spotted.”

“Well,” Jo said, “I could take us right into Ronan’s prison—but we’d definitely be spotted first.”

“Lead the way,” Emma said.

Jo pointed to himself and mouthed, “Do you mean me?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Lead the way, Cole.”

They followed Cole through the night, crawling through thickets and darting across clearings. Silent and focused, the band of four made its way past twelve guards at various stages, sometimes coming so near that they heard conversation.

“We’re close,” Cole ventured to whisper, and Emma nodded.

“Shhh,” Heyna snapped.

Footsteps. Nearby.

Jo sank to the earth beside Emma, and they all lay still.

An unfamiliar voice broke the silence. “It’s an evil night.”

“They’ve all been evil lately,” another responded. Jo assumed they were two Blackstone sentries on patrol. “Something’s dead wrong, I’m telling you.”

“It’ll pass,” the first soldier said. “These things come and go with superiors, and commons like you and me ride out the storm.”

The footsteps began again, and their conversation sounded garbled as they walked away, till Jo couldn’t hear them anymore.

The four friends stayed silent on the ground for a few minutes. Then Cole slowly got to his feet, helping Emma up as well. “This way,” he said, pointing east.

Emma nodded, brushing dirt from her dress and pulling twigs from her fur. They continued on their way, now going in slow, steady, circling paths as they approached the citadel.

Every once in a while, Cole would signal them with a rounded motion of two hands. Then the band would gather sticks and leaves, bundle them together, and stealthily hang them in a tree. Cole poured liquid from a flask in his pack onto each bundle. They lodged several of these “treepods” in low limbs as they crept closer and closer to the citadel.

It wasn’t long before they reached what Jo assumed was one of the main entry gates of Blackstone. It was surrounded by ten guards, most well-hidden. By the time they drew close, Cole had managed to identify their locations.

Cole nodded to Jo, then Heyna. Heyna sparked her flint and lit a small bundle of cloth while Emma and Cole concealed the thin flame from view of the guards. Jo was ready with a series of flammable arrowheads. Heyna lit the first, and Jo spun back and aimed at the farthest treepod. Letting loose his bowstring, Jo sent his flaming arrow blazing through the night to find the first bundle. It burst into flame, alerting the guards, who scrambled from their hideouts and gathered at the main gate. Some were dispatched toward the flame, but Jo had already shot three more pods, and the woods surrounding the gate were alive with fire. Each fire burned out in minutes, but the bright bursts were enough to shift the sentries away from the main gate till only two were left guarding it as the band of four emerged from the shadows and strode forward.

“Make way for Princess Emma,” Cole said with all the authority he could muster, “rightful bearer of the Green Ember and heir of all Natalia. Make way!”

A young guard lurched toward them, sword at the ready, while an older one stood his ground and shouted, “Hold, there!” The band walked on, not stopping, nor showing any weapons. “Hold, I say!”

“Stand aside,” Emma said, managing an imperious presence that impressed Jo. “I am Princess Emma Joveson, and I’ve come to see the citadel lord.”

“You’re not expected yet,” the younger guard squeaked. By then the royal entourage had reached the gate, and the two soldiers parted to make way for the four visitors.

“But I’m here,” Emma said. “I’m here now.” Never stopping her stride, she marched into the warren that was Blackstone Citadel. Jo followed her, mimicking the stern expressions of the Blackstar twins. Emma clapped her hands. “Lad,” she snapped, and the younger guard ran up to her, bowing his head. “Go and fetch Lord Ronan. I wish to be greeted when I enter as guest.”

“Lord Ronan?” the young guard asked. He glanced nervously over at the older guard.

“Your Highness,” the senior sentry said, face concerned. “Will Your Highness come with me?”

Jo fought down a smile. She really has surprised them.

Emma nodded to the guard, and they followed him through a long tunnel, past several more guards, and into a brick-walled chamber. From there, they walked through a series of tunnels till they reached a warm well-lit room with several chairs and a table. Emma sat down in the best chair near the fire, and Jo and Cole flanked her, looking around with keen, wary eyes. Heyna stood behind her, assuming an elegant posture.

The old guard coughed. “Will Your Highness excuse me while I let them know you are here early?”

Emma nodded, then looked away haughtily as the older guard bowed and disappeared. Emma glanced back and saw the young guard standing at attention by the cozy room’s door. “You may go,” she said, flicking her hand in his direction.

When the young guard hesitated a moment, Cole strode forward with clear menace in his voice. “The princess will be obeyed, lad.” The confused buck blinked several times, stammered something incoherent, then hurried out the door. Cole closed it and spun back to the others. He frowned. “I don’t like being a bully.”

“Me either,” Emma said, relaxing at last with a long sigh. “We’re playing a part here, and it’s going perfectly. Remember, it’s Mrs. Weaver’s plan, and I don’t like acting the high and mighty princess any more than you like playing my high and harsh courtiers, but we have a job to do here. Well done to you, Cole, for getting us in. Now we have to match their bravado with our own. We have to show we have an iron will and that uniting the cause is more important than our petty disagreements or problems from the past. We have to match them—and beat them—at their own game. We have to show spine.”

“They certainly won’t show any weakness,” Jo said, “so we’ll need to be twice as tough as them.”

A knock at the door sounded, and the four friends stiffened again, assuming their hard, haughty airs. The door opened slowly to reveal a grey-furred doe of middle age wearing a medical uniform. She bowed to Emma, then walked in and spoke softly. “Your Royal Highness, greetings. I am sorry to say that Lord Ronan is very weak. He’s kept to his bed for many days. These are dark and troubling times at Blackstone. We are on the verge of collapse.”

CHAPTER THREE

Jo hid his shock as Emma, reverting quickly to her usual tone of kindness, replied, “What has happened?”

“It began with a letter,” the doe said, eyes flitting to the fire. The reflected flames danced in her frightened eyes. “And it’s progressed to threats of annihilation.”

“Annihilation?” Emma asked.

The nurse nodded. “I do not exaggerate.”

“Go on, Aunty.” Emma took the doe’s hands in hers. Jo noted the tone of respect as Emma quickly adopted the commonly used and affectionate term for an elder doe, Aunt.

“Princess Bright,” she said, “there are many here who have longed for your coming. But not all. No, there are many in and around power who do not love the Longtreaders and feel everything close to them is tainted with betrayal.”

“Do they not know of Picket Longtreader’s heroics,” Emma asked, “not only at Jupiter’s Crossing where he saved my brother but also at Rockback Valley? Do they not know that Heather Longtreader traded her life for mine, giving up everything for the cause?”

“It is whispered about,” the grey nurse replied, “and though many of the lord’s circle doubt these things, some of us want to join the cause and run to your banner. But that’s not the only problem here at Blackstone. We have other troubles.”

“I am eager to hear it all, but first, what’s your name, Aunty?” Emma asked.

Before she could answer, an angry cry came from the passage. “Gallipot Grenda!”

“That is my name,” the nurse said softly just before the door swung open and a burly buck lumbered into the room, his teeth set and his eyes wild. Jo leaned forward, hand on his sword hilt. He sized up this brazen rabbit quickly, identifying him as a military officer. This is more of what I expected. This must be Ronan’s right hand, Captain Truff.

“Grenda, get out!” the white-furred buck snapped.

The nurse bowed to Emma, then, after a side-eyed glare at the officer, walked out.

“I don’t appreciate this—” Emma began.

“I’m Lead Captain Truff,” the muscular buck interrupted, “responsible for all military matters in and around this citadel. Would you like to explain the clown antics you lot pulled at my gate?”

“Captain,” Emma said, her voice assured. “Who is in command of this citadel?”

“I am!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the table. Cole stepped forward, and Jo pulled free his blade. Truff smirked at Cole, then shook his head as he looked Jo up and down. “I was fighting battles when you lot were babies. Don’t try me.”

“Captain Truff,” Emma said, rising with her hands extended in a peaceful gesture, “we are not your enemies. We are here to talk about our shared aim, the liberation of rabbitkind in the Mended Wood.”

“Forgive me,” Truff said, pacing back to the door, then turning to cross to the table again. He pulled at his neck fur and shook his head. “Things have been, well, a bit unsettled lately.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Emma said. “Maybe we can be of some—”

“We’ll handle our own troubles,” Truff snapped, resuming his testy tone. “We don’t need any Longtreader lackeys, or any outsiders whatsoever, poking around in our internal affairs.”

“It has never been our intent to poke around or interfere,” Emma said, passing by the Longtreader jab with what Jo thought was great patience. “We came for a conference. We seek to renew a friendship and to focus our shared power on our common enemies.”

“Forgive me,” Truff said once again, and Jo noticed he did not address her as Royal Highness. “We have a council meeting after breakfast. The council will meet with you. I’m not sure …” He seemed to lose his train of thought. “I’m not sure what to say other than that I can accommodate you, of course, as our guests. I will send a lieutenant to show you to your quarters and see that you get something to eat.” He seemed about to say more, then spun on his heels and hurried to the door. “That will be all!” he snapped over his shoulder as he quit the room.

Emma’s mouth hung open, and Jo couldn’t believe the encounter had actually happened.

“I wasn’t sure if we were going to have to fight that brute or escort him to the hospital,” Jo said.

“He was very nearly beyond a hospital’s help,” Heyna said.

“What is going on here?” Cole asked.

“Clearly,” Emma said, “this is not quite what we had expected. We’ll have to adjust our plan.”

“I’d like to adjust that captain’s fat face,” Cole said.

“Let’s try to stay calm,” Emma said, turning back to the fire with a hand to her chin. “What did Aunt Grenda say?”

“She said there are some here who support you,” Jo answered, “but there are powerful opponents.”

“No, before that.” Emma spun back with a snap. “A letter! She said something about a letter.”

The door swung open again, and a younger officer appeared, accompanied by five guards. “Greetings, visitors,” he said. “Please follow me.” Without another word, he turned in crisp ease and marched back down the hall.

“The nerve—” Jo began, but Emma signaled for him to be silent. She followed the soldiers, and her company caught up and gathered around her.

The soldiers never turned around, only followed hard on their leader’s heels. Through winding tunnels and occasional halls, the group passed into the depths of the warren that was Blackstone Citadel.

Blackstone’s warren reminded Jo of his home at Halfwind, but there were differences. Tangled brush marked the outside of Halfwind, but inside its life was neat and orderly. At Halfwind, everything was clean, despite the earthen tunnels and old-fashioned paths. It was a serious military center, and this place appeared to be as well. Jo nodded more than once to soldiers hurrying through the halls. But there were messy elements here, subtle things, like only some of the torches being lit, in no reasonable pattern, in a long hall. Something else was different, but Jo was too distracted to name it. He tried hard to focus on the job at hand. Protect Emma. Don’t give in to some provocation and endanger the mission.

“This way,” the lieutenant ahead barked.

“That’s not just impatience he’s showing,” Heyna whispered to Jo. “That’s contempt. Keep sharp, Shanks.”

“I’m feeling the same towards them,” Jo replied. “If one more of these—”

Heyna cut him off. “We’re tired and hungry, Jo.”

Jo realized he hadn’t eaten in a long while. None of them had. They had marched through the night, hiding and hurrying past guards in determination to surprise Lord Ronan. They hadn’t slept. Of course he felt testy. And these rude, dismissive officers were a bad ingredient to throw into the mix.

Thinking of ingredients made Jo more aware of the hollow space in his belly. A grumbling rumble came just as they passed through a mess hall set up to feed hundreds of rabbits at a time. Passing through near the front, they met with kitchen sounds and delicious smells. Jo gazed greedily at the cooks prepping breakfast as they left the mess hall.

They followed their surly guide through more hallways till they reached a dead end with two doors. “Left door is for the does,” the lieutenant said, his mouth curled like something stank, “right door, bucks. When you’re settled, you may use these,” he said, handing folded papers to Cole, “to procure your rations at the mess.” That said, he spun on his heels and marched away.

“I expected a tepid reception,” Emma said, “but that’s scalding hot hatred.”

“It was all I could do to keep from …” Cole began, clenching his fist as his words faded to inaudible grumbles.

“Let’s stow our packs,” Emma said, reaching for the door of the doe room. Heyna stepped in front of her and opened the door herself, gliding into the room with a wary eye. Cole followed her in, and the Blackstars made certain the room was safe for Emma. Emma entered, and Cole left to join Jo in their room. It was simple, small, and adequate. Each wall had an old mat leaning against it. There was a small unlit fireplace and a few vents, but nothing else was in the room.

“Lavish,” Jo said.

“I could get used to this,” Cole said, dragging a mat out and lying down on it, crossing his legs like he was luxuriating on a picturesque porch. A knock at the door caused him to leap up and crouch at the ready, hand on his sword hilt.

Jo opened the door warily. Seeing Heyna, he relaxed. “Emma wants to rest, then eat,” Heyna said. “Why don’t you two go eat, and I’ll stand guard first?”

“No,” Cole said, handing a ration sheet to his sister. “You and Jo go get some food. I’ll stay outside Emma’s door and keep watch.”

“But Cole,” Jo said as they left the room and stood outside Emma’s door, “you led us all the way here. I’m fresh and fit and ready to fire.” A yawn escaped, even though he tried to fight it off.

“Come on, Jo,” Heyna said. “He won’t be moved on this. Let’s get some grub.”

“When should I wake her?” Cole asked.

The door opened behind him, and Emma, stifling a yawn herself, said, “In an hour, if you please, Cole. I don’t want to miss the council audience.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Cole replied. “Get some rest.”

“Don’t expect to find friends here,” Emma said sleepily to her three companions. “We’ll have to lean on each other to survive, let alone to accomplish our mission.”

Cole saluted as Emma disappeared, then turned to whisper to Jo and Heyna. “Keep alert. Start looking for ways of escape. I think we’re going to need to get her out of here before she’s murdered.”

A noise of hurrying footfalls came from the corridor. Jo and Heyna spun around, hands ready on weapons. The three friends crouched, poised to defend Emma’s door.

A pale red rabbit dressed in black appeared. His hand held a sword, and his face was frantic. Behind him, a company of soldiers ran into the hallway, all with weapons drawn. An archer with a scarlet cape was poised at the pale buck’s elbow.

Jo’s bow was off his shoulder and nocked with three arrows in an instant.

CHAPTER FOUR

Back! Back!” Cole shouted, stepping forward with his sword poised.

The rabbit in black raised his sword, then sheathed it quickly, showing his hands opened in a gesture of peace. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, breathing hard. “I just received word you were here, so I called my guard and came at once.”

“Stay back,” Cole snapped.

The pale red buck turned and motioned with his chin to the archer with the red cape, who retired many yards back in swift obedience to his unspoken command. The soldiers followed the archer. The buck in black walked forward slowly with his open hands in front of him. “I have no ill intent. I only want to ensure the princess is safe. Have they taken her already?” He tried to look past the three rabbits in the dim hallway.

“Who are you?” Heyna asked.

“Forgive me,” he said, clasping his hands together and making a neat bow. “I am Lokson, firstborn son of Lord Lokken, the last lord of Blackstone.”

“The lord before Ronan?” Jo asked.

A small curl of the edge of his mouth contrasted against an otherwise placid expression. Lokson nodded. “I’m afraid so. After Father was … well, after Father died and Lord Ronan came to power, I was exiled … of course, they called it my education. Regardless, I was sent to Harbone Citadel, where I lived for many years. I returned a few weeks ago to this, my first and only home. Has the princess been harmed?”

“No,” Jo said, “and we aim to ensure she isn’t.”

Lokson nodded. “You may count me among those who want the same.” He came closer still. “I advise you to trust no one.”

“What about you?” Heyna asked. “Should we trust you?”

Lokson’s face broke into a wide, mischievous smile. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” Heyna said. “We’re not hungry.”

Jo’s stomach rumbled, but he nodded. He wasn’t about to leave Emma’s door with this odd lordling nearby.

“Come now, Lieutenant Shanks,” Lokson said. “You can trust me.”

“How do you know me?” Jo asked.

“It’s my business to know many things,” Lokson said, “and of particular interest to my own study are the greatest archers of our age. You, Master Shanks, are certainly among them.”

Jo bowed quickly. His weapons were lowered now, but still at the ready. “I am honored by your words. Have you met Nate Flynn? He is the finest archer from Halfwind and could, I believe, match targets with even those legendary Harbone aces.”

“I have met Captain Flynn, and you are right, of course,” Lokson said, glancing back at his archer captain. “May I have my friend approach? He would dearly love to meet you.”

Jo glanced at Cole, who nodded. “If you please,” Jo said.

Lokson nodded back, and the archer captain walked toward them. Jo saw the bracer over his hand, that protective guard that marked the serious archer, and the twin symbols woven onto the sleeve. Both were black on black, with seams sewn in to stand out in slight variation from the rough cloth it was stitched on. One symbol was a tree with seven stars arranged like leaves, the crest of Harbone. The other was a key that seemed to be shaped like a b. Blackstone’s symbol, but slightly different than Jo had seen it before.

“Lieutenant Shanks,” Lokson said, “may I introduce Captain Cheltham? Chelt, this is Jo Shanks.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Jo said. Cheltham. Jo knew that name. Every archer knew that name. This was perhaps the greatest of all the elite Harbone archers. “Of course I have heard of you.”

“Oh, yes? I suppose word gets around,” Cheltham said, nodding as he shook Jo’s hand. He squeezed a little too tightly for Jo’s comfort, squishing his fingers before Jo could get a good grip. Cheltham’s eyes thinned to slits, and he finally released Jo’s hand.

“Captain Cheltham is like my own brother,” Lokson said. “Ever since my exile, we have been side by side. Mischief together as younglings, and on to more serious work as we matured. He has been the captain of my personal guard, all drawn from the archers of Harbone, for some time.”

“Do you also practice the craft?” Jo asked, raising his bow.

Lokson laughed. “I see my fame has not reached far. I do shoot, but I have no notable trophies on my shelf.”

“Lord Lokson is too modest,” Cheltham said, peering into Jo’s eyes. “He is able to hit and kill whatever he takes aim at. He never misses his mark.”

Jo was unnerved by Cheltham’s strange bearing, unsure if Cheltham was just overly aggressive by nature or if he was trying to communicate something. “Then he should be careful to aim at the right targets.”

“Friends,” Lokson said, clapping his hands together, “let’s breakfast together.” Jo and the Blackstars winced at Lokson’s clap, fearing it would wake Emma. Lokson noticed. He started to speak again, but Jo spoke first.

“Is there a way to get to her—to these rooms—without going through the mess hall?”

“No,” Lokson replied.

Jo nodded. “Then we will meet you at the mess hall. Give us a few minutes.”

“Master Shanks,” Lokson said, “I still haven’t met your friends, but I believe I know who this lovely doe and her brother are. Lord and Lady Blackstar’s twins, Heyna and Coleden?”

“You have us,” Cole said. “But we have met before, I think, when we were small children. Our fathers share history, I believe.”

“I was afraid you didn’t remember,” Lokson said. “Perhaps I was hoping you didn’t. I was a bit of a naughty young buck.”

“A bit?” Heyna asked, shaking her head. “You trapped me in a tree fort and left me there.”

Lokson grinned but lowered his head as if a little embarrassed. A very little, Jo thought.

“We were sorry to hear of your father’s passing and …” Cole paused a moment, “all that followed.”

“Disgrace and exile?” Lokson asked. “Yes, it was a difficult childhood after father died in those … mysterious circumstances. I hated to be sent away, but I’m home now. And I aim to make things right again—for Blackstone and for my family name.”

“You know,” Jo said, “there’s a war outside of Blackstone. Blood has been shed, and more will be soon.”

“You of all bucks should know,” Lokson said, his grin disappearing, “that you must fill your own quiver with long straight arrows before you set out to shoot.”

Jo nodded. “Please, go ahead of us to the mess hall. We will confer, and I hope to meet you there in a short time, if I’m able.”

Lokson nodded, then, looking up at Jo, seemed ready to say something. Instead, he smiled again, spun, and returned the way he came. His guard, led by Captain Cheltham, followed him.

“I’ll never trust that rogue,” Heyna said when they were gone.

“Bad news, Heyna,” Jo replied. “I think he’s our best friend here.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Not long after, Jo and Heyna reentered the mess hall and approached a long table where Lokson, Cheltham, and the large company of black-clad guards sat. Jo saw there were four seats open near the pale red buck who led this band. The last lord’s son.

Heyna found the open seat farthest from Lokson and, as all the bucks rose, sat down without a word. The rest sat again, and Jo joined them.

“I’m so glad you came,” Lokson said. “Your friends will not be joining us?”

“I’ll slip some in my pockets and feed them later,” Jo said.

Lokson laughed, then banged on the table. “Slimmo, there!” he shouted. “Hunger destroys us, and we waste away!”

A tall, rail-thin rabbit in a colorful apron bobbed out of the kitchen and crossed quickly to them with oddly short steps. “Lord Lokson,” he said, his voice deep and strangely familiar to Jo, “you have your army with you, I see, and have added to it. Good. I shall bring your breakfast!”

“Slimmo,” Lokson said, keeping his seat, “meet Jo Shanks, one of the finest archers in Natalia.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Master Slimmo,” Jo said, rising and crossing to shake the chef’s hand.

“Lieutenant Shanks,” Slimmo said, “I am honored. I am a great fan of the archery games, and I’ve so enjoyed having these masters here to marvel at. I hope you enjoy the hospitality of this mess hall, even if every other hall in the citadel is an inhospitable mess!” He broke up laughing at his own joke, wheezing and making a sonorous honking noise as he inhaled.

Jo smiled, finally making the connection. “Master Slimmo, would you ever have met a chef from Cloud Mountain, name of Gort?”

“I have met him,” Slimmo said, smiling widely. “Hasn’t he ever said where he’s actually from? We were young together here, playing on the shores of Black Lake. He’s my cousin! You’re his friends?”

“We are, indeed,” Jo said, smiling as he admired the cook’s apron. It was a sturdy white fabric but seemed to be frayed at the edges. There were hand-sewn flowers of many colors and kinds—though somewhat faded—featured all over the garment. The top had metal loops, almost like finger rings, where the sturdy lower part connected to the neck ties.

“Master Gort’s your cousin?” Heyna asked, smiling as she crossed to shake Slimmo’s hand. “I’m Heyna Blackstar and I’m so glad to meet you. You’re the first friendly face,” she said, glancing back at Lokson, “I’ve seen since coming here.” Lokson rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Mistress Heyna, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Slimmo said, wiping at his eyes and wheezing his last few wheezes. He cleared his throat. “I’ve met your honored father on three occasions, and he was always the perfectest gentlebuck and as noble a lord as one could hope for.”

“You honor us,” Heyna said.

“Well, I do you no honor whatso-however by standing here gabbing like a barker when you’re likely famished.” He bowed neatly, held up a finger, and retreated toward the kitchen. “Sit and chat amongst the black guards of Harbone and our last lord’s son while I prepare you something special!”

Heyna and Jo resumed their seats. Once again, Lokson and his band rose courteously while Heyna sat.

“Is he anything like his cousin?” Lokson asked.

Heyna and Jo exchanged a glance. “Yes,” Jo said, “but it’s mostly in the tone of voice and accent. Their appearance is, well, significantly different.”

“Chef Gort would never be called ‘Slimmo’ by anyone,” Heyna said.

“I see.” Lokson nodded.

“Slimmo’s given name is Grare,” Cheltham said, eyes in slits as he looked across at Jo. “He is an excellent cook and a native and well-loved in Blackstone, though Lord Ronan and his family never eat here. They have their own chef, one of Slimmo’s former pupils, named Jervie. Slimmo is never seen without that strange old apron. He is odd. And that soldier standing at the doorway,” he continued, not looking over his shoulder at the distant buck, “is Doosan, a low-level agent assigned to follow us. He was born in First Warren but fled during the after-terrors and made a home in East Wood. He joined Blackstone Citadel three years ago after his family was killed by Redeye Garlackson’s advance pack. He is loyal to Ronan, has a finger missing on his left hand, and hates cabbage.”

“Thank you for that spellbinding tale,” Heyna said, blinking. “Do you keep detailed records of everyone’s information?”

“I am the captain of Lord Lokson’s personal force,” he replied. “It is necessary that I stay informed about everyone who comes in contact with him.”

Jo noticed that they used the title lord for Lokson, though he wasn’t one. Lokson’s father had been a lord, but the title passed to Lord Ronan years ago.

“What would your report about Lord Ronan include?” Heyna asked.

Lokson and Cheltham exchanged glances. “He is unwell,” Cheltham said, after a pause.

“Not a lot of detail,” Heyna said, shrugging. “I had hoped to find out his views on cabbage.”

“Heyna,” Lokson said, “Ronan has far bigger concerns than his digestion.”

Jo’s stomach rumbled, loudly this time, just as Slimmo emerged at the head of a long line of cooks. They all bore trays of what appeared to be honeybread and the roasted pickings of a harvested garden. Jo’s nose caught the scent of something sweet—peaches, he believed—and his mouth watered.

Few words were exchanged during the meal, and soon Jo excused himself to cross and speak with the cook by the kitchen door. “Thank you ever so much, Master Slimmo,” Jo said, shaking the thin chef’s hand again. “That was delicious!”

“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant Shanks.” Slimmo grinned.

“Please, call me Jo.”

“And I am simply Slimmo.”

They shook hands again. “Slimmo, I have been awake all night and, while you’ve cured me of my most pressing need—that I was hungry enough to gnaw your arm off—I am still quite tired. But I need to stay awake and sharp today, at least for a while.”

Slimmo nodded, then looked from side to side. “Come within, Jo,” he said, beckoning for Jo to follow him into the kitchen. Jo looked over at Heyna, making eye contact to let her know where he was, then slipped through the door behind Slimmo.

The lanky chef smiled and commented on several dishes being prepared as he crossed into a small room on the far corner of the kitchen. “This is my private pantry,” he said, winking at Jo. “This,” he said, moving a wooden crate stuffed with assorted junk and pulling out one of many jars concealed beneath it, “is my secret stash of blackroot tea.” After grabbing a few roots from the jar, he replaced his misleading crate and turned to hurry out of the pantry.

“Why is it a secret?” Jo whispered.

“Because you can’t get blackroot now,” Slimmo said, coming close so only Jo could hear as they crossed to the fire in the center of the kitchen. “It’s forbidden. I like you, Jo, so you get a cup from my secret stock.” Slimmo looked intently at Jo and then carefully sorted through several mugs sitting out on a shelf. Finally, he grabbed a red one. As he lifted it up and spun it slowly around, Jo saw embedded on its side a leaping buck shooting an arrow at an attacking bird of prey. “This one suits you, I believe. And now, tea.” He placed the roots into a cleverly made strainer. He then poured hot water into the mug and set it to steep. They chatted about the kitchen for a few minutes, and Slimmo moved here and there to help his staff at their tasks, his bright apron swishing around him.

“I think it must be close,” the cook said, returning.

“Thank you so much, Slimmo. I owe you one.”

“Anything for one of my cousin’s pals,” Slimmo said, passing over the teacup and removing the strainer with the roots. “And it will certainly help keep you sharp. If you need to sleep instead of staying alert, I have just the thing for that too. Lalla oil works every time. Still rare, but not exactly forbidden. It works fast! But this blackroot tea should put some pep in your step. Enjoy!”

Jo sniffed the tea and smiled as he sipped the tasty drink. “It’s remarkable!”

“I know,” Slimmo replied, smiling wide. “I couldn’t do without it.”

“Why’s it forbidden?” Jo asked.

“Well,” Slimmo said, scowling. He glanced back and forth, then continued in a whisper. “It’s not that the tea is banned; it’s just that the only place you can get the roots to make it is forbidden. The shores of Black Lake, my childhood home. That’s where blackroot grows and nowhere else. Believe me, I’ve looked hither and yonder. It’s certainly not grown in our secret garden centers in East Wood. Only just near Black Lake. And no one knows those shores and all the caves surrounding them like me. Except maybe Gort. But it’s gotten too dangerous out that way since things started ramping up in the war. At least this is what we are being told by our overprotective masters. Unless you’re on a specific approved mission, such as harvesting or scouting, you aren’t allowed out of the warren, and you’re certainly forbidden from going anywhere near my beloved Black Lake.”

“Jo,” Heyna called from the door. “I think we should head back and let Cole come and eat.”

“Right,” Jo said, winking at the cook. “Slimmo was just showing me his kitchen and fixed me a cup of tea.”

“Miss Blackstar,” Slimmo said as they crossed to her, “could I get you any tea at all?”

“No thank you, sir,” she replied. “I feel bad for having eaten such a feast and leaving my brother to wither away. I want to relieve him. Thank you so much for breakfast. It was brilliant.”

Chef Slimmo clutched his apron tenderly and bowed in thanks as the two young friends left his kitchen. Jo and Heyna returned to the table. Cheltham eyed him coldly, but Lokson smiled warmly and said, “Would you care for a brief tour of Blackstone? I understand they didn’t offer you the warmest reception upon your arrival.”

“How long until the council meets?” Heyna asked.

“An hour or two. It is after the usual breakfast time.”

“We would love a tour, of course,” Jo said, while Heyna frowned, “but we need to see our friends.”

“I understand,” Lokson said, bowing neatly. Behind him, the soldier Doosan had turned to confer with a fresh buck, this one dressed in a medical uniform. Doosan nodded, and the buck walked toward them.

“What have we here?” Lokson whispered.

“Cleeve Hapson,” Cheltham replied softly. “Easily annoyed. Matron Wilder’s faction.”

“Good morning,” the buck said, smiling at Jo and Heyna, even as he darted a side-eyed look at Lokson and Cheltham. “My name is Cleeve. I am sent with a message. Lord Ronan requires your immediate attendance. I am to escort you to him. Now.”

Jo and Heyna exchanged a look. Heyna cleared her throat and effortlessly assumed a noble bearing. “Thank you for relaying Lord Ronan’s …” she paused a moment, “request. Wait here and I will deliver your invitation to Her Royal Highness.”

“It is a summons—” Cleeve began, but Lokson coughed and, when Cleeve looked up at him, shook his head slowly and tapped the hilt of his sword. His force arrayed around him, Lokson was a forbidding figure. Jo’s head spun at the intrigue this citadel held. And they had only just arrived.

Heyna scowled at Lokson, then smiled at Cleeve. “I will return shortly with the royal heir’s answer to your generous request.” She turned and, with grace and confidence, strode from the room.

When she was gone, Lokson glared at Cleeve while Cheltham crossed to stand beside Jo. Cheltham leaned over to whisper so only Jo could hear.

“Cleeve’s afraid to start a fight.” He nodded his chin to the messenger buck. “He’s not sure how many of the army here would side with Lord Lokson.”

“So he’s on Lord Ronan’s side and you’re on Lokson’s?” Jo asked.

“No,” Cheltham answered with a chuckle. “He’s not on Ronan’s side either. He sides with a far more forbidding force.”

“Who?” Jo asked.

Cheltham bent closer still and whispered. “Matron Wilder. Full name, Breelia Wilder. One of the old families. Rose to power in the last ten years. Vicious. Ruthless. Not to be trusted.”

CHAPTER SIX

Jo bowed to Emma as she entered the mess hall flanked by the Blackstar twins.

“Princess Emma.” Lokson bowed and crossed to take her hand. Emma extended it, and Lokson kissed it with a courtly flourish.

“This is Lokson,” Heyna said flatly, not even looking at the pale red buck, “and this is a messenger from Lord Ronan,” she said, her full glare aimed at him, “name of Clave.”

“Cleeve,” the messenger corrected.

“Greetings, Clove,” Emma said. “I have decided to accept Lord Ronan’s request, if for no other reason than to beg him to explain the horrendous treatment we have so far received.”

Cleeve sputtered, “This is not—” he began, but Cole stepped forward and motioned to the far doorway.

“You may wait there,” Cole said, ushering him back across the mess hall. Jo crossed to flank Cole.

When Cleeve was nearing the doorway, sputtering as he went, Emma turned back to Lokson. “I am delighted to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Lokson bowed gracefully. “Your Highness, may I present the captain of my guard? This is Cheltham, originally of Harbone Citadel. As you know, you are dearly beloved of everyone at Harbone.”

“Your Highness,” Cheltham said, bowing. “It is a profound honor to meet you. I am sorry I wasn’t there when you were at our citadel, but may I say how grateful I am for your incredible work? You saved many members of my own family. I owe you so much.”

Jo recalled that Emma had gone to Harbone during an outbreak of Blue Fever, risking her life to save hundreds from death.

“I was only doing my duty,” Emma said, “but thank you. As I recall, you were far away at the time?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Lokson said, stepping forward, “we were … on a mission at the time.”

“At Harbone,” Emma said, viewing the armed bucks behind Lokson, “there was a rumor you were training your own army in the mountains beyond Corby.”

“Ah,” Lokson replied, “rumors do pursue us. I have heard many about you from Ronan and others. Much has changed since the day when my father was lord here.”

“So the rumors of your training your own army are false?” Emma asked.

“It is less important, Highness,” Lokson said, smiling with roguish confidence, “where one sharpens his sword, and more important where he points it.”

Emma nodded. “Good morning, Lokson,” she said, then walked toward the doorway.

“See you at council, Your Highness,” Lokson said, bowing once again. “At least you will have one friend and ally there.”

They reached the doorway, where a frustrated Cleeve stood alongside the scout Doosan. “Follow me,” Cleeve said, spinning on his heels.

Cole and Heyna stayed close behind Emma while Jo brought up the rear. As Jo passed Doosan, he nodded back toward the kitchen and whispered, “Slimmo said it’s all cabbage all day today, bucko. Delicious stuff, really.”

Doosan scowled as Jo followed the entourage out of the mess hall.

Jo took in all the winding corridors of this old warren and noted once again how unsettled the residents seemed. Frightened glances and angry stares greeted him at every corner, creating an ominous feeling in the already disordered hallways. They stepped over a broken support beam, which had crashed in, causing a partial blockage of the corridor. Abandoned carts dotted the walkways, and shifty-eyed bucks peered out of door slits.

Finally, they came to an open hallway that ended in huge double doors.

Cleeve turned and said, “This is the hospital. Please enter quietly.”

“We know how to behave in a hospital,” Emma said, her tone calm and certain.

Cleeve reached for the door and made to open it and enter, but Cole stepped ahead and forced him to remain at the door while Emma walked in first. Heyna and Jo followed, while Cole stayed just ahead of the messenger, blocking his way.

The hospital was quiet and grim. A gloomy half-light pervaded an open space with curtained-off corners and more doors ahead. Bookcases and empty beds lined the walls. Jo saw no patients or anyone else in this section of the hospital. A nurse entered from a side door, glancing back and forth as she crept across the room. It was the grey-furred doe who had first warned them about the strange things afoot in the citadel.

“Aunt Grenda,” Emma said, hesitant. “We have come to see Lord Ronan.”

“Princess Bright,” Grenda whispered, “you must go at once!” Glancing back and forth, breathing hard, she hurried to Emma and bowed quickly, taking her hands. “Please, leave this place.”

“But we have been asked here to meet with Ronan,” Emma said. Jo began to suspect the doe was overwhelmed and needed care. Emma seemed to think the same. “Can I help you, Aunty? Please, sit down and let’s talk.”

“No, Highness, no,” Grenda said, her eyes wide with worry. “I rushed to warn you, for all my allies have been distracted by meaningless tasks. I had to come myself, but I have made it in time. I beg you, Princess Emma. Do not, whatever you do, trust her.”

“Trust who?” Emma asked calmly.

“Matron Wilder!” a buck called, and the party turned to see a doe about Grenda’s age surrounded by guards and assistants. Having been formally announced, she strode in confidently, surrounded by her entourage like a sovereign. Matron Wilder had grey fur as well, but her face was hard set with cold, sunken eyes. She wore the standard medical uniform but added a long black cape that swished behind her as she crossed the room. She paused across from Emma. After a very subtle flick of her chin, her guards, burly orderlies in uniform, stepped forward and took Grenda by the arms.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked.

“She is not well,” one of the bucks said, dragging Grenda away.

Grenda’s eyes were terrified as she looked at Emma, shaking her head. “I will be fine.”

Jo looked at Emma, silently asking if they should intervene. Emma was clearly conflicted but shook her head slightly. Jo stepped back, alongside Cole and Heyna. They were significantly outnumbered by Matron Wilder’s guard, but Jo was furious. He hated the way they had treated Grenda and was ready to follow Emma’s orders, even if that meant tackling these guards at long odds.

A tense silence ensued. Emma and Matron Wilder stared across at one another, and the guards seemed to be sizing up Emma’s companions.

Finally, at a nod from Emma, Heyna stepped forward. “This is Princess Emma, and she has been asked to visit Lord Ronan.”

“Welcome to my hospital,” the emotionless doe said, her voice ghostly, with raspy catches every sentence. “I am Matron Wilder.”

“Greetings, Matron,” Emma said. “We came to see Lord Ronan. Where is he?”

Matron Wilder stared coldly at Emma with her lifeless eyes. “I sent for you. I called this meeting.”

“I don’t understand,” Emma said.

“You will,” Matron Wilder said, her mouth slowly cracking to reveal an unnatural, ghastly smile. “You will understand all very soon. I speak for this citadel now.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Follow me,” Matron Wilder said, her deliberate motions matching her tone. Cold. Authoritative.

Jo glanced at Emma and saw a hint of worry around her eyes. But Emma inhaled, nodded to her friends, and followed Matron Wilder through an open doorway into an adjoining room. Cole and Heyna were at her side, and Jo trailed them inside. They entered an orderly office, bland and minimal. The off-white walls were lined with shelves that held neatly stacked papers and other supplies. Plain chairs stood in corners. Matron Wilder’s entourage did not enter the small room. The thick door creaked as it was closed behind them.

“Please, sit,” Matron Wilder said, lowering herself onto a chair behind an empty desk.

Emma sat, but Jo and the Blackstars stood.

“Where is Lord Ronan?” Emma asked.

“Ronan is unwell,” Matron Wilder said. “He is under my care.”

“I’d like to see him,” Emma persisted.

“He is only seen by medical personnel, I’m afraid.”

“Are you a nurse?” Emma asked, and Jo recalled the briefings Emma had received from Mrs. Weaver and Lord Blackstar before they parted.

“I have presided over this facility for many years, and I have been—”

Emma interrupted. “Are you a doctor?”

“I advise you to be careful, young doe,” Matron Wilder said, tapping on her desk three times. Jo spun as the wall divided and opened, revealing a hidden door to a room where many strong soldiers waited. A large captain filled the new doorway, saluting the matron. “Forgive me, Captain Devert,” she said, her lifeless gaze intent on Emma. “I signaled you by … mistake.”

The captain receded and half-closed the door. “I am here if you need me, ma’am.”

“Matron Wilder,” Emma said. “I am a doctor. I’ve dedicated my life to the healing arts, and hundreds have been saved under my care. It is absurd for you to deny my seeing him. For all I know, he could be dead, and you could be operating the citadel yourself. Everyone here seems so mad for power that almost nothing would surprise me.”

“You might find yourself surprised soon. You forget yourself with youthful emotions,” Matron Wilder said, her eyebrow arched in a cynical dismissal. “I was learning to operate a hospital when your father was …” She faltered and stopped.

“When my father was …?” Emma asked, rising. “Who was my father? I think you know, but you are afraid to say. What were you about to say? When my father was fighting our enemies and uniting rabbitkind? When he was betrayed by cold, selfish rabbits who only cared about power? When my father was what? What!”

Matron Wilder smiled again, an unnatural grin that seemed designed to frighten. “You speak much for one who understands so little.”

“I insist on seeing Lord Ronan,” Emma said. “I have a feeling he may need my help.”

“You take risks,” the matron said. “You are like him in that way.”

“Like who?”

“The fallen king.”

“King Jupiter the Great, my father?”

“Himself. But Lord Ronan, young heiress, is not like your father. It is strange you should risk so much for a lord who doesn’t acknowledge your right to the throne.”

“The throne and my rights can wait,” Emma said. “We all must fight for the Mending. We must unite against our common enemy. That’s why I’m here. Now take me to Lord Ronan!”

Captain Devert rushed into the room, and Jo sprang forward, placing himself between the captain and Emma. But the soldier crossed to Matron Wilder and whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened a slight fraction, and Jo thought this indicated significant surprise.

“Prepare my escort,” Matron Wilder said. Captain Devert bowed, then hurried from the room. “It seems you shall get your wish, Emma. Lord Ronan is recovering in his rooms. He has called for the council to meet now. You are invited.”

Emma nodded. “Do we follow you?”

But Matron Wilder was up and crossing through the secret door. She turned in the doorway and said, “I hope I shall see you there,” then disappeared, and the door slammed shut. The wall seemed to reform, and the doorway through which she had passed completely disappeared.

The sparse room was silent until Heyna spoke. “What has happened here? This citadel is poisoned with private rivals.”

“Your Highness,” Cole said, a deep frown on his face, “we have to get you out of here.”

“I think we should just use the door we came in through,” Emma replied.

“No,” Cole said, “I mean we have to get you out of this citadel. Something’s terribly wrong here. Many things are terribly wrong here.”

“I’m going to that meeting,” Emma said. “I have to speak to Lord Ronan, and I have to try to bring Blackstone Citadel into this fight. They have soldiers, Cole. Lots of them. You know how badly we need more forces. You know what we’re going to try to do together. First Warren, Cole. We have to attack and retake First Warren. We can’t let Helmer and Picket down. We can’t let the cause down. We have to try.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Cole said, sighing. “Okay, Emma. But if the council doesn’t work, we have to get you out of here. You’re too valuable to the cause to squander your life here.”

“Uh oh.” Heyna jiggled the latch of the door they had come in through. “We’re locked in.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jo hurried to the door and pulled hard on the latch. As Heyna said, it was locked. He knocked loudly, calling out, “Hello? Anyone? Open this door!”

A moment passed, and no one answered their call. “It’s no use,” Emma said. Cole tried to get at the secret door on the other side of the room but had no luck either. “It’s some game they’re playing,” Emma went on. “How do we know what move to make if we don’t even know the rules? We can either wait for someone to find us—”

“If anyone even knows we’re in here,” Heyna said.

“Or,” Emma continued, “we can try to break out.”

Jo examined the latch’s hinge, then sank down to scan the thin slit beneath the door. He smelled something burning, then saw thin tendrils of smoke reaching beneath the door. “I recommend trying to break out,” he said, pointing.

“So, it’s a deadlier game than I had supposed.” Emma sniffed as she motioned to Cole. “Break it down.”

Jo, Cole, and Heyna nodded at once and stood a few feet from the door. At Cole’s signal, they rushed the door, heaving shoulders into the thick wood. The three rabbits fell back, rubbing bruised shoulders and muttering as flames licked along the bottom of the door and smoke curled into the room in thick, twisted clouds.

Jo choked, shielding his eyes against the smoke and fire as a chorus of coughs started among the four desperate friends. He gazed at the latch once again. Its sturdy old apparatus was mostly made of wood with a metal grip. Jo tried not to inhale too much smoke as it filled the room. He tried to gauge the time it would take for the door to become weakened enough by the fire that they could break through, versus the deadly danger of the smoke now poisoning their lungs.

“There’s no time!” Emma cried. Jo spun to see that Heyna and Cole, partly veiled in deadly mist, were tearing at the hidden doorway once again. He couldn’t see well, but it didn’t look promising. Emma tried the latch again and screamed as she pulled her burned hand away.

Smoke billowed in, thick clouds choking out even Emma’s painful cry. Jo reached for Emma, tripping toward the princess in the rising heat. He grabbed her shoulders, enfolding her in a protective embrace. “I’ve got you!” he cried. Then he realized that holding her would not save her. I have to try. Spinning back, he drew his sword and struck out at the door handle. It only sparked, but he hacked and hacked again, tearing into the wooden apparatus till it began to give way.

Then, eyes streaming and breathing in shallow gagging gasps, he lurched for the door and laid into it with all his might. The door broke open, and Jo crashed through, colliding with an ignited bookshelf that had been shoved in front of it. Emma followed him through, and a moment later the Blackstar twins emerged through the smoke. All four rabbits collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.

Jo saw through irritated red eyes that the hospital wasn’t burning. Only the big bookshelf and the door had been lit, and the fire was rippling away at the papers, desk, and chairs in the little room but appeared not to be spreading.

“I didn’t like that Matron Wilder,” Heyna wheezed, “but I didn’t peg her for a murderer.”

“Nor I,” Cole said. “But someone wanted you out of the way, Emma.”

“Wanted all of us out of the way,” she replied.

“At least they wanted to keep you away from that meeting,” Jo said, slowly getting to his feet and helping Emma up.

“Then that’s where I have to go,” she said. “To the council.”

“Do you want to get cleaned up first?” Heyna asked as her brother pulled her up.

“No,” Emma said. “I will bring my soot and smoke with me.”

After wandering through corridors and getting lost a few times, since no one they met was willing to help, they finally found their way back to the mess hall. Though Chef Slimmo wasn’t there, his assistants got water for them to drink. Emma applied ointment from her medical bag and wrapped her wounded hand. She said she thought the burn would heal quickly.

After a very brief time at the mess hall, one of the kitchen helpers guided the weary band to the Lord’s Quadrant gate. The great iron bars blocked the way into that section of the warren, and a large band of wary guards stood arrayed on each side of the barrier.

“Your Highness,” Captain Cheltham said, walking up. “What has happened? You smell like smoke.”

Jo noticed that all of Cheltham’s band were on the outside of the bars, while the guards inside all wore the Blackstone emblem on their chest. The b shaped into a key.

“Where is the council chamber, Captain Cheltham?” Emma asked.

“Through that gate,” he replied, “but they won’t let anyone in without the express permission of Ronan or Truff.”

One of the soldiers on the inside stepped forward and opened the gate. “If you please,” the soldier said, “Lord Ronan is expecting you.”

“Captain,” Emma said, nodding to a shocked Cheltham as she passed through the gate. Jo and the Blackstars followed.

“Right this way.” The soldier led the band through a short passage till he saluted and pointed to a pair of huge oak doors, reminiscent of the one they’d been trapped behind in the hospital.

Emma inhaled deeply, nodded to her friends, then threw open the doors. She strode in with her band of three behind her, singed and reeking, drawing gasps from the gathered councilors. Jo took in the room at a glance. A quickly stifled expression of shock on Matron Wilder’s face contrasted against the real surprise and anger in Lokson’s. At the head of the table, beside a scornful Captain Truff, sat a worn brown buck of middle age wearing a lord’s medallion.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Lord Ronan said. “I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you.”

CHAPTER NINE

Is it your custom, Lord Ronan,” Emma asked, “to leave your guests to be mistreated and murdered?”

“I have only just learned you were here,” Lord Ronan replied, crossing to Emma. He stopped, made a short bow, glancing over at the councilors when he did, then smiled grimly at Emma. “Murdered? What can you mean?”

Emma peered at Matron Wilder, darted a glance at Captain Truff, then swiveled her attention back to Ronan. “Are you in command of this citadel or not? Because I came to coordinate large-scale battle plans against Morbin and his Preylord tyrants. I did not travel here to be a bystander as a once-noble citadel descends into civil war. That is not the war I am here for.”

“You are,” Lord Ronan said, passing his hand over his face, “entitled to an explanation. Will you join our council and hear our troubles?”

“Please,” Lokson said, rising and offering a chair beside him, “you can sit here.”

Emma nodded coldly and crossed to sit at the oval table.

“You three must leave,” Lead Captain Truff growled at Jo, Cole, and Heyna.

“They stay with me,” Emma said.

Captain Truff began a grumbling objection, but Lord Ronan cut him off. “They may stay.”

“You stink of smoke,” Matron Wilder said, not even looking at Emma.

“You ought to be able to easily identify it,” Emma replied.

Jo was impressed by how calm she remained.

“What happened, Princess Emma?” Lokson asked, emphasizing her title. “When I left you, all was well.”

“So you knew she was here?” Lord Ronan asked, glaring at Lokson. “Of course you did.”

“They all knew I was here,” Emma said. “Him, first of all,” she went on, pointing at Lead Captain Truff, the angry buck whose welcome when they first arrived had been so abominably rude.

Lord Ronan darted an angry look at Truff, who grumbled and looked down.

“I didn’t want to bother you, my lord,” Truff said. “I should have done better. But we had …” he dropped his voice, “other things that concerned us.”

“Please forgive me,” Lord Ronan said. “I accept full responsibility for your grotesque treatment, and I beg your pardon. We did not expect you till later, and I had hoped to have some other matters in order before you came.”

“And we would have, were it not for her,” Captain Truff said, a menacing glare aimed at Matron Wilder.

“Ronan,” Matron Wilder replied with no emotion, “you might want to leash your beast.”

Captain Truff rose, shaking his fist as he spat out, “You villainous creep—”

“That’s enough, Captain!” Lord Ronan snapped. “All of you, please, let’s observe the council’s historic decorum.”

Lokson smiled smugly. “I am perfectly calm.”

“Of course you are,” Truff growled. “You’re the one causing every—”

“I said enough!” Ronan barked. The room fell silent, and Ronan lowered himself back into his chair, the chain of his lord’s medallion awry, catching on his collar in an awkward twist.

In the calm, Jo examined the room. At the old oval table sat the four councilors: Lord Ronan, a dark brown buck; Lead Captain Truff, large and white-furred; Matron Wilder, all hard angles and grey fur; and finally vibrant young Lokson, his fur pale red. Behind Lord Ronan, a young doe about Emma’s age sat quietly with an open book and a pen at the ready. She had been hidden at first from Jo’s view by Lord Ronan and Captain Truff. Jo swallowed hard. She was beautiful. He struggled to return his attention to the drama in the room.

After a few moments, Emma cleared her throat. “Will someone tell me what is happening here?”

“Aye,” Ronan said, a sigh escaping as he turned his tired eyes to Emma. “I will tell you how things lie.” He rose, pacing past the lovely young doe as he gathered his thoughts. “Amber, please correct me if I misspeak,” Lord Ronan said, indicating the young scribe. “Amber is serving on my staff. Her father is Lord Hewson of Harbone, an old friend. Three of my own children serve in that citadel, though the oldest was …” he paused again, and Amber’s head dipped respectfully. Lord Ronan crossed to the far side of the room, his back to the council.

“He was a good lad,” Captain Truff said, “and a fine officer.”

Lord Ronan nodded, wiped at his eyes, then spoke again, his back still turned. “Those are other troubles, but we have enough here now. We three are the keymasters of Blackstone. Myself, Matron Wilder, and Lokson. We each keep a key.” As he said this, Matron Wilder and Lokson each produced a key on a chain from around their necks. The keys were large and complicated. Captain Truff removed a third from beneath his shirt. “Lead Captain Truff often has mine, as is my right to appoint, but Matron Wilder and Lord Lokken’s son may not share theirs with anyone. The keys fit a few different gates and are of great practical importance. But they are also symbols. They symbolize trust,” he said, pausing to swallow as he darted a glance at the table, “and bearing them means you sit on the Lord’s Council.”

“Your council is only three?” Emma asked.

“It has always been thus,” Lokson said, “even before my grandfather’s time.”

“But you’ve only just come back,” Emma said to Lokson. “How have you—” she stopped. “I’m sorry. Go on, Lord Ronan.”

“It’s a good question,” Matron Wilder said, expressionless.

“The third keymaster, Stovall Ganes,” Captain Truff said, “died unexpectedly soon after Lokson and his private army of assassins arrived.”

“I warned you, Truff,” Lokson said, rising with his hand on his sword hilt, “that if you slandered me once more, I would make you pay.”

“Like you made Master Stovall pay?” Matron Wilder asked coldly.

“This is outrageous!” Lokson shouted.

“Silence!” Lord Ronan cried, pounding the table. “I call for silence in the council chamber!”

The councilors sat slowly, scowling at one another. All except Matron Wilder, whose expression remained aloof.

“Go on,” Emma said. “Forgive my interruption.”

“Lokson inherited the title due to some, well, some stipulations in our code. No matter what some might fear, he is a duly ordained keymaster and councilor of Blackstone Citadel. And after he joined us, we three were meeting for the first time after Keymaster Ganes’ death,” Ronan said, “when the first dreadful letter came.”

“Letter?” Emma asked.

“Yes,” Lord Ronan said, and Jo could see fear in his eyes. What letter could cause a military commander of Lord Ronan’s stature to be so afraid? Lord Ronan went on. “Amber, read the first letter.”

“Aye, Lord Ronan,” Amber Hewson said, reaching into her satchel to retrieve a piece of paper. “It says, ‘Ronan the Interloper, resign and fly into exile. Take not one soul with you. Fly, or everyone you love will die.’ It is signed ‘Bane Graveheart.’” Amber folded the paper slowly, then replaced it in her satchel.

“Bane Graveheart? That is a dreadful letter,” Emma said carefully, “and I can see why it might disturb you, but I’m sure you’re used to threats. Why has this one caused so much concern?”

“Because of the keys, you see,” Lord Ronan said. “The keys we carry lead to three gates, and no one else has access when they are locked. The main gate is the first, which must have been open when you so cleverly entered our citadel,” he said, glancing at Captain Truff, who lowered his gaze. “Another is the water gate, our only access to water for the warren now that we cannot go to Black Lake. The third is the Lord’s Quadrant gate, which you are very near right now. If anything happened here, we are safely behind the bars of the Lord’s Quadrant. This is where I sleep and keep my family.”

“So where was the letter found?” Emma asked.

“It was pinned to my wife’s pillow in the night—while she slept.”

CHAPTER TEN

Jo saw the pain on Lord Ronan’s face as he described the note pinned to his wife’s pillow. On top of all his other responsibilities and in a time of rising tension and war, he had been targeted from within his own citadel. His own family now faced serious danger from within. His haggard look and failure to appear upon Emma’s arrival began to make a little more sense.

Blackstone Citadel was divided by powerful factions centered in the three keymasters. Matron Wilder appeared to command a large following, and Lokson had clear ambitions and a history here. Jo also saw that this council and the community it led were in no way united about whether or not to support Emma’s right to the throne and seemed to lean against it because of deep distrust of the Longtreader family. In this unstable environment, the letter had appeared, tipping Lord Ronan toward the breaking point.

These things didn’t exactly make their treatment, especially the shocking hospital trap, reasonable. But it did explain why tensions were so high and why Emma’s party was an unwelcome ingredient in this volatile mixture of schemers and graspers.

“There have been more letters?” Emma asked.

Lord Ronan nodded. “Each one more threatening. And each demonstrating a capacity to follow through on the consequences it threatens.”

“How have you responded?”

“We have all used our power,” Matron Wilder said, blinking once, “to aid the investigation. We have combed our networks to find the perpetrator.”

“Of course,” Lokson added, clearing his throat. “Though I am newly arrived back home, my connection to this place is deep and ancient, and I have brought all my influence to bear on this urgent and unfortunate trouble. Unlike Lord Ronan, I am from here. Lord Ronan’s wife—Lady Elisabeth—is a native to this place. She grew up in this region and knows how distrustful of outsiders our community can be.”

“Lord Ronan is a hero of our community and kind!” Captain Truff shouted, bolting up. “He saved us when your father … struggled … and the community begged Ronan to accept the mantle of lord. He was happy being the lead captain and only agreed reluctantly to lead us!”

“If you accuse my father one more time—” Lokson began, simmering.

“I don’t accuse him of anything!” Truff shot back. “I was there. I was not a child, as you were. I remember. I was an officer in the guard. I fought alongside your father and Captain Ronan. I loved them both. No one loved Ronan better than Lord Lokken.”

Lokson stood. “Would he love seeing the lord of the place he helped build lie abed during our most desperate days?”

Lord Ronan twitched, wincing as he gazed at the other two keymasters. “I was … indisposed for a short time,” he said, scratching his cheeks and rubbing at his eyes, “and so empowered Lead Captain Truff to carry out some of my responsibilities.”

“Because of your incapacity,” Matron Wilder said, “I was naturally the one to take responsibility for this citadel’s operations.”

“I have the support of the majority,” Lokson shot in, looking from the council to Emma, “and they all know it.”

“We know your paid assassins are active in our warren,” Matron Wilder replied. “Captain Cheltham would stand to gain much from your elevation, for instance. And in order for you to rise and restore your family’s former glory …” She left the comment hanging but turned her attention to Lord Ronan, who rubbed at his neck vigorously. Jo saw a balding patch where this nervous gesture was ruining the lord’s fur.

“As you can see,” Lord Ronan said, his tired, agitated eyes turned to Emma, “we are not what we hoped to be.”

A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of a servant with a cart of tea and cakes. Jo stepped aside as the servant set a tray on the table and poured tea for each of them. “Thank you,” Emma said.

“This is Jervie,” Lord Ronan said, motioning to the servant, “my personal chef. My family and I eat nothing but what he prepares for us.”

“Honored,” Jervie said, smiling. “Is there anything else I can get any of you? No? Then please excuse me.” With a bow, he left.

Jo winced as Emma sipped her tea, fearing the worst. He glanced over and saw that Heyna was worried too. Lord Ronan drank deep of his tea, sighing as he finished. “What I wouldn’t give for some blackroot tea.”

“This Bane Graveheart is playing us like a lute,” Captain Truff said. “Those letters. He says jump, and we jump. He has us by the hide.”

“Every threat is valid,” Matron Wilder said. “He—as you are so certain he is male—is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He is clever. His tactics denote reason and his tone a cry of injustice or treachery.”

“He accuses Lord Ronan of something?” Emma asked.

“Each letter calls on him to resign and fly,” Lokson said, “to leave alone and to never return.”

“I am so sorry for what has been happening here,” Emma said, and Jo saw she was sincere. “I came here to ask for your help, but it is you who need help. What may I do to ease this burden?”

Ronan laughed, shaking his head. “Find the Bane. Bane Graveheart. Who is he? That’s all we need. I’m sure you and your young cadre of courtlings can solve this mystery.” He laughed again, then grew suddenly serious. “Find the Bane and end our pain.”

“One problem we have,” Lokson said, ignoring Lord Ronan, “is morale. It’s terribly low at the moment, and you can see why. We need some event to rally our community. If we don’t have the will to want things to be better, they never will get better.”

“Should we have a party?” Truff scoffed. “Eat cake and dance?”

“No,” Lokson said, “more of an amusement. I have it!” he cried, pointing to Jo. “An archery contest. Yes, yes! We have some of the finest archers in all Natalia here. It would be most diverting for our anxious populace.”

“Another opportunity for you to gain glory and support,” Truff barked.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Matron Wilder said. “I understand that Cloud Mountain had some ceremonies aimed at uniting and boosting resolve. Is that not so?”

“It is,” Emma said, and Jo was impressed with the older doe’s ability to gather intelligence. Perhaps they aren’t so cut off here as they would have us believe. Emma went on. “My adoptive father, Lord Rake, was a good leader. He did have events, community gatherings, where he invited other leaders to speak and invite us to unite. One of them was a wise, mature doe named Mrs. Weaver.”

“I have heard of a Maggie O’Sage,” Matron Wilder said. “But never a Mrs. Weaver.”

“They are the same,” Emma replied.

“Rake is a good buck,” Lord Ronan said. “One of the best we have.”

Matron Wilder’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Jo watched her closely. She knows. She knows much more than she lets on.

“I’m sorry to say that Lord Rake is dead,” Emma said. “Lost in the fight for the cause. He died to protect me from treachery—treachery of rabbits.”

“I am so sorry, Emma.” Lord Ronan wiped at his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said, examining his shaking hands, “I am not fit for this office.”

Lokson leaned forward. Matron Wilder squinted as she stared at Ronan. Lead Captain Truff looked back and forth nervously.

Another urgent knock, and the door swung wide. A beautiful grey-furred doe, about the same age as Ronan, ran into the room.

“Eliza, my love.” Ronan shot out of his seat. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright, dear,” she said, “but …” She held out a letter.

Ronan’s face contorted, and his eyes grew wide. “No,” he moaned. “Not another.”

“Where was it found, Lady Elisabeth?” Captain Truff called, rushing to Ronan’s side.

“In our children’s room,” she said, hand to her neck as her eyes welled.

“What does it say?” Matron Wilder asked, her tone precise.

“Read it.” Lord Ronan passed the letter to Lokson.

Lokson snatched the letter and read it aloud. “Ronan, I left a note for you beyond the water gate. Make haste, Lacklord. Or it all comes down. Yours, Bane Graveheart.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ronan tottered, reaching for a seat. He eased down, collapsing into the chair as the room erupted in activity.

“Captain Cheltham!” Lokson rushed for the door.

Captain Truff paused only a moment, then, after a nod from Lady Elisabeth, hurried from the room, shouting for soldiers.

Heyna was beside Emma in a moment, and Cole had his sword out. Jo locked eyes with Emma, and understanding was immediate between them. She nodded. Jo darted from the room while Lord Ronan’s wife consoled him.

Jo rushed to the Lord’s Quadrant gate just as a burly guard was swinging the massive barrier closed. “Hold, there!” he shouted.

“We were ordered to close this to protect the lord and his family,” the guard called back.

“If I’m dangerous,” Jo replied, “then aren’t I better off outside the gate than locked inside with Lord Ronan?”

“Good point,” the guard said, and he held it open a moment longer so Jo could slip through.

Jo paused, listening for the sound of footfalls ahead. Hearing a clamor, he darted in that direction. He rounded a bend and ran down a short corridor before breaking into a long hall, where he saw, at the far end, soldiers running with Captain Truff at their head. Increasing his speed, Jo caught up to them as they crashed through the busy mess hall. Diners rose, and an anxious rumble of chatter swelled as Jo followed Captain Truff.

On and on Jo ran alongside Captain Truff, who was surprisingly agile for his age and size. They were out ahead of Truff’s soldiers now. The older buck was sweating but appeared determined to arrive in time to thwart whatever danger Bane Graveheart threatened.

As he sped on, dodging past anxious rabbits frozen with fear at the onrushing soldiers, Jo considered again the puzzle of Blackstone. How could anyone reason out the mystery, unravel the veil, to reveal the trouble at the heart of this sick citadel? He tried to set aside his feelings and reason the big picture out. Who stands to gain the most from Lord Ronan’s demise? Who is capable of inflicting this kind of pain—impacting everyone at Blackstone and hampering the cause of the Mending—to advance their own power? Three faces emerged in his mind’s eye, and each seemed capable of the crimes. Each had good reason. One was running beside him.

Captain Truff shot through an open double door, and Jo darted in after him, a swarm of soldiers following not far behind. He could hear water below, and the temperature dropped as they descended. It was darker here, but a torch-lit path of sturdy brick bent down in a swirling loop of stairs that led deep below the warren. It took a few minutes, but they reached the bottom, where a long rounded tunnel stretched ahead. The tunnel bore a steady stream of water, almost a river, along its bottom. There was a wide path on either side.

“This is your only water source for the whole citadel?” Jo asked as Captain Truff leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

“It’s that,” he replied. “If someone’s poisoned this, we’re all dead.”

“Then let’s hurry,” Jo said, just as Truff’s soldiers reached them. They ran on, hearing loud voices ahead up the tunnel path. Jo couldn’t make out any of the voices, except for one.

Lokson.

The last lord’s son was shouting, and Jo ran hard beside the gasping captain to catch up. They drew near and saw a standoff between the Blackstone guards and Lokson’s force. The guards spread out before a great gate, iron like the Lord’s Quadrant, drawing bows. Lokson’s force, including Captain Cheltham, drew their bows as well. Jo knew how this would end … if no one intervened.

“Lower your bows!” Lead Captain Truff cried, dashing into the small space between the sides.

“Captain Truff,” Lokson spat, “you have no right to bar me—”

“I’m talking to them,” Truff replied, pointing to his own guards. He turned to his bucks. “You must never oppose a keymaster’s right of access.” His soldiers lowered their bows. At a nod from Lokson, his own force did the same. “Lokson,” Truff said, spinning back to the young noble, “will you please open the gate?”

“Aye, Captain,” Lokson said, hurrying ahead with a wary expression. He fished in his shirt and drew out the key on its long chain. He unlocked the gate and shoved it open.

“Lokson,” Truff said, stepping through. “You bring one buck and I’ll bring Shanks, here. Let’s leave the rest here for backup. We may need cool heads up there.” He gestured vaguely up the tunnel.

“Agreed,” Lokson said, then spun and pointed to Cheltham, who hurried in after him.

“Stay here and only follow at our call,” Truff said, accepting a torch from one of his soldiers. The guard captain saluted.

Jo and Cheltham followed behind Truff and Lokson as they advanced into the tunnel, dark but for the light of Truff’s torch.

“What do you expect to find?” Lokson whispered.

“You’re convinced I don’t know?” Truff asked. “I assumed you would think I did it.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Lokson replied. “But I’d trust you before Matron Wilder, I know that.”

“Not saying much,” Truff said. “I am afraid of poison, which would be our doom. We need this water.”

“What’s that?” Cheltham asked, pointing ahead. The archer’s keen eyes had spotted a flickering light, faint and far ahead.

“It’s by the dam,” Truff said. “A note?”

“Something’s not right.” Lokson peered ahead. Jo could dimly see a series of levees in the water, all backing up against a large stone dam that, with the aid of intricate levers, regulated the flow of water into their stream. It let in the water they needed to support life in this warren, but the dam kept the entire force of Black Lake from flooding the citadel.

“Oh no.” Jo pointed to the base of the dam.

A blastpowder keg was lit. Its flickering fuse had nearly reached the end.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jo tensed, flinching against the imminent explosion. Captain Truff lurched ahead but realized it was too far to reach in time. Recovering from his alarm, Jo gauged the distance, then quickly drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it, releasing the shaft in one fluid motion. It sailed just over the fiery fuse, the swishing shaft dimming the flame. But the fire roared back and again burned bright against the lip of the blastpowder keg.

Cheltham coolly drew an arrow, dipped its tip in the stream, and fired. The speeding shaft hit the thin line of fire poised to blow the dam to bits, quenching it. Truff fell to his knees, and they all sighed in relief. Jo bowed to Cheltham as Truff rose again, hand over his heart.

“Fur and forefathers, that was close,” Truff said, gasping. The four bucks hurried ahead. Reaching the barrel, Captain Truff made certain the flame was fully extinguished and pulled the last bit of wick out.

There was a letter pinned to the keg’s rim.

“Leave, Ronan. Go away, alone. Never return. Death will follow if you refuse.”

“I must take this note to the lord,” Captain Truff said.

“I’m not sure he can take another blow like this,” Lokson said. “He’s been on the edge. This may tip him over.”

“Either way,” Captain Cheltham added, “there’s only one winner.”

Captain Truff spun on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I’m not accusing you,” Cheltham replied. “I’m only stating the obvious. There’s one person who keeps winning.”

“Matron Wilder?” Lokson asked.

“No,” Jo said, “Bane Graveheart.”

“Exactly,” Cheltham said.

“But who is he?” Lokson kicked a stone into the stream.

“We may never know,” Truff said. “Of course, the best explanation is that it’s one of us.”

“Too true,” Lokson said. “Only a keymaster could reach the dam from in here. And that means it’s either myself, Lord Ronan, Matron Wilder—”

“Or me,” Captain Truff finished, shaking his head. “I have had Lord Ronan’s key many times recently.”

“Should we return and report?” Jo asked. “I want to update Her Royal Highness.”

The others nodded.

Passing through the water gate, the four were met with looks of concern from the gathered soldiers. Lokson locked the gate again after guards had retrieved the blastpowder keg. They headed back down the tunnel, no one speaking.

When the somber party reached the mess hall, a crowd gathered around Lokson, and a smaller group surrounded Lead Captain Truff. “What’s happened?” several demanded, crowding around. Captain Truff shoved some aside, barking orders for his soldiers to clear a lane. Lokson stopped, raised his hands to quiet the pressing crowd, and spoke in a reassuring tone.

“Thank you for your concern. We are processing the information coming in and will speak more on what is happening soon. I am doing everything I can to protect this citadel. This is my home. My heart. My family.”

“Was it Bane Graveheart?” a tall doe asked, voice shaking. “Will he kill us all?”

“I’ll share more soon,” Lokson said. “Be brave and stick together. Look out for one another. We need to stand strong as a community.”

“We believe in you, Lord Lokson,” one buck said. “We need your leadership now more than ever.”

“Thank you,” Lord Lokson said, moving ahead to catch up to Captain Truff. “Please, I have work to do—work to protect you and everyone here.”

“Lord Lokson for us!” someone shouted, and others took up the cry. “He’s one of us!” another called out. “Restore order! Restore the house of Lokken!” These continued till a large crowd had gathered, all calling out to Lokson as he waded through the throng, waving and nodding thanks to them.

Jo noticed that one of the shouts came from a black-clad archer he had seen earlier. He frowned, then hurried to catch up. He glanced back at the kitchen, thinking he might need another cup of blackroot tea. It didn’t seem like sleep would be an option anytime soon.

Lokson opened the Lord’s Quadrant gate, and Jo, Captain Cheltham, and a scowling Lead Captain Truff entered with him. Truff bustled ahead, charging into the council room where Emma, Heyna, and Cole stood talking. Amber Hewson stood quietly in the far corner, reviewing notes. Matron Wilder was still sitting in her chair at the council table.

“Where is he?” Truff snapped.

“Lady Elisabeth has taken Lord Ronan to his room,” Heyna answered. “He is unwell.”

Truff closed his eyes, squeezing them tight before spinning on Lokson. “You did this!”

“You lie!” Lokson shot back.

Jo saw Matron Wilder’s mouth curl slightly as the two bucks raged.

“Don’t deny it,” Truff said, pacing angrily. “I saw how you maneuvered that crowd and posed as the great uniting leader we need.”

“I was only being what I am,” Lokson replied. “We need calm, assured leadership, Lead Captain.”

“We don’t need you capitalizing on Lord Ronan’s suffering!’ Truff shouted, and the two edged closer together.

“Gentlebucks!” Emma cried, striding in between them. “Please, sirs. Control yourselves. Jo, what happened?”

Jo bowed to Emma, then related their chase and the blastpowder keg. He told, with an inward difficulty he was privately ashamed of, how Cheltham’s amazing shot had saved them all. Then he nodded as Captain Truff produced the note they had found. He read it aloud.

“‘Leave, Ronan. Go away, alone. Never return. Death will follow if you refuse.’ It’s signed, ‘Bane Graveheart.’”

“It’s a keymaster,” Emma said, eyes flitting between Matron Wilder, who sat passively, and Lokson, whose face still wore rage from his tussle with Truff.

“It could be me, as well,” Truff said. “I have had the key many times.”

“The water gate is aimed to protect us,” Matron Wilder said. “Why would any of us blow ourselves up?”

“I’m not sure,” Emma replied, looking puzzled.

“Spite. Fury,” Cole began. “Desperation. There are lots of reasons.”

“Those aren’t reasons,” Matron Wilder said. “Those are emotions.”

“They are causes,” Heyna snapped back. “Just because one doesn’t show much emotion doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them. Just as it’s possible to keep up some forms of politeness while actually attempting to trap perceived enemies in a burning room.”

“Can’t you see?” Matron Wilder asked, her calm face hinting at a smirk.

“See what?” Emma asked.

“It was Bane Graveheart who trapped you in that room. Not me. Why would I murder you in my hospital? The one place it would be easiest to point to me? It makes no sense.”

“It makes sense,” Jo said, “if you are Bane Graveheart, and you’re full of a desperate rage.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “This kind of accusation is precisely what he wants.”

“Is it? Is that really what he wants?” Heyna asked. “Okay, it doesn’t hurt his cause, but what is his actual stated cause? What does he want? He wants Lord Ronan to go.”

Jo nodded, taking up the thread. “Graveheart wants Ronan to go. He doesn’t want him dead, just gone. So, what does that tell us about him?”

“That he’s weak,” Matron Wilder said coldly. Jo shivered.

“Or that this is distasteful to him in some way,” Lokson said. “That he’s not a killer.”

“Then why did he very nearly blow up the dam and flood the entire citadel, killing almost everyone?”

“Almost everyone?” Emma asked.

“There are,” Captain Truff said, “places of escape outside the main gate for those who know them. For instance, there is one above Lord Ronan’s quarters. A secret tunnel.”

“And others,” Lokson said, glancing over at Matron Wilder, who nodded ever so slightly.

“But I don’t think Graveheart really intended for the blastpowder keg to blow,” Emma said. “I think it was another demonstration of his power.”

“It very nearly blew,” Cheltham said. “We barely arrived in time!”

“Yes,” Heyna said, nodding at Emma, “but the princess knows something you don’t. Before Lady Elisabeth left, she said that ordinarily they would have discovered the note much sooner, but their routine changed because of Emma’s arrival. So, it was almost too late by the time it arrived.”

“If that’s true,” Jo said, “and it really is one of you keymasters, then you kept pretty calm as the time drew nearer without the note having been found.”

“Or we made sure the note was found in time,” Matron Wilder said. “You’ll soon discover that I suggested Lady Elisabeth check her children’s room this morning.”

“You what?” Captain Truff asked.

“You’ll find out eventually,” Wilder replied, “so I might as well tell you. I asked her to check on her children. I was afraid they were going to be neglected, and I am particularly fond of … of the, uh, young—the youngest … Elaine.”

“Her name,” Lokson said, shaking his head and reaching for his sword, “is Jane.”

All eyes turned toward Matron Wilder, and Jo noticed her mouth curl ever so slightly once again. “You can’t truly believe that I am Bane Graveheart.”

“Matron Wilder,” Captain Truff said, stepping toward the doe, “I arrest you in the name of Lord Ronan on suspicion of treason and many other grave crimes.”

“You have no right!” Matron Wilder spat in her ghostly tone, her teeth bared in a sudden flash of emotion. “I have rights as a keymaster—rights you are at present subverting.”

“It requires a two-thirds vote to convict you,” Captain Truff said, hand gripping Matron Wilder’s arm. He glanced over at Lokson, and the entire room watched. Lokson nodded, and Truff pulled Wilder along. “I arrest you and await confirmation of your conviction. Lord Ronan may choose to have a trial. Meanwhile, you go to a cold cell to wait.”

“My party will rise,” Matron Wilder hissed as she was dragged from the room. “You will regret this!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jo watched as Matron Wilder, her cold composure finally broken by hot rage, was led away.

“I don’t think we would have caught her,” Lokson said, bowing to Emma, “were it not for you, Princess.”

“I’m exhausted,” Emma said, blinking away sleep.

“And hungry,” Cole added.

“Of course,” Amber Hewson said. “Have you still had nothing?”

“Nothing but Jervie’s cakes and tea,” Emma said, smiling.

“You must be starved. Let’s get you to the mess hall, Your Highness,” Amber said. “Slimmo’s breakfasts are legendary, and they serve for a long time.”

“Will you join us, Lokson?” Emma asked.

Lokson exchanged a look with Cheltham. “We breakfasted earlier, and we have … other matters to attend to. So we will bid you good morning, Your Highness. I hope I will see you tonight at dinner. I would be honored if you would be my guest in my estate chambers. Slimmo is always good to accommodate my private dinners. Please, will you and your friends join me?”

Emma glanced at Heyna, who frowned and looked away. Trying not to laugh, Emma smiled. “We would be delighted. Thank you.”

“Until then, Your Highness,” Lokson said as he and Cheltham bowed. They left at a crisp pace.

“May I show Your Highness the way?” Amber asked.

“I don’t know the way,” Jo said, awkwardly hurrying to Amber’s side. “I mean, I just came from there, sure. True. True. But the route is a little bit … beautiful … I mean, lovely … I mean hazy, in my memory.”

“Thank you, Amber,” Emma said, stepping ahead with Miss Hewson. Jo winced as the two does walked ahead. Cole patted Jo on the back as he and Heyna passed him by, shaking their heads. Jo followed, replaying his words in his mind and wondering if it would be cowardice to just run away and hide for a while, maybe take some of Slimmo’s lalla oil and sleep so long everyone would forget. But he sighed and followed on as Emma and Amber spoke.

“Please tell me,” Emma asked, “have you heard from your parents? I hope they are well.”

“Father is well,” Amber answered, “and Mother is … well, the truth is that Mother is declining.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma said. “It is a serious case, and I regretted being powerless to help.”

“You did help,” Amber replied. “When you came to Harbone, hope came in your wake. You saved so many, and you lifted such a burden from Father, and Mother, when you did. We are—I am—forever grateful. I would do anything to help your cause.”

“Thank you, dear Amber,” Emma said, linking arms with the young doe as they walked. “Our fathers fought side by side, and so shall we, in our own way.”

“To the end of the world, Princess Bright,” Amber replied.

* * *

Jo walked around the large mess hall while Emma, Cole, and Amber ate breakfast. Heyna sat at the table, keeping them company. Jo, keen to stay alert, wandered through the tables, listening as he passed to the excited chatter of the inhabitants of this odd warren. The news of Matron Wilder’s arrest had spread quickly. Most whispered of relief, of hope that the threats posed by “Bane Graveheart” would end and life could resume. Still, tables seemed separated into factions, with a large number of them speaking openly of raising Lokson to the lordship, restoring Lord Lokken’s line to rule. Some grumbled that those in power would pay for what had happened to Matron Wilder, though Jo heard fewer of these.

Grenda, the grey doe who had come to warn them twice now, entered the hall. Jo walked over to her. “Aunt Grenda,” he said, using the familiar title respectfully, “how are you? We were very concerned about you.”

“Thank you, young buck. Lieutenant Shanks, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Please call me Jo, ma’am.”

“Alright, Jo,” she said, patting his hand. “I thank you for asking. I am well. No harm done! There is a big job ahead of us at the hospital, but I have dreamed for years of a day when we would be free of Breelia Wilder’s harsh hand. I have my many schemes to see out.”

“You have heard, then?”

“I learned at once, yes.” Grenda said. “Everyone knows. Breelia’s followers are, even now, rallying in secret.”

“What will they do?” Jo asked.

“I’m not sure, but they certainly won’t simply accept this and comply.” Grenda smiled up at Jo once again. He noted how, though she wore the same uniform and had the same color fur as Matron Wilder, he had rarely seen two does of roughly the same age look so different. Where Matron Wilder was cold and grave, Grenda was warm and lively. She went on. “I’m afraid I must be going, Jo. I have to meet an old friend to deliberate in secret.”

Jo bowed. “May your deliberations be fruitful,” he said. “And if I may ever be of assistance—that is, consistent with my duty to the princess, of course—I will be honored to help.”

“Thank you, Jo,” she said, patting his hand again. “I’m grateful for your goodness. It will, I am afraid, take many rabbits of good will to help heal our deep divisions and forge a path ahead. We are so badly splintered now.”

“It will not be so,” Jo said, “in the Mended Wood.”

“In the Mended Wood,” she repeated, then walked off.

Jo resumed his walk. Eventually he passed near Emma’s table once again. Since he was finally able to be a little relaxed and no one was watching him, he was able to observe just how lovely Miss Hewson was. Amber Hewson was the daughter of Lord and Lady Hewson, of Harbone Citadel. Lord Hewson was a rabbit renowned for his work in the old wars, where he fought alongside the great King Jupiter and other legends, including Captain Helmer.

Amber was listening to Heyna tell a story. Jo was smiling, admiring her beauty, when she suddenly looked straight at him and their eyes met. He looked away suddenly, missing his step and tripping over a chair, nearly colliding with an elderly buck. Taking care that he didn’t knock the old rabbit down, Jo pitched sideways and spilled onto the edge of Emma’s table, upsetting several plates, which slid into his lap as he collapsed onto his backside.

Emma and Amber rose quickly as their meals tumbled down to land on the toppled archer. Jo winced as he looked up at Amber, then closed his eyes as that entire section of the mess hall erupted in laughter. When he opened his eyes, Jo saw Captain Cheltham striding past with several of his elite archers alongside.

“You seemed to have hit the target this time, Shanks,” Cheltham said, snickering. “Or perhaps you have become the target.”

Cole helped Jo up, trying to hide his own smile.

“It’s okay,” Jo said. “You can laugh. It was pretty funny.”

“Oh, my!” Slimmo said, shuffling up with his oddly small strides. “Whatever has happened, Jo?”

“Jo was just sampling some of our food,” Cole said, hand over his mouth.

“All of our food, actually,” Emma said, glancing over at Amber. “I think Lieutenant Shanks somehow became suddenly distracted.”

“What distracted you, Jo?” Slimmo asked, very concerned. “Miss Hewson,” he said, turning to Amber, “did you see what caused this?”

Amber smiled, hid her face behind her hands, and coughed. “Excuse me,” she said, “I am, uh, late for my next assignment.”

“Jo, don’t you want to say goodbye to Amber?” Heyna asked in mock sincerity as the beautiful doe hurried away.

Jo got to his feet, wiping cabbage from his tunic. “With friends like you, who needs villains like Bane Graveheart?”

“Come along, Jo,” Slimmo said, wiping at Jo’s clothes and signaling for more kitchen staff to help clear the mess. “Come back to the kitchen. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Just then Captain Truff arrived, bowed to Emma and waved to Slimmo. “Your Highness, may I show you to your new quarters? We, um, erred gravely when you first arrived. I am very sorry for that, and it was my responsibility. Please forgive me and allow me, at your convenience, to show you to your proper rooms.”

“Thank you, Lead Captain,” Emma said. “I am ready now, if you please.”

“You had enough to eat, Highness?” Slimmo asked, half shuffling alongside Jo, wiping frantically at Jo’s clothes while speaking sideways to Emma. “I can have more food brought to you.”

“I am full, and thank you,” Emma said suppressing a smile. “Just please clean Lieutenant Twinklefeet there and have him shipped to his new quarters for rest. He’s too easily distracted these days.”

“What was it that distracted you, Jo?” Slimmo asked as Jo tried to swat away his hand. They were away from the laughing band of friends, who were now following Captain Truff out of the mess hall. Jo would have to catch up with them.

“Something lovely,” Jo said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, of course,” Slimmo said, tapping his head while a wry smile formed on his face. “I know what it must have been.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” Slimmo said. “That peach cobbler was as fetching a dish as I’ve ever made. I’m surprised there haven’t been more accidents.”

“To be honest, what actually happened—” Jo began, stammering.

“Oh,” Slimmo said, grinning mischievously, “I know what happened. Saw the whole thing. But tell me one thing, Jo. Was the scenery worth the … trip?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jo entered the kitchen behind a laughing Slimmo. “Very funny.”

“I make some good jokes every now and then,” Slimmo said, slapping his hands together. “They just crackle down like lightning into my mind, and I am forced to shoot them out at folks.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Jo said, smiling. He liked Slimmo. He was like his cousin Gort in many ways—a fine chef and particularly kind to Jo—but was, perhaps, more likable. “I guess I got hit with a kind of lightning myself out there.”

“You did indeed, young Jo,” Slimmo said. The thin buck smiled fondly, but there was a weight, and maybe a little pain, in his words.

“But she’s a lord’s daughter,” Jo said, shaking his head as they walked through the busy kitchen, “and I’m just a soldier.”

“You’re not just a soldier,” Slimmo said. “You’re a hero of the cause and, as far as I can see, a fine buck. There’s no reason I can see for any good doe to throw you off.”

“Thank you,” Jo said. “One of my old friends, a sister votary back at Halfwind, used to tell me that no one else could value me if I didn’t try to at least be lenient toward myself on occasion.”

“The votaries there are wise, it seems.”

Jo nodded. “I have a great appreciation for them.”

“I have heard they isolate themselves and never speak outside their closed community,” Slimmo said.

Jo shook his head. “No. They aren’t really isolated, but they are intentional. They serve in a humble order. They accept accountability and leadership. They are focused, not cut off. I truly admire them.”

“I am glad to hear a better account of them,” Slimmo said. “Why have you never joined the order?”

“I have a different calling,” Jo replied. “But I do miss the elderly sisters. I hope to see them again someday.”

“For now you’ll have to be content with young does,” Slimmo said, winking, “or one doe in particular.” Jo shrugged, and Slimmo continued. “She is a strikingly lovely rabbit, in every way.”

“Were you ever struck by love when you were my age?” Jo asked, but he immediately regretted it when the older buck winced and turned away. “I’m sorry, Slimmo.” Jo put his hand on the chef’s back. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

Slimmo sighed, sagged, and walked into his private pantry. Jo followed, unsure if that was the right thing to do. Slimmo reached up to a shelf and retrieved a long rag, then turned back to wipe at the food stains on Jo’s tunic. His eyes were moist. “There was a doe, once,” he said, a twisted grimace progressing to a simple smile. “She was all I ever wanted. We loved one another, and I never stopped loving her.”

“Did she die?” Jo asked quietly.

“No,” Slimmo said, “but her love died. She found someone else. Someone on the rise. I was only ever going to be a chef, or something modest. She had a high spirit and a head full of ideas. I loved that about her. But in the end, my love wasn’t enough.”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Jo said, taking the rag and finishing off the cleaning. “It’s unwise for me to aim too high. And Cole says it wouldn’t be wise to begin something in this buildup to war.”

“You do as you see fit,” Slimmo said, “but my advice is, don’t wait for the right timing. It may never come. Go and grab it. Love is a brittle, fleeting thing.”

Jo nodded, then raised the rag. “Where can I put this?”

“Over in that bin,” Slimmo said, smoothing his apron with one hand and pointing to a bin in the pantry corner with the other.

“Thanks.” Jo eased past the chef and opened the lid to reveal some laundry topped with wet clothes. “These clothes are soaked, Slimmo. Did you take a spill like me?”

“Cooking’s sweaty work,” Slimmo replied.

“That’s gross,” Jo said, throwing in his rag and quickly closing the lid.

“Lots about a kitchen is gross, Jo.” Slimmo nodded to a wooden crate, beneath which Jo knew a special jar held a special treat. Jo saw that there was something carved on the side of the crate. B+G=. Slimmo asked, “Need any more blackroot tea?”

“I’m hoping I can sleep a little while,” Jo said, scratching his chin, “but that seems unlikely. Go on, then.”

Slimmo smiled, setting aside the crate and snatching up more root sections. “I still have your cup,” he said, setting the strainer into the red cup and replacing the jar and its concealing crate. “Let’s go.”

Slimmo led the way out of the private pantry and back into the busy kitchen. Brewing the tea was the work of a few moments only, and Jo was soon sitting at a table along with Slimmo, sipping on the forbidden delicious blackroot tea.

“What’s the secret to being a master chef?” Jo asked.

“I’m not sure there are any secrets with me, Jo,” Slimmo replied. “I’m an open book.”

“Well, what’s one thing you do that has helped you be a better cook over time?”

Slimmo fiddled with the apron hoops near his neck, frowning. “I guess one trick is to pretend like something will take a long time, but then act fast to do it. You get them to say, ‘I give you five hours,’ but you only need two to do it.”

“That makes sense,” Jo said. “Not sure how I can use that in my line, but I’ll mull it over.”

“Mull it over with your tea, my friend.”

“I’ve never had better,” Jo said.

“Nor I,” Slimmo said, lifting his own cup in salute. “It reminds me of home. Of my childhood. Of days romping and exploring with Gort. Of lost love.”

Jo nodded. “There’s a kind of pie they make in Halfwind Citadel; the sisters made it for me often as I grew up. At Cloud Mountain, when Gort would make it, it took me right back. I mean, it really transported me home in my mind. It’s like magic, what you cooks do.”

“Was it cherry surprise pie?” Slimmo asked.

“It was!”

“Then I shall make it for you sometime, Jo. And I bet it’s better than any Gort ever made, though I’ll not say it’ll best the votary sisters of Halfwind, against whom I’ll say nothing.”

“Against whom nothing will I hear.”

“Were you an orphan, Jo?”

“As good as one. The sisters always help those it does them no good to help,” Jo said, sipping the delicious drink. “They help motherless young bucks who can do nothing for them in return.”

“I’m sure you have done plenty for them over the years,” Slimmo said.

“I want to be like that,” Jo said. “I want to give with no expectation of return. I want to fight with no regard to recognition. I want to be someone I would admire if—”

“If you weren’t you,” Slimmo said.

“Yes.”

“Seems to me that who you are,” Slimmo said, raising his cup to salute Jo, “is a character anyone would admire. It inspires me, really, to be a better buck.”

“Cheers,” Jo said, bringing his cup to clink against Slimmo’s.

“Cheers, young archer,” Slimmo replied with a grin. “Well, now that you’re wide awake again, what will you do?”

“Explore a bit?”

“Any certain section of our fine citadel you’re keen to see?”

Jo sipped at his tea again, then nodded. “Where do you think I would find Amber Hewson?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thanks to the blackroot tea, Jo felt wide awake and confident. He followed Slimmo’s directions down to the Blackstone common, a wide area with booths set around the outside and a huge open middle. Like Cloud Mountain’s Great Hall, the common’s booths were stations for a variety of vocations, from fletchers to coopers, brewers, and barbers. Jo saw a bowyer’s shop, and he marked it for a visit. The last bowyer he had visited was less than expert. Nate Flynn, his former captain in the Bracers, an elite company of archers out of Halfwind Citadel, had been with him. In fact, several of the Bracers had been along that day at what they had come to call the C.B.S.—the Crummy Bowyer’s Shop. Owen, one of the Bracers, had broken a bow by a simple tension check, and Studge had only made things worse by making a potent joke at the bowyer’s expense. Jo missed the Bracers—Nate, Owen, Studge, and the others—though finding his place in the Fowlers alongside Cole Blackstar, Heather and Picket Longtreader, and Master Helmer had been transformational. Picket and Cole had become like brothers to him. I hope Picket and Master Helmer are well. Their path was fraught with danger at every step.

Jo eyed the shop. He needed new string and always enjoyed looking at the latest bows. He would return as soon as he had at least tried to talk to Amber Hewson.

Slimmo’s caution echoed in his head. Love is a brittle, fleeting thing. Slimmo had also said that Amber might be found at the bindery. She was a great lover of books and, the skinny chef said, spent time volunteering at the book-binding station. The bindery was on the far side of the common, and Jo walked past a wheezing sweaty chandler, then passed side-by-side apothecaries. Jo paused a moment as the pungent smell of the apothecary shops hit his nose. But the smell wasn’t all that hit him.

The competing shops were both almost blinding with their bright colors and bold promises. Each shopkeeper stood outside and seemed to try to eclipse the other with outsized signs promising astonishing results and eager shouting at every passerby. Jo flinched when they broke off from a bewildered young buck and switched their focus to him.

“Sure, you’re tall and strong,” a wild-eyed doe called, adjusting her head wrap as she frantically raced to greet Jo first, “but are your bowels sound?” She proffered a bottle with a smile. “Try this tried and true tummy tonic—a secret family recipe passed on for generations—”

The second apothecary shopkeeper, an old buck with a cane in one hand and his own bottle in the other, interrupted. “Sonny, that poison Mona’s peddling will empty you faster than the worst disease you can contract. But bad cabbage can do that. And bad cabbage would be a medicinal improvement over her tummy tonic any day! She’d lie to you just to keep up the habit. The secret family part is true, though. Her family’s a secret because they’re ashamed to claim her! And the only thing that’s passed on from her tonic is half the rabbits who’ve tried it!”

“That’s a lie,” the doe named Mona called back, side-eyeing her competitor as she walked along with Jo. “Old Coot Smoot here ain’t heard of my new advancements in the formula. But he don’t hear much of anything these days.”

“What?” Master Smoot called back. “Don’t listen to her, sonny. I never do. But if she tried to tell you she’s got both a new formula and an old tried and true family recipe then maybe she needs to make up her mind which it is.”

“I’m not interested,” Jo said. “Thank you.”

“Not interesting?” Master Smoot shouted back. “You seem interesting enough to me.”

“He’s not interested,” Mona shouted up close to Smoot’s ear, then spun back to Jo. “And I don’t blame you. I’d say the same to him. But my shop’s got what you need, whatever it is. Looking for love?”

Jo stopped suddenly. Was it that obvious? Then, embarrassed, he began walking again. Mona went on, more eager than ever. “Oh, I see I’ve hit the target. Well, I have a brew that I’ve left out in moonlight and has never failed any of my clients in finding love.”

“You lost a glove?” Master Smoot shouted, cupping his ear. “Well, my eyesight magic mixture elixir will help anyone see better.” He reached in his bag and snagged a bottle, bringing it so close to his face that Jo saw the old buck’s eye enlarged through the jar’s thick glass. “This’ll improve your sight or you get a second bottle that will certainly work for half off.”

“I’m telling you,” Mona said, now halfway across the common with him, quite far from the pungent booths, “one sip, and this tonic will guarantee she’ll fall for you.”

“Well, I already fell for her,” Jo said, thinking back to breakfast with a wince.

Master Smoot’s nose wrinkled. “You smell like myrrh?” He dug in his satchel again, producing another jar. “This’ll fix that. Mona puts myrrh in everything, but I keep my tonics myrrh-free.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Jo said, spinning away while raising his hands defensively. “Please, not today.”

Jo jogged off as Master Smoot’s voice faded in the background. “His fleas forgot to pay? I didn’t even realize they bought anything.”

Reaching the far side of the common, Jo asked a blacksmith where the bindery was. The blacksmith pointed to the corner, and Jo thanked him and headed in that direction.

“Hello,” he said to the young buck out front drying pages, “my name is Jo Shanks, and I was looking for Amber Hewson. Is she here?”

“Who’s asking?” the young buck answered.

“I’m Jo Shanks. Lieutenant Jo Shanks, archer and in the company of Princess Emma Joveson. I’m from Halfwind, and I like … uh, tea?”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“Oh, I’m sure I like tea. To drink it every day. I mean, I like it—I like it to drink … it. I just wasn’t sure if that was enough info.”

“I’d like more,” the buck said. Turning to a dried stack of pages, he began to carefully thread them together. “What are your intentions toward Miss Hewson?”

“Good ones,” Jo said, nodding too much. “Very good and really good ones. I want to just to talk to her. To speak a little bit of some words with her.”

“To speak a little bit of some words? That is going to be thrilling for her, I’m sure.”

“Listen, Mister Nosy Bookfellow,” Jo said, embarrassed and ready to walk away, “I have a question for her about Lord Ronan’s council that I need to find out the answer to because of Her Royal Highness’s secret knowing of information is very much needful.”

The buck looked up, shook his head, and went back to his stitching. “Amber’s not here.”

“Thanks,” Jo said, smirking as he spun and walked back across the common. He was done. He’d tried, but it hadn’t worked. Love is brittle, and so is confidence. He hurried away, careful to avoid the competing apothecaries.

He saw Grenda—the middle-aged grey-furred doe—stepping out of Smoot’s shop, looking both ways while she slipped a tonic into her medical satchel. Then, heaving a long sigh, she hurried on to another nearby shop, this one a scrivener’s, where scribes worked on legal documents, stories, or letters. He thought of Heather Longtreader, his friend and the celebrated Scribe of the Cause, and wondered where she might be, or if she was even alive.

Grenda whispered into the ear of a patron who had been standing outside the shop, then passed him a small pouch from her satchel. Jo thought it was a money bag. He, in turn, handed her a folded paper that looked like a letter. She quickly stuck it in her satchel and, glancing around, hurried off without another word. Jo thought it odd, but he had enough things to worry him at present.

Looking for something soothing and familiar, Jo stopped by the bowyer’s shop, admiring the fine bows on display. A few were of a surprisingly high quality, and there were several good starter bows there as well. I wonder if Amber knows how to shoot? Maybe she would like to learn.

“Jo Shanks,” he heard from behind. “Could that be you?”

Jo knew that voice. He turned around slowly, hoping he had heard right.

There stood Nate Flynn.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

What are you doing here?” Jo said, crossing to embrace his friend. “Oh, sorry, sir,” he said, breaking the hug to salute. “I’m forgetting my place.”

“We’re friends first, Jo,” Nate said, smiling. “My team—your old pals in the Bracers—met up with Lord Blackstar and Mrs. Weaver. They asked us to come and supplement your force.”

“That’s fantastic, Captain,” Jo said. “This place is …” he got closer to Nate, “this place is all sorts of strange.”

“I’m getting that picture,” Nate said, nodding. “Is there anything I can do for you now? Is Her Royal Highness well?”

“She’s well. Resting now, finally,” Jo replied. “We had an eventful beginning to our stay here. I should catch you up on what’s happened so far. But,” he continued, looking around, “not here.”

Nate followed Jo as he crossed the common again and entered the long corridor leading to the mess hall. “It’s a real thrill to be backing you up, Jo,” Nate said. “The Fowlers are setting the example and standard for the rest of us. We kind of brag about you—that you used to be in our company.”

“That’s incredible, Nate,” Jo said, “because I feel the same about you all. Especially you. It was such an honor to fight alongside you. And I’ll always be grateful you gave me that chance.”

“Thank you, Jo.”

As they walked the long corridors, Jo proceeded to tell Nate about Lord Ronan’s condition, about Bane Graveheart, Matron Wilder, Lead Captain Truff, and Lokson. Jo talked about the suspicions he had about all of them. And, finally, he told of Matron Wilder’s arrest.

“Do you believe that Matron Wilder was Graveheart?” Nate asked.

“It had to be one of the keymasters,” Jo answered, “and she seemed the most likely. No one else could have gotten behind the water gate. It leads all the way up to Black Lake, and they get all their water from the dam and levee system there. It’s secure.”

“If it isn’t Jo Shanks,” came a call from behind. Jo spun to see Captain Cheltham hurrying up. “Jo, come and shoot with me. Let’s have a friendly competition. Maybe you’ll shoot better without the pressure you were under this morning. You can bring your friend.”

“No thank you,” Jo said, turning back to Nate.

“Afraid you’re going to miss something important?” Cheltham asked, his tone mocking. “I mean, miss something else important today?”

Jo breathed deeply, ignoring Cheltham’s jibes. Nate spun on Cheltham. “What are you implying?” he snapped. “Jo Shanks is one of the finest, if not the finest, archer in all Natalia. He has done more in this war than the next ten best archers combined. If you have a problem with him, then you have a problem with me.”

“He’s maybe the second-best archer in this citadel right now,” Cheltham replied snidely. “He’s certainly not the best in Natalia. How would you know, anyway?”

“Captain Cheltham,” Jo said, motioning to the black-clad archer, “this is Captain Flynn. Captain Flynn, this is Captain Cheltham.”

“The Nate Flynn?” Cheltham asked, his tone changing at once and a look of surprise on his usually haughty face.

“Cheltham of Harbone?” Nate asked.

“That’s him,” Jo said. “He is an outstanding archer, just as we have always heard. In fact …” Jo paused a moment and inhaled deeply, “Cheltham made an incredible shot this morning that served to save thousands of lives. And he has several of the top archers from Harbone with him. They serve Lokson, the former lord of Blackstone’s son.”

“This is too much,” Cheltham said, astonished. “I am very glad to meet you, Captain Flynn. I have heard little else but talk of you, and often Shanks here, everywhere I go.”

“One hears a great deal about you as well,” Nate replied. “Forgive me, but my friend and I have important matters to discuss. I’m glad to have met you.” Nate bowed, then spun and walked off.

Jo smiled at Cheltham, then shrugged.

“You must come and shoot with me—both of you,” Cheltham said, his eyes wide.

“Maybe sometime,” Jo said, then turned to hurry and catch up with Nate.

Cheltham called out to Jo as he and Nate walked away. “You don’t want to … miss … such an opportunity.”

Jo bristled within but tried to hide it in a wry smile to Nate.

Nate shook his head. “Is he always that pleasant?”

“He was on his best behavior there. Usually, and you’ll find this hard to believe, he’s insufferable.”

They laughed and walked on. Jo was thrilled to have Nate there, and he heard all the news of each of the Bracers, including Owen and Studge, who were off arranging their quarters.

For a day that started off so badly, things had certainly turned around. But the disappointing miss from that morning—and Cheltham’s reminders of it—was beginning to nag at Jo. Cheltham seemed adept at twisting the knife in the wound. But Jo knew he had to stay focused on the mission. Help Emma get Blackstone on board for the fight against Morbin. That was the true battle, not some petty rivalry with another excellent archer.

“So, Jo,” Nate said, “I’ll get back with the Bracers, settle in and maybe rest some, then report to you before dinner.”

“That sounds fantastic, Captain,” Jo said, embracing his friend again. “It’s great to have you here. It will help us focus on the task at hand, and not be distracted by Cheltham and his ‘who’s the best archer’ games.”

Nate nodded, then looked in Jo’s eyes. “You’d love to beat him, wouldn’t you?”

Jo growled. “You bet I would.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jo found his quarters and tiptoed in, hoping not to wake Cole.

“Your turn to rest, Jo,” Cole groaned, pushing back his blanket and pivoting off the bed. “Is all well in this lair of lunacy?”

“Seems to be,” Jo said. “Get any rest?”

“Yes, a few hours. I feel refreshed and ready to clash with whoever is going to suddenly pop up to trouble—and possibly try to kill—us.”

“Maybe things will get back to normal,” Jo said.

There was a knock at the door. Jo and Cole exchanged a weary glance, and Jo shrugged. Cole strapped on his sword and crossed to the door. Jo stepped behind him, but out of sight of whoever was knocking. Cole opened the door and saw Heyna.

“You look ready to kill me,” she said, her tone scolding playfully. “May I enter, please?”

“Enter and welcome,” Cole said, bowing and stepping aside for his twin sister. “Is the princess awake?”

“Not yet,” Heyna said. “She is sleeping well, so I thought I’d leave her for a moment so we could make our plan for tonight.”

“For the dinner with Lokson?” Jo asked, sighing as he crossed to his bed and sat down. “I can give that a miss, right? I don’t think I can stand being around Cheltham any more today.”

“You’ll come, Lieutenant,” Heyna said, “unless we’ve suddenly got officers we trust to replace you.”

“What would qualify as a good replacement for me at this dinner?” Jo asked.

“He’d have to be slow-witted,” Cole said, “and a bad conversationalist.”

“Not helping, Cole.” Heyna frowned at her brother, then looked at Jo. “Being a legendary archer would help. But listen, Jo, if I have to go—and I’m going, for Emma’s sake—then you have to go. I am intensely displeased at the prospect of being near Lordling Lokson for an extended period.”

“I see your intense displeasure,” Jo replied, “and raise you profound disgust. That is what I feel around Cheltham. He’s a brat and a bully and proud. And the worst part is that he has good reason to be proud. He is one of the finest archers living.”

“So are you, Jo,” Heyna said, smiling sincerely at him.

“Well,” Cole added, “Jo’s a brat, sure, but he’s not really a bully. But I defer to you, sister. Oh and, yes, I have noticed he is competent at bow and arrow stuff. I wholly agree about that. I have trained him well.”

“Thank you, Master Cole,” Jo said. Cole bowed, with an elegant hand flourish thrown in. Turning back to Heyna, Jo went on. “You said if I could replace myself with a legendary archer we trust, then you would be glad to have me miss the dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” Heyna said. “And Cole doesn’t count. He’s not up to that standard, I’m afraid. But if you can produce such a specimen, then you’re off the hook.”

“Okay,” Jo said, “then I hope you enjoy your delightful dinner without me.”

“What do you mean?” Heyna asked.

“Guess who I just had a long and fascinating conversation with?” Jo said, barely containing his glee. “One legendary archer we all totally trust who is neither a brat nor a bully, not a dimwit or a boring conversationalist—though, as an aside, he’s clearly nowhere near the conversationalist I am—but nevertheless, may I present to you, for your dining pleasure … Captain … Nate … Flynn!”

“Nate’s here?” Cole asked.

Heyna shook her head. “I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to worm your way out of this dinner.” She scrunched up her nose. “Does he happen to have a doe along with him who’s adept at all courtly manners but can also disarm elite attackers and defend against a thousand different threats, all while looking elegant in a dress?”

Jo grinned. “I’m afraid not, Heyna. As you so clearly understand, there’s no one like you.”

“No one so confident of her own abilities, anyway,” Cole said.

“You’re unique, Miss Blackstar,” Jo added. “As for legendary archers? This warren has them in abundance.”

“You can’t take two steps,” Cole said, pretending to knock into Jo, “without running into one.”

“You are essential to the operation,” Jo said, “and will be required to sit and listen to sly Lokson and smug Cheltham for hours and hours … and hours.”

“And what will you do during this endless prison of a dinner?” Cole asked. “Practice archery?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Jo replied, laying aside his bow.

“I think our Jo has another target in mind,” Heyna said. “He might be out aiming for someone’s heart. And not an enemy.”

Jo grinned.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jo rested. Having no need to worry about the difficult dinner, he could relax for the first time in what felt like ages. When he woke, he cleaned up, grabbed his bow and quiver, and headed for the mess hall.

“Slimmo!” he called to the tall chef, spying him across the mess hall.

“Ah, Jo, I’m glad you’re here,” Slimmo said, beaming and motioning for Jo to follow him. “Cole said you would be coming here for dinner tonight.” They passed the kitchen and rounded a corner, getting farther away from the main part of the mess hall.

“Can I sit in the dining area and have something, Slimmo?” Jo asked, pausing.

“Do you trust me?” Slimmo replied, smiling at the young archer.

Jo nodded. “Of course.”

“Then follow me.”

Jo followed the chef around another bend and saw a small isolated table with a beautiful young doe sitting across from an empty seat. Amber Hewson!

Jo nearly tripped but kept his feet and lurched ahead, breaking into an awkward trot, till he came to the table. Amber’s eyes widened, and she winced, then smiled warmly, as Jo bowed. “May I join you?” he asked.

“I, uh,” Amber replied, hesitating, and looking past Jo, “suppose so. Yes, please join me, Lieutenant Shanks. I’m delighted.”

“Thank you,” Jo said, taking his seat.

“Very good indeed!” Slimmo said, smoothing his apron and grinning widely. “Any requests?”

“I’m sure whatever you have in mind will suit me,” Amber said.

“And me,” Jo agreed.

Slimmo bowed low, then shuffled back a few steps before twisting to hurry back to his kitchen.

Silence lingered, threatening to extend indefinitely. Jo searched for something to say, but his mind was empty. His mouth felt dry and his tongue numb. Had he been slipped some poison? His heart drummed in rapid beats, and his breaths were more shallow than usual. Maybe I’m ill? Amber coughed. Maybe she’s ill? Maybe everyone’s been poisoned and it’s the end of everything and why is it so hot? Jo tugged at the neck of his tunic.

“Did you rest?” Amber asked, breaking the tension.

“I did,” Jo replied, and he found his symptoms subsiding a little. “I slept like an old buck in summer.”

“An old buck in summer?”

“It’s something my father used to say.”

“Were you close to your father?”

“Not really,” Jo said. “I didn’t have an ideal family. My mother died in the afterterrors, and Father was wounded in, well, in many ways. He never recovered and died when I was young.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. Your own mother is unwell, I understand?”

“She is. Has been a long time.”

“That isn’t easy.”

“No.”

After a brief pause, Jo asked, “How long have you been at Blackstone?”

“Nearly a year.”

“Do you miss Harbone?”

“I do,” Amber answered, “but in my family we were trained early on to expect hardship for the cause.”

“Your father is a legend, I am told. They say Lord Hewson fought with the old king?”

“Yes,” she replied, “and alongside your master, Captain Helmer. In fact, my little brother is named for Helmer.”

“I hope he’s sweeter than his namesake.”

“He’s perfect,” Amber replied in mock defensiveness, “and I’ll hear nothing against him.”

Jo smiled. “I wonder if they’ve met, now.”

“Is that where Picket and Helmer went?” Amber asked, leaning forward.

Jo gazed into her eyes. “Yes. They’re aiming to enter First Warren. Then we’ll all follow. All of us who are on Emma’s side. I hope your chief here will bring Blackstone into the cause.”

“Me too,” Amber replied, “or he won’t be my chief much longer. I’m for the cause, and I won’t stay idle while Blackstone stays out of the war.”

Slimmo returned, bearing plates of steaming delights with fragrances that hit Jo’s nose with the promise of great flavors. Slimmo smiled, handing out the first of many dishes. Over the next hour, he served a spectacular sampler meal of his best delicacies. Jo and Amber talked and ate, laughed and drank, happy and relaxed at last as the food kept coming on small specialty plates. Finally, Slimmo finished off the incredible meal with a treat.

“Cherry surprise!” Jo said, rising to shake Slimmo’s hand. “Thank you so much, my friend.”

Amber clapped and bowed her head. “Splendid, Master Chef. From shredded carrots on corncake to cherry surprise and all stops in between, this has been a culinary adventure of the highest order!”

Slimmo bowed and motioned for a kitchen assistant to step forward and pour them tea. “I believe,” Slimmo said, “that this is your favorite beverage.”

Jo sipped the delicious brew. Blackroot tea. “It’s wonderful, Slimmo. And the cherry surprise is stunning. Well done, and thank you, friend.”

Slimmo bowed. “I am honored by your words and inspired by your love.”

Amber’s head dipped down and she looked away. Jo smiled up at Slimmo, who tiptoed away while shooting Jo a thumbs up.

The quiet returned, stretching again into a long line of silence, until Amber looked up again, tears starting in her eyes. “Jo,” she said at the same time he said, “Amber.”

I have to tell her how I feel. I have to share my heart now, before it’s too late. But he remembered his manners.

“Please,” Jo said. “You first.”

“Jo, I do … care for you. I have enjoyed getting to know you tonight. Ordinarily … if things were different …”

Jo’s heart began to sink. But he remembered Slimmo’s encouragement to go and grab love while it could be found. “Things are different,” he said. “Whatever’s holding you back, I know it’s not your feelings. We have something special between us. We both feel it.”

“It’s true,” Amber said, “but that feeling isn’t reliable. It’s sweet now, but it can vanish as quickly as it appears. Listen to any elder you trust. Any wise old buck will know. We can’t just—”

“But it’s love, right?” Jo said. “Love is worth the risk. Love wins every war.”

“It’s a kind of love, Jo. I’ll grant that. And I’m so sorry I have let you believe …” She pushed back her chair and rose. “I didn’t know Slimmo was planning to isolate us like this. I should have left, but I didn’t want to be rude. Then I was enjoying our dinner and conversation so much. I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have?” Jo asked, confused and heartbroken. “How can you say that when you admit we had a wonderful time together?”

“We did, but I’m not free to be what you want me to be. I’m … I’m already attached.”

“What do you mean?” Jo asked, stepping back.

“I’m engaged to be married,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Jo. It’s a secret engagement, and I’m not supposed to tell anyone. It’s not known—not by anyone. But I know I can trust you.”

“I didn’t know” was all Jo could think to say. “No, you didn’t. So, the fault is with me. It was an attachment I formed years ago and a promise I made then.”

Hope rose up again within Jo. “Then it’s not binding yet, Amber. It’s not done.”

She shook her head. “I will do as I said I’d do and marry him.”

“What if I don’t give up on you?” Jo asked.

“Then you,” Amber said, more tears coursing down her cheeks, “will be disappointed. And that makes me feel so very awful. I’m sorry, Jo. Please forgive me. I enjoyed our dinner so much, and I hope we can be friends.”

“Friends?” Jo asked as she strapped on her satchel, wiped at her eyes, and turned to go. “At least tell me this,” Jo said. “Who is this buck?”

Amber turned back and swallowed hard.

“It’s Lokson.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jo collapsed back into his seat as Amber disappeared around the corner. He sat there, reeling from the blow. Amber is secretly engaged to Lokson.

“Jo,” Slimmo called, hurrying around the corner, “how can you sit here alone? Where’s she gone? And why aren’t you following after her?”

“Thank you, Slimmo,” Jo said, shaking the chef’s hand. “You were so generous to me and Amber tonight.”

“It was my pleasure,” Slimmo replied, patting Jo’s hand with concern. “But what has happened?”

“It,” Jo said, flitting his hand between himself and where Amber had been sitting, “can’t work.”

“I do not accept that, Jo,” Slimmo said, frowning. “You must never give up on love. Never quit trying to reach her. You must do whatever it takes to see it through.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Jo said, retrieving his bow and quiver, which were leaning against the wall. “I will give your words more thought. For now, I am going to go shoot a bit.”

“Better practice up,” Slimmo said, patting Jo’s back as the archer walked away.

“Thanks again for the dinner,” Jo replied, craning back to smile at the tall chef, who stood smoothing his old apron. “I’ll never forget it.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Jo was firing his arrows at a faraway target in the long practice lanes at the range where Blackstone’s archers gathered and practiced. The elite of their company were formed into a crack band called the Rangers. Jo met Glen “Mac” Harty, their captain, and the two shot together for some time. Jo liked Mac, and his respect for the local archers rose. Finally, Jo saw Emma and Cole approach, followed by Nate and Heyna.

Jo asked Mac to excuse him, and he crossed to meet his friends. “How’d the dinner go?” he asked.

“Do you wish for a summary, Lieutenant,” Cole asked, “or a detailed account?”

“A summary, if you please.”

Cole nodded. “More reason to like Lokson. More reason to loathe Cheltham.”

I have good reason to loathe them both. Jo managed a smile. “Well, I am devastated that I missed it.”

“I’m sure you are,” Heyna said. “Were you able to find anyone special to dine with tonight?”

“Can we talk about your misery some more?” Jo asked. “I feel like we passed over those details too quickly.”

“We do have some news,” Emma said. “Lokson and Captain Truff have come together, with Lord Ronan’s blessing, and organized an event.”

“What kind of event?” Jo asked.

“Your kind of event,” Cole answered.

Emma nodded. “You will be representing the royal cause when you take the field tomorrow as my champion in the Ultimate Archer’s Cup.”

“I’d rather not.” Jo frowned.

“That’s what I said,” Nate replied.

“You don’t have a choice, I’m afraid,” Emma said.

“Really? Will it help your cause here so much?” Jo asked.

“Yes,” Emma said, “there is definitely that. You and Nate competing will help forge a bond with these reluctant rabbits. But I mostly just want you to shut that Captain Cheltham up.”

“That’s a cause,” Heyna put in, “that I can enthusiastically rally behind.”

“Me too,” Cole agreed. “Jo, you should have seen him at dinner. He must have alluded to you missing the meal a hundred times. He seems to have zeroed in on you. So, my strategy as official coach of Princess Emma’s Band of Elite and Reluctant Archers is to let you and Cheltham beat each other up, so Nate can swoop in and take the prize.”

“Nate doesn’t need any help from me,” Jo said. “He’s the best archer I’ve ever seen.”

“These bucks from Harbone may be better than us,” Nate said. “Even Lokson is a top archer. He could win, or Cheltham, certainly. Even some of the others are potential champions. We would both need to be there to increase our chances.”

“Lokson’s shooting too?” Jo asked.

“Yes,” Nate answered.

“I’ll shoot,” Jo said, “if there’s even a chance of shutting Cheltham up and … and beating the rest of them.”

“Then it’s settled,” Emma said. “Jo and Nate will compete, and I’ll do my best to win Ronan over to our cause.”

“Everything seems to be working out, somehow,” Heyna said. “Right, Jo?”

Jo nodded. Maybe so.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jo, Cole, and Nate accompanied Emma and Heyna back to their room. After they said goodnight to the princess and Heyna, Cole and Jo waited while Nate went to draft a couple of his Bracers to stand the first watch at their door.

When they were alone, Cole spoke. “I gather … that things went badly tonight. If that’s so, I’m sorry, Jo.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Not to everyone, but I know you better than they do. We’re brothers.” Cole laid his hand on Jo’s shoulder. “Didn’t find her?”

“Worse.”

“Found her and didn’t get to dine with her?”

“Worse.”

“Dined with her,” Cole asked, wincing, “and she wasn’t interested?”

“I’m afraid that’s a hit in the center circle.”

“Oof,” Cole said. “I’m sorry.”

“The bad part is, we got on so well.”

“That’s bad?”

“It’s not bad,” Jo replied. “It’s just harder to accept. Confusing. I’m not sure I’ve ever enjoyed being with someone before as I did with her. She seems perfect for me.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Jo started to speak, then remembered how Amber was trusting him to keep her secret. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Was it your breath?” Cole asked in a conspicuous display of concern. “I meant to warn you that the intense stankyness of your exhalations are a more deadly weapon than your bow and arrow, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” Jo replied, a smile breaking through his dour expression. “She … just wasn’t … wasn’t able to … didn’t want to move anything forward.”

“Oh,” Cole said. “Well, that’s perfectly clear. Listen, Jo, I can see something happened that bothers you. I’m sorry about that. You don’t have to explain anything to me, but I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks, Cole.”

“You’re welcome,” Cole said, saluting. “Just be sure to keep a decent distance if you do decide to talk to me. I don’t want to be killed by your breath.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

Nate returned, alongside Owen and another Bracer. Jo hugged Owen and spent a few minutes catching up with his old friend before following Cole back to their room across the hall from Emma’s quarters.

The stimulating effect of the blackroot tea he’d shared with Amber had run its course, and his archery practice had fully tired him out. He knew if he got a good night’s sleep tonight, he would be back on a good schedule and at his best for the next day.

“It’s a big deal,” Cole said from his bed across the room.

“What is?”

“You know,” Cole said, “the other thing you’re thinking about—other than Amber Hewson.”

“The identity of Bane Graveheart?” Jo asked.

Cole sat up. “So, you have your doubts it’s Matron Wilder?”

“I do. You?”

“I’m not sure.” Cole sighed. “I guess we’ll learn more from their questioning. I think Captain Truff, for all his faults, will be thorough. She is the most obvious suspect. But I believe Lord Ronan will have a trial—if and when he’s able. If she’s cooperative, she should have a chance to be exonerated. To tell the truth, I hope it’s her. I hope she confesses. That would make things a lot simpler. But I wasn’t talking about either Bane Graveheart, Matron Wilder, or Amber Hewson. I was talking about the Ultimate Archer’s Cup.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jo said, trying to sound convincing.

“It is, Jo, and you know it. We might never see an event like this again. All the finest archers in Natalia in one place? It’s perfect. The winner will be remembered as the greatest archer of our age.”

“I guess I’ll try hard, then. To shoot good.”

“You’d better,” Cole said. “I may have made a small wager with Cheltham.”

“Cole!”

“Don’t feel extra pressure, Jo. Just, you know, win. Don’t feel too little pressure, either. I mean, there’s a lot riding on this. For Emma, and me, and you. Just feel the exact right amount of pressure.”

“I need to sleep,” Jo said. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Don’t sleep too soundly,” Cole warned. “You don’t want to be groggy. Just get the exact right amount of sleep.”

“I will,” Jo replied, “if you ever shut up.”

“Goodnight, Jo. I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

“Thanks, Cole.”

Jo closed his eyes and soon saw in his mind a vision of himself defeating Cheltham, Lokson—even Nate—and hoisting the trophy high while Amber looked on with love and admiration and—ah yes, he could see it in her eyes—regret at rejecting him. She would change her mind and become engaged to Jo. After the war, they’d get married and serve Queen Emma together with a happy little band of archers running around their feet. He smiled and settled into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, relaxing at last in the grip of this happy dream.

A hard knock at the door snapped him out of his drowsy fantasy.

Jo leaped up and crossed to the door, snagging his blade, while Cole deftly assumed a support position. Jo opened the door and found Nate, alongside Owen and Studge.

“Get your gear,” Nate said. “Matron Wilder has escaped.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jo sprinted down the hall, he and Cole following hard on the heels of Nate and his fellow Bracers. They arrived at the mess hall, which was empty of guests and held only Captain Truff’s soldiers, organized in teams of five, and Lokson’s personal force.

Cheltham smiled at Jo as he entered. “So glad you’re here, Shanks. I thought you might miss out—again.”

Jo ignored him and filed in around Truff as the lead captain called for silence.

“By now you’ve heard that Matron Wilder has escaped,” Truff said. “We need to find her. If she is, as we suspect, Bane Graveheart, then we face grave danger from her being loose. We can expect the worst.”

“Where’s Lord Ronan?” Lokson asked. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

Captain Truff frowned. “No games, Lokson. We get it. You’re here, and he’s not.”

“Is Ronan unwell?” Slimmo asked, poking his head out from behind a burly soldier.

“He is unwell, Grare.” This was spoken by a doe, and Jo spun around to see Lady Elisabeth, Lord Ronan’s wife, stride in beside Amber Hewson. “But I speak for him now.”

Jo heard a rising chatter among the gathered bucks and became aware that something had surprised them. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Jo whispered to Captain Truff.

“Lady Elisabeth hasn’t appeared in this hall for many, many years,” Truff whispered, eyes darting from the approaching doe to the crowd.

“Lead Captain Truff,” Lady Elisabeth said, reaching the inner circle and handing a large key on a ring to Captain Truff. “Lord Ronan charges you, through me, to capture Matron Wilder at any cost. And I beg you, Captain, for the sake of my family—for the husband I love,” she said, looking up and past Truff, “to end this wicked threat to us and our citadel. Find this Bane Graveheart. Please. Whoever finds this villain will be given a great reward. I offer my most precious possessions. Please …” She wiped at her eyes and fell silent.

Truff bowed low, then accepted the key. “I will do my best, my lady. We all will, I assure you.”

“Miss Hewson will be our liaison,” Lady Elisabeth went on, her voice shaking. “If you need to reach us, please send her. She will remain here while I return to the Lord’s Quadrant to attend to my husband. Princess Emma is helping to treat him now. Thank you all.” With that, she walked toward the door.

“Slimmo,” Captain Truff called, and Jo turned back to the gathered bucks. “Slimmo?”

“Here he is, sir,” a soldier called, motioning to the chef. Slimmo blinked, shook his head, then stepped forward.

“Aye, yes?” Slimmo said.

“Prep meals that can be eaten quickly, and we’ll rotate in and out. Waterskins aplenty.”

“Aye, sir,” the thin cook said absently, then slowly shuffled off to the kitchen.

“Listen up,” Truff called, motioning for silence. “We’ll split into small teams, as you’ve seen I’ve already done with my soldiers.” He pointed to the many groups of five. “Lokson, please divide your force, and you as well,” he said, nodding to Jo, Cole, and Nate. Jo nodded back as Nate went to work, splitting up his bucks. Truff continued, “I will take twenty teams outside into the forest to find her, in case she’s fled the citadel. Lokson, will you lead the remaining teams in a search inside the citadel?”

Lokson glanced at Cheltham, then back at Truff. “I will.”

“You’ll encounter resistance,” Truff said, “especially around the hospital district. But everywhere must be searched—including all the secret places known to those of us who are—”

Lokson nodded. “From here. From the old families.”

“Bring any news here to Amber,” Truff said, “and I’ll send word to her if I hear anything.”

“Miss Hewson,” Lokson said, bowing quickly before turning awkwardly away and hurrying to the other side of the hall. He called out to the soldiers gathering, “If you’re not with Lead Captain Truff, you’re with me. Come on, bucks! We have a fugitive to find. And she knows this place better than most of us. Let’s go!”

Jo followed Lokson’s progress, seeing how naturally he led. He risked a glance at Amber, sure she would be focused on Lokson as well. But when he looked over, he found she had been watching him. She looked away at once, but not before Jo had seen the sad, uncertain look in her eyes.

Now both parties were divided, most with Lokson, and the rest crowding around Captain Truff. “I guess we’re with Lokson,” Nate said, motioning his team to cross the hall and gather with the young son of the last lord. “Owen and Studge are with you two,” Nate said. “We can’t make five, so you’ll have to do.”

“Thanks, Nate,” Cole said as Nate hurried off. Cole turned to Jo and the two Bracers. “Let’s go.”

“Jo, wait!”

Jo turned to see Slimmo hurrying out of the kitchen.

“What is it?” Jo asked, holding up a finger to his teammates. Captain Truff’s teams were leaving the mess hall, hustling out to search the forest for Matron Wilder and her enablers.

“Come with me, Jo,” Slimmo said.

“With you, to help in the kitchen? Slimmo, I’ve got to—”

“No, Jo,” he interrupted. “I’ve arranged for the kitchen to follow Captain Truff’s orders. But I’m going out there. I can help. I think I can find her. I feel I must find her. I know these woods better than almost anyone here. I grew up among them. Come with me.”

“I don’t know,” Jo said, turning to Cole. “We are kind of used to following orders.”

“For one thing, Truff isn’t your superior,” Slimmo said, “and another, I don’t think he ordered you to do anything specifically. And finally, he wants Matron Wilder found, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“We’re wasting time,” Slimmo said. “I’m going. I want you to come with me.”

Jo turned to Cole, Owen, and Studge. Cole nodded. Owen shrugged.

Studge said, “Let’s get going. We got a crazy escaped dangerous doctor to find, right?”

“She’s not a doctor, but—” Cole began.

“Let’s go!” Slimmo called, grabbing a water-skin from the batch his staff was bringing out.

Jo passed Amber as they hurried out. He slowed, turned, but could think of nothing to say.

“Be careful, Jo,” Amber said. “It’s very dangerous out there. I read the scouts’ reports every day. Wolves have been spotted just north of here.” She turned back to the mess hall. Jo hurried to catch up to his team.

They ran till they reached the main gate and just made it out before a surly guard snapped at them and slammed it shut behind them.

“Which way are we headed?” Owen asked. Everyone looked at Slimmo.

“North.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jo followed just behind Slimmo, while Cole and Studge flanked him and Owen covered their rear. Silence was the order as the shuffling chef guided them around hidden sentinels and down secret paths. Jo had no idea where they were and suddenly feared that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back if something happened to their guide. The moonlight oozed through the trees in speckled splashes, shifting in the wind. Jo stayed close, afraid of losing sight of Slimmo in the dark of a covered path. He followed the tall buck, often catching a moonlit glint from the circles on the shoulder of his apron.

Finally, they drew near an overgrown glade, neglected and choked with weeds. This was, Jo thought with a pang of sadness, the cost of being mostly trapped underground as they were in Blackstone. Places like this were neglected. But as they drew nearer, Jo saw that the thick tangle of brush was bound, tied off with dark twine, and stacked in bunches. Slimmo lifted a bundle and slipped inside. Jo followed, slowing to be sure Owen saw where he entered.

Once inside, Slimmo waited for them all to draw close, then whispered, “This is a hidden harvesting glade. Our operators have to make it seem like it’s neglected. But we get our food from hundreds of places like this. Only small well-trained teams do the gardening and harvesting.”

“And you’re one of them?” Cole asked quietly.

“No,” Slimmo said and shrugged. “Not officially. But a good chef has to be able to get the ingredients he needs.” He winked at Jo. “Follow me. I think she may have a boat on the shores of Black Lake and may be making for the Red Lake Hills. I believe she has a secret place there—a fallback base.”

“How do you know this?” Cole asked.

“I’ve been here a long time, young Captain Blackstar,” Slimmo said. “I have had many reasons to pay attention to such details.”

“Lead on,” Jo said.

They followed Slimmo out the other side of the glade with its fake tangles and ran through thick woods, ducking through a wild and dense part of the forest. After a difficult slog, they finally issued onto a well-worn path and ran freely for a short spell. Slimmo signaled, and they darted back into the thick forest.

For a long time, they followed this pattern, keeping to the difficult tracks of the forest and occasionally breaking into an open path. Jo was growing frustrated, but he had become used to dealing with these kinds of discomforts. Long marches. Dangerous paths. This was the way of a warrior in the world as it was.

They neared the top of a rising incline shrouded in thick forest, and Slimmo signaled for them to stop. He motioned for them to drop low and crawl to the top, out from under the cover of trees. Reaching the top of the hill, they stopped. Eyes wide, they gazed down upon the moonlit surface of Black Lake. It was huge, and they could not even see it all. Jo had never before seen so much water. Surrounded by the spectacular profile of crowding mountains, the dark face of the massive body of water was lit through its middle with a shimmering glow of bright white.

Jo’s mouth fell open as he gazed. Slimmo tapped his shoulder.

“Splendid, yes?” Slimmo whispered.

Jo nodded.

They crawled down the other side of the rise, then resumed their march north.

After another varied trek, in and out of forest paths, they came to the edge of the woods and foothills and saw the water up close—only a stone’s throw away.

“This is where the citadel gets its water?” Studge asked in a whisper.

“Aye,” Slimmo replied, his voice pitched low and his eyes looking all around. “There are caves away to our right, and there’s an underground stream that leads, by secret ways, to our warren home.”

“Secret to everyone?” Jo asked.

“No,” Slimmo answered. “Known to few. Breelia—that is, Matron Wilder—may have escaped that way, using her key to open the water gate, but I think she took another path. I think she left by way of the main gate. She had help, I’m sure, and possibly used a bribe to secure silence. The officer of the midnight watch is known by many of us to be corruptible. I think she came the way we have come.”

“I haven’t seen any tracks,” Cole said, frowning.

“It’s dark, and she’s no fool. There are many ways to the same place. Wait here.” Slimmo motioned for silence while he ran into the open, hurrying across to the cover of rocks. He dashed into the gentle surf and reached the large rocks. They seemed like cliffs that had been tossed aside, against which the lake tide lapped, flowing in and out in a rhythmic pattern.

“What’s he doing?” Owen whispered.

Jo and Cole shrugged. Studge scowled as Slimmo, knee-deep in water, searched the space between a cluster of large stones that seemed a natural enclosure.

Soon Slimmo rushed back across, and they followed him back into the forest’s edge a short distance. Moving to the right, he gazed at the ground and shuffled around. He let out a muffled exhalation, then motioned for them to gather close.

“Boat’s gone. And here,” Slimmo said, pointing to the ground, “are those tracks you were wondering about, Cole.” There were tracks, clear in the moonlight, and they led out to the rock enclosure on the beach, where Matron Wilder must have kept her boat.

“What do we do now?” Studge asked.

“We can pursue up the coast a ways to Heart’s Edge, then—” Slimmo fell suddenly silent at the sound of approaching footfalls in the forest behind them. His eyes grew wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, then eased into the shadows and lay down flat.

The others imitated him, and Jo found himself curled among the roots of a huge maple, motionless while they waited and listened. After a minute, he risked a glance up to the forest path.

There were wolves. Lots of them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jo exhaled slowly and focused his breathing in deep, silent repetitions. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He was, for a moment, afraid it might be audible to the approaching pack.

The wolves crept along the path, their muscular frames visible beneath minimal armor and patchy uniforms. Bright yellow eyes gleamed out of the shadows, and snarling teeth shone when struck by moonlight. Jo counted silently. One. Two. Three. Four. Five! Six. More than six.

He eased his hand to his quiver, slowly unlocking the latch that held his arrows fast. Upwind from the rabbits hidden in shadow, the wolves moved through the forest, stepping quietly with only the occasional snap at one another and a low guttural growl. All in all, Jo counted eleven wolves in this company.

The last beast in line finally disappeared. Still, they all waited a long while before moving. Cole stepped out and silently followed the pack. Jo lost sight of his friend but was confident in his ability to expertly assess their peril.

Jo rose, stretching his legs as he nocked an arrow and nodded to Owen and Studge, who did the same. Slimmo drew a long knife Jo hadn’t yet seen, and they waited for Cole. Finally, the black rabbit emerged, hurrying to the band.

“I think they smell something,” he whispered urgently. “We can’t stay here!”

As he spoke, they heard hurried footfalls once more as the wolves tracked back.

“To the rock enclosure on the shore,” Jo said, and they turned to run.

“No!” Slimmo grabbed Jo. All eyes fell on the chef, his eyes wild in the moonlight. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Jo said.

“Then follow me!” Slimmo hissed.

He darted into the forest along the path on which the wolves had first come, his strides finally widening into an all-out sprint, and the three archers and Cole sped after him. Jo heard a howling perilously close behind. He spun and fired into the darkness.

A sharp bark followed by whimpering came from close behind them as Jo spun to hurry ahead. They were racing full tilt now, with the angry pack barking loud threats as they chased after the bucks on the trail.

Slimmo lurched left and dove down a hillside, dodging around another large rock, then sprang into a thicket. Cole hurried in after him with Studge and Owen close behind. Jo came last of all, tearing aside the bending branches as he leapt into the brush.

After fighting through tangled undergrowth, Jo spotted a path. He bounced onto it, his long legs pumping as turned-up dirt sprayed the path behind. He shouldered his bow and locked down his quiver, surging ahead.

Many twists and turns later, Jo followed Owen up a trunk and watched him leap to a nearby tree branch and scramble up. Jo, in his turn, imitated this action and, striking the top of the large trunk with a well-placed foot, vaulted high and grabbed the limb. He clambered up and up, limb over limb, sometimes pulling himself up and sometimes hopping. He saw his friends break out onto a long limb and those just ahead of him leap across a frightening expanse to a rocky crag overlooking the lake. Jo followed hard, glancing at the long fall below and the sharp rocks at the bottom. Keeping his feet, and intent on escape, he ran to where the others had jumped. Jo bent, sprang up from the branch, and glided across the distance in the dark.

He landed hard against rock and sand, coughing as the breath was pressed from his chest by the rough ledge. He had not found a footing and hung on the edge by his middle, hands grasping and feet dangling in mid-air. Reaching, Jo gripped a jutting form he took for rock. It gave way in his grip. As the clod crumbled in his hand, he slipped, a quiet cry dying on his lips.

Jo Shanks was headed for the jagged rocks below.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jo was falling. Fast. Far below lay the jagged rocks upon which he would surely be dashed. He had time to inwardly resolve not to cry out before a hand gripped his wrist. Jo looked up to see Cole’s face straining as he half came off the rocky ledge himself to rescue his friend.

Owen, Studge, and Slimmo scrambled to hold Cole as Cole reached his other hand down and gripped Jo’s as tight as a vise.

“I’m not letting go,” Cole whispered.

Jo nodded, trying to find a foothold to ease the dragging weight on his friend, but he could find none. Finally, the three rabbits above managed to pull Cole to a secure place where he could plant his knees against a rock and they could all haul Jo up to safety. They lay on the rocky ledge, with barely enough room for the four of them, while Slimmo silently crept to the rock face. By the moonlight, they saw the slim buck press into the rock wall.

He disappeared.

Gasping, Jo sat up and stared. Turning back to the tree they had leapt from, he heard the scrambling noise of wolves close by. Their angry howls sent shivers up Jo’s spine.

“What now?” Studge whispered.

Cole was breathing hard, bending over as he recovered from the exertion of saving Jo.

“Slimmo!” Owen hissed.

The chef’s head appeared, as if by magic, from the rock’s face. “Come on!” he hissed back.

They all scrambled after him, and Jo saw—after blinking a few times and squinting—a long, narrow slit in the rock. Inhaling, he slid into the slim cleft, momentary panic giving way to relief as he stepped into a wider space. Still, he shuffled sideways till the opening widened further, and Jo stumbled, gasping, into the darkness of what appeared to be a good-sized cave.

His friends followed him in. The five bucks recovered their breath, pacing carefully or crouching, while Slimmo struck a flint and lit a lamp. The cave was large, with room enough for the five bucks and then some. Jo noticed cave tunnels further in, at least three open ways. A familiar smell greeted Jo’s nose, and he inhaled deeply.

Jo smiled at Slimmo. “Blackroot.”

“Coming right up.” Slimmo stooped to light a small fire and ready a pan, with a handful of roots in a strainer. “I cure it in one of my rooms back there.” He sat with his back to the entrance. The cave room had rocky shelves with pots and pans, dry food stuffs, barrels and boxes and candles. A broom with an attached dustpan lay beside a desk with a melted candle and scattered papers on it. A long pipe with several small darts rested on a table. A shelf near the table held several pots and jars, with vials of various liquids. A few bows, five quivers full of arrows, and a couple of swords leaned against the far side. It was plain this cave had been used for years.

“Won’t they see the fire’s light?” Cole asked, stepping back to the crack from which they had entered Slimmo’s cave. Jo recalled how close the wolves had come and rose quickly to stand by Cole.

“No,” Slimmo answered, twisting back. “They can’t see the light. Trust me, Cole Blackstar. I’ve been coming here since I was a child. It is very hard to find. Only two others have ever been in this cave.”

“Gort?” Jo asked.

Slimmo nodded.

“Who was the other?” Owen asked.

Slimmo inhaled deeply, started to speak, then shook his head. He went back to prepping the tea. Jo saw the sadness in the buck’s eyes and guessed at its cause. He thought of Amber Hewson and how—even after a short acquaintance—he felt pain at her rejection. How much more if the love was a matter of many years.

“I’d like to warn the other parties about the wolves,” Cole said, frowning at the entrance.

Studge settled onto the cave floor, leaning back against a smooth curve of rock. “Cole, there’s no way we can deal with that many wolves. Plus, all the parties knew that wolves were out there. They all have the same recon. We need to sit tight and let things settle.”

“I don’t like being away from the princess when who knows what might be happening back there,” Jo said. “I don’t want to hide out here too long. We need to get back.”

“Agreed,” Cole said, finally sitting down.

“What about Matron Wilder?” Owen asked. “Should we pursue her band?”

“It’ll be pointless now,” Slimmo said, looking back toward the entrance. “Even if no wolves had shown up, we still would’ve had long odds on reaching her at Heart’s Edge. Now, it’s impossible. She’s … gone.” He crossed to the entrance again. “Excuse me,” he said, not turning around. “I need to check to see if the wolves are still there.”

Owen started to speak, but Jo put out a hand.

“What?” Owen whispered.

“Just don’t ask about Matron Wilder anymore,” Jo whispered back. “Trust me.”

Owen’s expression was confused, but he nodded. “Whatever you say.”

They waited in silence a little longer till Slimmo returned, a weary smile on his face. “I think they are nearby but haven’t followed us across to the ledge outside. That’s good.” He reached for a tall mug and poured the steaming tea.

“We should wait an hour,” Cole said, “then head back the way we came.”

Slimmo served the cup to Cole first. “Agreed. I can get us back.”

Cole sipped and then passed the refreshing drink to Owen, who drank and then passed it to Studge. Finally, it came to Jo. He took two long drinks, savoring the flavor and enduring the heat with a wince, then handed the cup to Slimmo. “Thank you, Slimmo. You saved us out there.”

Slimmo smiled, refilling the mug. “Let’s rest here a little while, let the tea do its work to revive us, and then we’ll head back.”

They all sat down, and the one cup of tea passed between them once again. Jo admired this secret den and imagined it as a kind of oasis preserving Slimmo’s childhood memories and protecting him from danger.

“Can you tell us about finding this place?” Jo asked.

Slimmo smiled. “I was with Gort. We were very young and innocent.”

“It’s hard to imagine him fitting through that crevice,” Cole said.

“We had to find alternate routes for him as we got older. That’s what led us to discover how deep the caves went. One day, when we were lost and afraid, certain we’d die of thirst, we found a stream. While dangerous, these caves have been saving me all my life.”

“Can you show me your blackroot room?” Jo asked.

“Of course,” Slimmo replied, lighting a candle and leaving the lamp. “The rest of you relax, and I’ll show this gourmet tea appreciator my process. We can leave soon after. Please, enjoy the tea and be welcome, my friends.”

“What do you call this place?” Jo asked as they walked toward the three tunnel openings on the far side of the cave.

“I don’t like to say in front of Cole,” Slimmo whispered, guiding Jo by candlelight into the far-left tunnel. “I’d be embarrassed.”

“Why?” Jo asked, ducking into the tunnel as the aroma of blackroot intensified.

“I call it Warren Fortress,” Slimmo said. “Like the first Lord Blackstar had at Kingston. From the old stories.”

Jo smiled. “I think Cole would be pleased you’re honoring his ancestors.”

“I have always admired Fleck Blackstar. What a hero! I have always hoped to be as brave and dauntless as he—even in my own small ways.”

They ducked through the last part of the tunnel and entered another cave, this one filled with roots hung on long lines. Slimmo lit several candles and handed the one he had to Jo. As the light increased, Jo noticed a higher ceiling and, amid the powerful smell of the blackroot, a faint scent of the lake air.

“Yes,” Slimmo said, noticing how Jo gazed up. “It’s open up there, and you can smell the lake. I’ve found it’s good for the roots.”

“But wolves—or anyone—can’t get in from up there?”

“It’s not completely impossible,” Slimmo said, smiling, “but it’s nearly so. Even naturally, it would be hard. And I’ve added certain measures myself over the years to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“When we have more time, I’d love to learn how you make the tea.”

“And I’d love to show you. It’s been in my family since we first came north and settled this area.”

“Your family goes all the way back to the first settlers of Black Lake?”

“Aye,” Slimmo said. “We were here first. Our blood is in these rocks and in this soil. These roots have grown here and been added into our foods and consumed by us for generations. We feel a part of this place. If the Mended Wood came for all Natalia tomorrow, we would rejoice and be glad. But we wouldn’t move to First Warren. We left there as a colony long ago. We would build here. We would live the Mending here.”

“Imagine that,” Jo said. “The Mending spreading everywhere.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jo nodded as Slimmo showed him the roots that were ready to be used in tea and other recipes. “You see,” the chef said, twisting on the root, “you can tell it’s ready.”

“It’s fascinating,” Jo replied. “Maybe I’ll come and be your apprentice once the war’s over.”

“You’re welcome here, anytime.”

“Should we head back?” Jo asked.

“By all means,” Slimmo said, nodding to the tunnel. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m just going to rotate the rest of these roots.”

Jo turned, ducked through the entrance, and walked down the short tunnel. Coming back into the entrance cave, he saw that his friends were relaxed, still passing around the mug of tea. He started to join them, then turned to peek into the next tunnel entrance. Seeing a long bending passage, he turned instead to the third cave opening.

Glancing back, he heard Slimmo whistling while he rotated his precious roots. Jo smiled and plunged into the passage. It was a smaller tunnel, and it narrowed more and more till Jo was stooped down, balancing the candle. He considered turning back, but he pushed on a little farther, finally on his knees as he crawled through and came into another cave.

Jo lifted his candle high. The cave had a flat wall with unlit candles positioned in little alcoves all around a central square space on the surface. Beneath, there were more candles lined up, and Jo came close and began to light them one by one, reaching up to touch his flame to those nestled in the surrounding alcoves. The design became clear.

It was a picture. On the smooth rock of the cave wall, someone had painted a portrait. It was a grey-furred doe who seemed to have just come of age—in the full bloom of youth—smiling tenderly and holding a bouquet of wildflowers. More flowers hung from a braided crown on her head and were strung together in what folks at Halfwind called a peasant’s necklace.

It was a stunning image, and Jo felt reverent in the illuminated space. Finally looking away, he saw small stations all around the room, little displays featuring here a carefully preserved bundle of letters and there a ribbon ’round an old wreath of now-dried flowers. One small shelf had a whittled bit of wood with two rabbits carefully carved above a short inscription, B+G=. Turning back to the image rimmed with candlelight, Jo almost knelt.

“You have found my shrine, I see,” Slimmo said, startling Jo.

“She was very beautiful,” Jo replied.

“She still is,” Slimmo said, both hands tenderly touching his apron.

“She made that apron?” Jo asked. Slimmo nodded. Jo smiled. “And you have worn it all these years. You have kept up your hopes for a long time.”

“I will never give up on love. Never. No matter how far away she feels from me. And neither should you.”

Jo nodded, sensing that mix of heartbreak and hope that so defined his feelings for Amber. “Thank you.”

Slimmo smiled sadly at Jo. “It’s time to go, I think. Cole is getting antsy.”

Jo nodded, glanced back up at the doe, then walked past Slimmo with a comforting squeeze of the chef’s arm.

In a few minutes they were all back together, gathering their gear and setting out through the thin crevice, following after Slimmo. It was a perilous leap, but they made it down to the path once again. Jo stayed close to their guide, while Cole brought up the rear.

They walked a long time through the forest, always alert for the sound of wolves. Finally, they came to the main gate. The astonished guards called for them to halt, then sent for Lokson, who opened the gate for them.

“Thank you,” Jo said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“What’s happened here?” Cole asked. “Is everyone okay?”

“I have a competition tomorrow. I’m going to bed,” Lokson said testily, darting an angry look at Jo. “You can see Amber. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to talk with you.” With that, he strode ahead and left them behind.

“What’s his problem?” Studge asked.

Cole and Jo exchanged a look.

Slimmo patted Jo’s back as Lokson disappeared ahead. “I’d say it means one of us—perhaps Jo—needs to speak with Miss Hewson.”

“I’d love to,” Jo said, feeling his heart quicken.

In a few minutes they came to the nearly empty mess hall. Jo spotted Amber across the room. Her eyes grew wide when she saw him. She looked away then and busied herself with the papers in front of her. Slimmo returned to the kitchen, and the rest crossed to Amber’s station. At a nod from Jo, Cole stepped forward. He bowed to Amber.

“Has Captain Truff reported back in?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Amber answered. “The outside searchers came across a high number of wolves and had to abandon the pursuit. All groups had checked in except yours. We were …” she glanced over at Jo, then back to Cole, “concerned. Everyone was worried about your safety.”

“Any word about Matron Wilder?” Jo asked.

“Yes. She left this letter.” Amber reached into her satchel, drew out a paper, and handed it over to Cole. “It’s long, but I can give you the gist of it. She says she is leaving Blackstone Citadel and never returning. She offers many proofs that she is not Bane Graveheart. She feels betrayed by Lord Ronan, Captain Truff, and Lord … that is, Lord Lokken’s son. That is, Lokson.”

“What does Captain Truff believe?” Cole asked.

“That we’ll never see her again,” she replied, “and that we won’t know if she’s lying unless something else happens. Which, so far, it hasn’t.”

“No more letters or threats?” Jo asked.

“No,” she replied, looking down. “I haven’t written—I mean, I haven’t seen anything yet. I think everyone’s attention is turning to tomorrow’s competition.”

“The Archer’s Cup is going ahead?” Jo asked.

“The Ultimate Archer’s Cup. Yes,” Amber replied. “The rest of the competitors are in bed—have been for a while—and you should be too if you want to make a good showing tomorrow.”

“Oh, he’ll show up tomorrow,” Cole said, nodding. “Time to get some rest, Jo.”

Jo frowned. “Have you seen Emma?”

“The princess is in bed as well.” Amber rose, gathering the work she had on the table and slotting it carefully into her satchel. “She and Heyna were with Lord Ronan and Lady Elisabeth for many hours. I believe she gave Lord Ronan something to help him sleep. We all hope,” she coughed, then cleared her throat, “that Lord Ronan will be well in the morning.”

Cole nodded, handing Matron Wilder’s letter back to Amber. “Thank you, Miss Hewson. Well,” he said, turning to Jo, “I’m off to our quarters. I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, he left quickly, signaling Owen and Studge to follow.

Amber folded the letter and began to walk away.

“Wait, Amber,” Jo said. “Can we talk?”

“It’s not appropriate, Jo,” she replied, stopping with her back to him, “and you know why. I’m sorry.”

“I really care about you, Amber,” he said. “Can’t you give me a chance?”

She spun back, and he saw that her expression was sad. “Jo … you are an honorable buck. That is why I … but I have given you my answer. I mean what I say to you, just as I meant what I promised to Lokson. Will you not honor my choices?”

“But I don’t want to give up on love,” Jo said.

“If we give up on honor,” she said, “then maybe we aren’t ready for love.” With that, she turned and walked away.

Jo watched her go, tears starting in his eyes. He skulked away and wandered the halls. After an hour of mindless roving, he came at last to the large common where the Ultimate Archer’s Cup would be held. It became suddenly very important to him, in his sadness and exhaustion, to win. Maybe then she will see me as worthy of her love. Weariness overtook him, and he started back to his and Cole’s quarters. There was an envelope on the door with his name on it. His heart quickened, and he thought of Bane Graveheart. Then he considered that it might be from Amber! Jo tore it open and saw, with a sigh, that the signature was Cheltham’s. Of course.

“Get some rest, Shanks. I don’t want you to miss tomorrow. I won’t.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Morning.

Jo woke with a rock-solid determination. He felt powerless about Amber, perplexed by Lokson, and irked by Cheltham. But he knew today carried possibilities on all fronts. He was not powerless—not with his bow. He thought he could impress Amber, knew he could bury Lokson on the course, and hoped he could even outshoot Cheltham in the Ultimate Archer’s Cup.

“Are you ready to win this cup for our side?” Cole asked, crouching by Jo’s bunk.

“I aim to.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Jo!” Cole said, giving Jo a hand to launch out of bed. “I have a great feeling about this.”

“We need to check on Emma,” Jo said, reaching for his bow.

“Already have,” Cole replied. “She’s fine. Already at breakfast. I was up early and did everything that needs doing. I wanted you to get a little more rest. It’s a big day.”

Jo nodded. “Thanks, Cole.”

Cole bowed grandly. “You have an hour to breakfast, then it’s cup-winning time.”

Jo washed up and got ready, concentrating on the task ahead. He was glad to have this competition to focus on today. It reminded him of days at Halfwind, and he fell into an old routine of stretching and mental exercises he had used so often in the past.

Battle was different in many ways, but there were some similarities to those old competitions. He felt far better prepared for high-stakes shooting than he ever had in the past. Once you have fought alongside your comrades against armies of wolves and contended with birds of prey, shooting at fixed targets was not very intimidating. He relished the chance to test his skills against the best archers in Natalia.

Arriving at the mess hall alongside Cole, he gazed around, hoping to see Amber. Instead, he saw Cheltham and Lokson, eating with their black-clad private army. Lokson scowled and turned back to his food. Jo quickened his pace, but Cheltham left his seat quickly and intercepted him before he could reach a distant table.

“Jo Shanks, second-place archer of Halfwind Citadel,” Cheltham said, “how are you this morning? I hope I see you well.”

“Hello, Cheltham,” Jo replied, his tone flat, walking fast.

“Halfwind isn’t well-known for archery,” Cheltham said, “isn’t that right, Cole Blackstar? Even Kingston, far down the ranking behind Harbone, or indeed Blackstone, is ahead of lowly Halfwind in the public’s estimation of archery.”

“You’re getting pretty low in my estimation.” Cole stepped between Jo and Cheltham. “So why don’t you go back to your table and let us eat from this very high-ranking establishment in peace.”

“Jo,” Cheltham snapped, “you’ll never be worthy of a lord’s daughter. Never. You’d have to be a lord’s son—or maybe the greatest archer in all of Natalia. A legend? Maybe that would do the trick. But, of course, you’d have to win to achieve that.” He grinned maliciously and trotted off.

Cole looked over at Jo. “You know, he’s starting to grow on me. At first I thought he was rude. Can you believe that?”

“He’s a peach,” Jo replied. “I think he might be my new best friend. Sorry.”

“I can see it,” Cole said.

Slimmo appeared from the kitchen, and he hurried over to Jo.

“You okay, Slimmo?” Jo asked.

“It’s a big day for you, Jo. I know that, and I most heartily wish you victory on all fronts,” Slimmo said, shaking his hand. “But it is a big day for me as well. So, wish me luck, Jo.”

“Good luck, my friend. Are you going to win back your love?” Jo asked, thinking of the many miles north to the Red Lake Hills. “It’s a long way to go.”

“It is not so far,” Slimmo replied, “and I would go to the end of the world if I had to.”

“All the very best, my dear friend,” Jo said.

“I go.” Slimmo grinned. “And I don’t care whatever else happens. I must never give up on love.”

“Never,” Jo said, shaking Slimmo’s hand again. “You inspire me, sir.”

“Keep aiming for the heart, Jo, and it will never lead you wrong,” Slimmo said, saluting as he turned on his heels and shuffled back to the kitchen.

“What’s he doing?” Cole asked.

“Going after Matron Wilder.” Jo replied. “He’s loved her since they were very young.”

“He loves Bane Graveheart?” Cole asked.

“He probably doesn’t think she is Graveheart.”

“Then maybe he’s as crazy as she is,” Cole said.

“Maybe it’s crazy to be in love,” Jo said. “Maybe you have to risk everything.”

Cole shrugged, and they walked on. Jo spotted Emma and Heyna sitting alongside Grenda, the nurse who had warned them of danger their first night there. The two bucks paused, bowed to Emma, then moved toward open seats near them.

Heyna smiled up at them. “Well, well, if it isn’t the moonlight adventurers. Did I see you, a moment ago, chatting with Cheltham?”

“We’ve grown very close,” Jo said, sitting down. “We’re best pals now.”

“I can see it,” Heyna said.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Cole said, “and Aunt Grenda.”

“Good morning, Cole, and Jo-on-whom-all-our-hopes-are-fixed,” Emma said. “No pressure, but it would help so very much if you could manage to win this cup today.”

“If it means that much to you,” Jo said, “then I’ll give it a try. I had planned on letting Cheltham win—to boost his confidence.”

“Very kind, but I must insist,” Emma said, rising. The bucks rose as well. “Excuse us, if you please. We have eaten, and I have to check on Lord Ronan. I shall see you on the field.”

“Your Highness,” both bucks said, bowing together.

“Seriously, Jo,” Emma said, smiling. “I’ll be cheering you on with all my heart.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Jo replied.

When Emma and Heyna left, Cole turned to Jo. “Sit tight. I’ll get us some food. Aunt Grenda,” he asked, turning to the grey-furred doe, “may I get some for you as well?”

“Thank you, Captain Blackstar,” she replied. “I accept.”

Cole bowed, then hurried off to join the line of hungry patrons.

“How are you, Aunt Grenda?” Jo asked when they were seated again. “I’m sure things are unsettled in the hospital.”

“It is a challenging period, to be sure,” Grenda replied, “but we’re making progress. It will take time.”

“You worked near her for many years. Do you think Matron Wilder was Bane Graveheart?”

“I’m not sure of that, but I am convinced that the hospital—and the citadel as a whole—will be better off with Wilder away. But what of you, young Jo? I hear things about you.”

“Nothing good, I hope?” Jo asked, smiling.

“I am sorry to say that some of it is not good,” Grenda said seriously. “I am very close to a young doe of your acquaintance.”

Jo’s smile disappeared. “Oh.” He swallowed. “I will be happy to hear any advice you have.”

“Good,” Grenda said, taking his hand. “You are pursuing young Amber Hewson, yes, even after she has asked you to stop?”

Jo looked down. “I don’t know … I suppose … I mean …”

Grenda nodded. “So, the answer is yes?”

“Yes, but I know she cares for me. I believe we are supposed to be together.”

Grenda sighed. “She should be given the privilege of choosing for herself, should she not? You may believe her choice is wrong—and it may be—but it is not for you to judge. She is free of you and has chosen to remain so. Do not pretend you have any right to her.”

“But it’s love.”

“It doesn’t sound like love to me,” Grenda said, patting Jo’s hand. “It sounds like a target you are aiming for. But this is not the Archer’s Cup, nor any sport where better effort and determination will win out. It is two parties who must meet in the middle of a crowd and decide to leave that crowd together. One must not drag the other out.”

“I would never hurt her,” Jo replied. “I … I love her.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt her—not with your strength,” Grenda replied. “But you will hurt her in other ways if you continue to pursue her, ignoring her clear decision.”

“But what if Lokson isn’t good enough for her?”

“He isn’t,” Grenda said. “Not yet, anyway.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jo’s confidence, so high that morning, drained away. He walked out of the mess hall, having eaten very little, as Grenda’s words ran through his head.

“I don’t even want to compete, Cole,” Jo said, pausing in the hallway.

“What happened?” Cole asked. “You look like you lost your best friend. And I know that didn’t happen, because I’m right here.”

“I’m confused,” Jo said. “Slimmo keeps telling me to never give up on Amber, but Aunt Grenda made it all seem so different.”

“Who do you think is right?”

Jo frowned and looked down. “Not me, I’m afraid.”

“Well, come on,” Cole said. “Maybe you’ll win a cup for comfort.”

Jo nodded and followed Cole toward the Blackstone common.

They could hear the crowd before turning the last corner. They walked into the wide space, which teemed with a noisy throng. The common was divided down the middle with two packed groups of fans on either side of a long gallery. Archers and officials gathered on one end of the long gallery opposite an array of targets. The common was incredibly large, and the targets were set halfway down the gallery. The layout was strange to him and varied significantly from what he’d seen before.

Mac Harty crossed to shake hands and lead Jo to the proper lane. “You’ve got to watch out for the Harboners and Lokson,” he said as Jo waved to Cole and hurried alongside Mac, “but the bucks from Glen Clair aren’t a threat unless there’s movement. Danmark and Copeland can shoot on the run with the best of them. Two does from Vandalia are here, and they can shoot the itch off your nose—especially Cara Loglew. Her aim is unreal. Nate Flynn, of course, and a few of the Bracers will be contenders. But I know you can do this, Jo.”

“What about you?” Jo asked. “You can shoot. I’ve seen it.”

“I know where I fit in,” Mac said. “Cheltham could outshoot me with one arm.”

“He’s the favorite?”

“Depends on what you mean by favorite.” Mac smiled wide. “I’m the favorite—at least to my mother and a few others.”

“Archers,” a buck called. “Welcome to the first ever Ultimate Archer’s Cup!” The gathered contestants clapped, and the crowd cheered. Jo scanned the audience on both sides, hoping to see Amber. He was confused about how he should act, but he knew he would like to see her. To know she was okay. He thought of Grenda’s words. Am I even allowed to be concerned about her? That was a sulky thought. I do hope she’s here. I would like to see her. I would love for her to see me win.

The host continued. “We’ve got plenty of archers, and we need to thin the ranks a bit. First shots must hit within the center three rings of the target. Every archer who fails to achieve that feat is out. Then we’ll move on to the next levels.” The host and his officers organized the competitors by name, grouping those whose names began with A through G in the first lane. Cheltham strode to the front of the gathered archers and, after a smug glance at Jo, shot quickly, barely even looking at the target. His arrow broke through the target’s center circle, sank in deep, and poked out the back. He smirked at the applause and crossed to Jo, who was standing alone far back from the starting line of lane two, where he knew he would be assigned.

“You came, Shanks? I’m surprised. I was sure you’d do what you’re best at, and your, um, aim would stray from the target. I assumed you’d run away like Matron Wilder in the night.”

“Jo,” Mac Harty called from the line where a group of archers was checking their names with a match official, “you’re up.”

Jo looked into Cheltham’s eyes, squinting. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” He turned and, the way open for a moment, sighted the target and shot. His arrow struck the center of the target at an angle, tearing a wide hole as it continued through and stuck in the ground beyond.

A raucous cheer erupted from the crowd as the host announced, “Jo Shanks is through to the next round!” Jo walked away from Cheltham, his mind as focused as his bow. He saw Emma, Cole, and Heyna, cheering with joy among the crowd. There’s more where that came from.

The next round was announced. Jo joined the far-thinner ranks and recognized among his rivals those Mac had mentioned and several more besides. Mac Harty was there, and he smiled at Jo. Nate crossed over, alongside Owen and Studge.

“Quite a shot to get things started, Jo,” Nate said, smiling.

“Cheltham’s been trying to get in my head this whole time,” Jo replied, feeling along the arrows in his quiver. “I just thought it was finally time to return the favor.”

“He’s strong, Jo,” Owen said. “He’s the favorite to win it.”

“One of us needs to see that doesn’t happen,” Jo replied.

“Agreed,” Studge put in. “Buck’s a creep all day. Somebody’s gotta knock him down.”

“It would be good for him,” Nate said. “And maybe good for the war effort.”

“If it’s for the war effort,” Owen said, “I guess I’ll beat him.”

“It does say a lot about his tactics,” Nate continued, rubbing his chin, “that we’re all talking about him. Look around,” he went on, nodding at the other clusters of archers all around. “I bet most of them are talking about him too. He gets in everyone’s head. He was already in the competition long before it ever started.”

“How do you compete with those mind games?” Owen asked.

“If you’re competing in his mind games,” Nate said, patting Owen’s arm, “then he’s already beaten you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jo breathed deeply, closing his eyes as his hand glided along the surface of his arrows. Choosing the best, he replaced the others, rose, and turned to cross back to the central lane. The targets, three of them, had been moved back. The first was set up at twice the previous length. The other two were staggered farther still. Long shots. Very long shots.

Jo felt his confidence rising. He had done far more shooting in tense situations recently than he ever had in his life before. He felt no nerves, only a rising determination coupled with a quiet confidence. I am ready to win this.

“Archers!” the host cried from his makeshift stage near the center lane, “we move on to round two. You must shoot at the three targets, staggered ahead at three distances. Your view of the second and third targets will be obscured, and they will be far away, but after you hit the first target, you may rush ahead, weaving through the various obstacles, to achieve a better position to shoot at the advanced targets. But there is a time limit. Our judges have been given a small sand-timer and a gong. When ten seconds have elapsed, the gong will be struck.” At this he nodded to a burly buck, who lifted his chin briefly in response, then smugly settled into his seat and began to position his gong. “At that sound your shooting must be complete. So you must hurry and aim true. Good luck!”

The crowd cheered as most of the archers gathered around. The host explained that their names would be called after being randomly drawn. Jo knew they all hoped to be chosen later so they could see what the other archers did. He stood nearby, watching as the first challenger was called out and approached the line.

It was Cara Loglew, from Vandalia. The host shouted, “Go!” and Cara drew and aimed, firing and striking the center circle on the first target. Digging into the dirt, she sped ahead to the next best position, weaving as she went past a zigzag of wooden obstacles. Once past the barriers, she set her feet and fired the second shot, striking the target in the third circle nearest to its center. She was off in a moment, drawing again as she dashed to a good position down the lane to aim and fire in time. The gong sounded loudly as she shot, missing the final, distant mark.

“Not good enough!” the buck who struck the gong said, far too loudly and with some relish. Jo frowned.

The crowd clapped. Cara walked back, head hung low, to the consolation of her friends. It was a good showing, Jo knew, but would never suffice to beat the likes of Cheltham.

Jo watched three more archers compete, none doing so well as Cara and all far from the goal of hitting all three centers. He knew that’s what it would take to advance to the next round. After each archer’s session, the gong sounded loudly, and a derisive comment would come from the smug judge.

Mac walked up and nodded to Jo. “You put on quite a show last round.”

“That was for Cheltham,” Jo said. “Just to let him know he can’t get to me.”

“It worked, I think. He hasn’t said a word since. He was so chatty before.” Mac laughed. “I think you’re in his head, now.”

“He earned it.”

Mac nodded. “Got any more surprises for this round?”

“I have a few ideas. You?”

They watched as another archer failed and the crowd’s agonized sigh rose above the common.

“No. I just need to run fast and aim straight. I don’t think many will make it past this round,” Mac said. “It’s too hard to get into those positions in time. This one will be decisive. Only a few will make it to the final round. I think you’re going to do it, Jo.”

“Thanks, Mac,” Jo said. “I’ll be cheering you on as well.”

Mac nodded thanks, then walked back toward the lane. Jo gazed at the course, wondering what surprises lay beyond this round. Glancing over at the judges’ table, his eyes thinned to slits. Jo didn’t like the smirk on the burly officer at the gong. Why isn’t Lord Ronan presiding over this? It would have been a good opportunity for him to show leadership and rally the citadel. If Lord Ronan couldn’t be here, then where was Captain Truff? As brusque as he could be, Jo had no doubt he would at least show respect for the archers if he was judge. Instead, they had this silly official who enjoyed the failures of the unsuccessful archers. He doesn’t know how hard this is.

Jo watched a few more archers fall short, then he scanned the crowd for his friends. Lokson had a black-clad cheering section near Emma. Cole watched the competition intently while Heyna seemed to be scowling at Lokson’s fans. Grenda was there with several others from the hospital. She seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. No sign of Lord Ronan or Amber. Maybe he was still unwell in bed. No sign of Captain Truff, either.

Looking back at the thinning field of archers, he saw that Lokson was standing alone, head down. Nearby, Cheltham was watching the failing archers, his face full of contempt. Jo crossed to Lokson and stood by him in silence for a while.

“Do you still care for her?” Jo asked.

“I would do anything for her,” Lokson replied quietly. “I would give anything to be worthy of her love. But I’m afraid I never will be.”

Jo wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t even sure why he asked. Before he could form a reply, the host shouted his name. “Jo Shanks!” Having seen his shot the last round, the crowd rose to cheer. Here, they believed, they would see the second-round obstacle overcome. Jo walked to the line, then stopped when the burly judge called out. “That was an error,” the judge said, glancing briefly at Cheltham, then back to the host. “Actually, Captain Cheltham shoots now. Shanks may shoot after him.”

Jo frowned and nodded his head. Cheltham’s games continue.

“Forgive me, Lieutenant Shanks,” the host said, then called out, “Captain Cheltham!”

The crowd did not hear the substitution and cheered on as Cheltham stepped to the starting line ahead of Jo. He grinned at Jo, then spun to the course, glancing back at Jo every few seconds. Jo turned around slowly and sunk down into a relaxed sitting position, his back to the course. A few of the archers nearby laughed, and Jo felt certain of Cheltham’s frustration. But frustrating Cheltham was only part of the reason he turned away and sat. He closed his eyes and felt along the shaft of several arrows before choosing the smoothest. It spoke to him, in a way, and he visualized it flying to the mark. He repeated this step for a few more and picked out some to leave on the ground. He heard the host shout, “Go!” and counted the seconds to the striking of the gong. Fifteen. There were some groans nearby, but the crowd cheered loudly when it was over. Jo knew his rival had done it. Cheltham had somehow found a way to beat the course and the clock, albeit with a little help from the judge.

Jo had no doubt that his own time allowed would be less than ten seconds and certainly not the fifteen Cheltham had received. He put that out of his mind. Rising, he turned and crossed to the line as Cheltham sauntered past, the first, and so far only, archer to advance.

“Be quick; the time goes fast. Try to hit the targets before the gong sounds, Shanksy,” he taunted. “It’s lovely up here at the top.”

Jo said nothing, walking on as if Cheltham didn’t exist. Mentally, he was already on the course, already aiming, releasing, and striking the consecutive center circles. Even the cheering crowd was a distant sound, and nothing seemed to touch his calm.

“Lieutenant Shanks,” the host said, smiling, “so nice of you to trouble yourself enough to come all the way up to the starting line this time.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Jo said, glancing over at Cheltham, then back to the host, “to you, sir.”

“I understand. And, may I say that it was fantastic,” the host replied. “Are you ready?”

Jo nodded, glancing up at the targets staggered in the distance. The second was nearly out of sight and the third a blur in the distance. Then he glowered over at the judges’ table where the burly judge’s fist clenched a mallet poised over the gong, his eyes intent and expression hungry.

Jo closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly and then out even slower. Calm. His mind quiet. An untouchable ease of focus. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Go!” the host shouted.

Jo didn’t move. His eyes flashed open. He inhaled deeply, then quickly—almost casually—drew and shot. The arrow pierced the first target’s center and disappeared behind it. By the time it shot through, Jo’s second arrow was gone. He shot at the second, faraway target—not after running around the obstacles but—from the starting line!

The second arrow sunk deep into the target’s center, and Jo stepped forward, leaping on to the top of the very first obstacle. The crowd gasped as he nocked, drew back hard, then let loose his last arrow. It raced the incredible distance like a long, taut line and struck the target dead center.

Just as the last target was struck and the crowd’s cheers swelled and showered down around him, Jo turned to his right and sent a fourth arrow speeding. It struck the gong with a loud clashing sound, sending the burly judge diving away. The crowd surged into a wild frenzy. Rabbits were leaping and shouting, and every face seemed struck with astonishment. The archers rushed Jo, crowding around him and shouting encouragement.

“What a shot!” Mac Harty cried, smacking Jo’s back.

“Ring that gong!” Cara Loglew cried, laughing hard as she shook Jo’s hand.

The rest of the archers gave their congratulations and best wishes for the next round, all except for Cheltham and Lokson, and a few of their black-clad fellows, who stood apart. Cheltham was seething, and Lokson seemed shocked, his eyes wide with a worried realization.

The host called for order and announced the next archer. He then asked the judges to find another buck to operate the gong. The previous judge was unable to continue.

“Find a judge that keeps time fair!” Owen shouted amid the din.

“Yeah,” Mac Harty cried right after. “Find someone who hasn’t been bribed by Cheltham.”

“Hear, hear!” the other archers echoed. Cheltham looked furious and about to speak, then only sputtered and hung his head. Lokson’s alarm seemed to deepen at Cheltham’s shameful actions. He was reeling.

A new judge was found, an impartial doe well known by everyone local. They prepared for the next archer. Still Jo’s name rang around the common, and the other archers urged him out to greet the crowd. Reluctantly, he saw that he would have to do this so that the competition could continue fairly for the other competitors. Jo stepped forward a little from the archers behind him and waved thanks to the crowd. They cheered him louder than ever, and many threw flowers and ribbons onto the course. These were gathered by young rabbits and brought to Jo, who asked that they be set to the side for now. He bowed, clasped his hands together in front of him once again, then backed away slowly, rejoining the delighted band of archers.

Now, at last, the crowd simmered down and allowed the competition to go ahead. Jo stood and watched the next archer, applauding his effort as he nevertheless fell short and joined the long list of those who would not be joining Jo and Cheltham in the next round. The next two did the same, and Jo slipped through the onlooking archers to find a few quiet moments before the next round came.

He sat in a corner, out of view of the crowd, and checked his arrows methodically as time rolled by. Archer after archer competed, and almost all—he could tell by the sound of the crowd—failed. He heard Nate go through, and he wasn’t surprised. So far it was only Cheltham, himself, and Nate on to the next round. The last round.

Jo still felt level-headed, even with the adulation of the crowd and the intensity of the rancor between him and Cheltham. A spring of worry welled up deep within when he thought of Lokson, but he stopped it up for the moment and promised to address it later. For now, I need to win this. For Emma. For the cause. To put Cheltham in his place. To prove myself to—

Amber Hewson walked quickly to him, and his heart seemed to pause, then pound on in a pronounced thumping as he swallowed hard and gazed into her face.

Her face. It was anxious. Worry lines spread away from her lovely eyes, and he blinked, trying to reconcile the experience he had been having in the Ultimate Archer’s Cup with her expression. The competition rolled away from his focus. His attention was broken up, shattered by her appearance. He had hoped to see her all day, but now her presence was disruptive.

“Amber?” he asked. “What is it?”

She collapsed in front of him and held out a paper. “It’s a letter.”

“Bane Graveheart?” he asked.

She nodded. “He’s back. And he threatens sudden death.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jo rose, looking around for his friends. Amber was crying. He reached for her, comforting her with an embrace. Then they heard the tournament host shouting.

“And now for our last challenger of this round, Lokson!”

They looked up, saw the pale red buck standing at the starting line, arrow nocked, gazing at them across the common. Amber leapt away from Jo’s arms, her tears increasing as she sunk to her knees. The crowd cheered loud and long for Lokson, but his face was a strange mix of fury and devastation. His withering gaze was fixed on the two rabbits. Lokson breathed in deeply and raised his bow, resolution firm on his face. Jo eased in front of Amber, then stood still, gazing into those dark eyes.

“Go!” the host cried. Lokson spun and drilled the first target with an emphatic shot. He was off, dashing through the obstacles with expert agility. He loosed his second and rushed away again as it struck the center of the target. The last target loomed, and he broke hard left to set himself for the final shot. The gong went just as his arrow raced away. If it hit, he was into the final.

The crowd gasped. Jo stepped forward, craning to see even though it was well out if his view. But the crowd told him.

They roared a raucous cheer, rushing the field to embrace him and raise him on their shoulders. The noise surpassed even what Jo had heard when he had accomplished his feat. He is so popular here. They love him so much.

“What will we do?” Amber asked from behind him.

Jo turned back to her. “What does the letter say?”

Amber took it from her satchel and, wiping her eyes, read. “I am determined. Today you leave alone or die. Everything and everyone you love is under a sentence unless you fly away by nightfall. I give you five hours. Go. Alone. Or death will come to Blackstone because of you.” She folded it up and slipped it back inside her satchel. “What do we do? About Lokson? About Graveheart? About Ronan? I just don’t know what to do!”

Jo wanted to hurry to her and fold her in his arms again. But he hesitated and could not help but glance back at the crowd carrying Lokson from the field. They gathered around the host, who was making some announcement.

“We have till nightfall,” Jo said. “Let’s get with Emma and make a plan. All is not lost.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “But I need to get back to Lord Ronan and Lady Elisabeth. This final blow is too much. I’m afraid of what he might do. And what might be done to him.”

Mac rushed over, smiled at Amber uncertainly, then spoke to Jo. “Final round is in half an hour. The judges advised the finalists to have something to eat, then reconvene here after.”

“Thanks, Mac,” Jo said.

“You know I’m cheering you on,” Mac said, “but Lokson is one of our own. And he’s a good buck. So, I’m sorry if I root for him in the final.”

Jo glanced at Amber, then back to Mac. “I understand, Mac. Thanks for the update.”

Most of the crowd seemed to be staying in place, unwilling to give up their spots with the final looming. But others, including the parties gathered around the finalists, were heading away toward the promise of food at the mess hall. Emma, Heyna, Cole, and Grenda walked up, their initial enthusiasm dampened somewhat when they saw Jo’s face and Amber standing nearby.

Grenda was less aware as she came last of all and spoke enthusiastically. “Jo, you’ve thrilled us all, and good luck to you. But we do love our native son! Our Lokson showed his mettle too, did he not?”

“You win some,” Cole said, glancing over at Lokson surrounded by eager admirers, then over at Amber, “and you lose some.”

“Jo,” Emma said, taking both of his hands, “you did so well. We’re so happy for you.”

“Well done, Jo,” Heyna added, though they were all becoming more aware that something wasn’t right.

“Your Highness,” Jo said, “thank you. But I have bad news. There’s been another letter.”

“So, Matron Wilder isn’t Bane Graveheart?” Cole asked.

“Apparently not,” Jo said, “though that’s not impossible. She still has followers here.”

“I do not think it is her,” Grenda said. “I think our suspicions are to be aimed elsewhere.”

Amber handed the letter to Emma, and she read it aloud. Cole and Heyna frowned, and Grenda winced.

“This is an escalation, is it not?” Emma asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Amber answered.

“Lord Ronan is no doubt destroyed,” Emma said. “I will go to him at once.”

“Thank you, Princess Bright,” Amber said, bowing.

Emma nodded, then closed her eyes, brow scrunched in thought. “Heyna, please come along with me and Amber. Jo, you stay here and win this cup final. Cole, you stay alert and keep Jo on his task. Jo, have something to eat and then come back and really try to win this. It would help us so much. Already you have won such goodwill. Winning would ease our way. Plus, Cheltham …”

Jo bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Aunt Grenda,” Emma said, “do you choose to come along with us to see to Lord Ronan?”

“I don’t think that would be best, Highness,” she said, bowing.

“Then keep our Jo company, if you would. Make sure he eats and gets the encouragement he needs.”

“Yes, Princess Bright,” Grenda replied, bowing.

“Stay focused, Jo,” Emma said, smiling at him. “I shall try to be back for the final, but if I am not there, know I am with you in heart.”

Jo bowed again. Emma turned and hurried away alongside Heyna and Amber. Amber glanced back and met Jo’s gaze a moment, then followed on.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jo stared after Amber for a moment, then caught Grenda’s disapproving eye. He sighed and turned back to Cole and the nurse.

“What a strange day this has been,” Cole said.

“Indeed,” Grenda added.

“Let’s get some food.” Jo nodded toward the wide hallway leading to the mess hall. “I only have half an hour, and, I don’t know about you two, but I need some fuel to keep me going. Maybe we can get some strong tea.”

They walked ahead, following behind a band made up mostly of archers, including Nate and the Bracers. Owen caught Jo’s eye and shot up a thumb, with a questioning expression. Jo returned the thumbs-up, and they carried on walking until they drew near the mess hall. Jo squeezed the grip of his bow, felt the gentle rattle of his unlocked quiver. He felt oddly at one with his weapons. In a strange new way, he felt an overwhelming sense of certainty in his abilities as an archer. He simply knew that he would outshoot everyone today. Even Nate. Even Cheltham. Today, he was unstoppable. It wasn’t pride but a kind of inward assurance.

The majority of the Blackstone rabbits were going in the same direction, but an old golden buck in a hospital uniform met them going the opposite way.

“Grenda, my dear fellow healer,” he said, “may I say how lovely you look this day?”

“You may, indeed, Buster Harvey,” Grenda said, smiling wide as they continued past.

“You’re a more popular figure in this citadel than I understood earlier,” Jo said. “Is this part of your daily routine—receiving the adulation of your many fans?”

“Ha!” Grenda snorted. “Says the buck whose name was so recently chanted by the masses on the common!”

“He’s oblivious to fame,” Cole said, winking at Grenda as they all sat down and were immediately served by a short buck who worked diligently alongside the rest of the bustling kitchen staff. “It’s not modesty, though. He’s just clueless.”

Jo set down his bow, made a fist and pretended to threaten Cole, then smiled and took a sip of his tea. It was steaming in the same red archer’s cup he drank from their first night in Blackstone, but this wasn’t blackroot tea. “Slimmo isn’t here, is he?” he asked the young buck serving them.

“No, sir,” the buck replied, wiping his sweaty face with a cloth. “Boss ain’t been in since early this morning.”

Jo thanked him, and he hustled off.

“I’m offended,” Cole said, “that he had nothing to say about your beauty, Grenda.”

Grenda wheezed. “That kind word from old Buster will have to make up for the time earlier today at the common when I was confused for Breelia Wilder. I have to hope it was the uniform.”

Jo frowned. “Wasn’t Matron Wilder beautiful as a younger doe?”

Grenda winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said such a thing. Just because she was cruel to me and many others doesn’t give me the right to be cruel in return—even in her absence.”

“But tell me truly, Aunt Grenda,” Jo said, perplexed. “Matron Wilder wasn’t beautiful when she came of age?”

Grenda blinked a few times, then answered. “I don’t think she’s changed much since then, really. She has never been considered in any way beautiful by anyone I’ve known. But she had many talents. She was resourceful and determined. She worked very hard …” Grenda swallowed and said no more.

Cole frowned at Jo, then turned back to Grenda, who had gone silent. “Aunt Grenda, of all the grey-furred does at Blackstone, I have always thought you looked most like Lady Elisabeth. And that is as high a compliment as I can think of.”

“You are very kind,” Grenda replied. “We have the same grey fur, to be sure. But that is where the similarities end. Lady Elisabeth has always been considered the great beauty of this region. It’s why Lord Ronan chose to stay here. She had many determined suitors.”

Jo frowned, his imagination suddenly alive with once-unconnected threads finding ties that might just bind. He glanced down at his tea. Setting the archer’s cup once again to his lips, he drank as his mind reeled.

“Archers!” a loud voice cried. “The Ultimate Archer’s Cup continues at the common! Please report to the starting line in five minutes. Five minutes, finalists, or you forfeit your place!”

Cole scarfed down some jam-smothered bread and rose, mumbling, “Let’s go, Jo,” through his mouthful.

Jo rose, staggering back, the mug of tea in his hand. “Hold on,” he said. “Just. Hold. On.”

“What’s wrong, Jo?” Grenda asked. “You look unwell. Please, sit down a moment.”

“Jo,” Cole said. “We’ve got to go. You can’t miss this. It’s the chance of a lifetime. It could change everything. With Amber. For Emma and the cause. Come on.”

“No,” Jo said flatly, eyes wide open and breathing hard.

“What’s wrong with you?” Cole asked.

“He isn’t thinking straight,” Grenda said. “Jo, please sit down and let us help you.”

Jo raised his hands. “How could I have been so stupid? Listen to me,” he said looking from Cole to Grenda. “I’m thinking perfectly fine. I’m thinking straight for the first time in a while. Listen, Cole, please go quickly and find Captain Truff. Where’s he been all day? Why is he missing? Try to find out, find him, and meet me at the Lord’s Quadrant when you do. Hurry. There might be trouble. There will be trouble.”

“Are you sure, Jo?” Cole asked, deadly serious.

“I am.”

Cole nodded. Touching his sword reflexively, he spun and sprinted from the hall.

“What is this, Jo?” Grenda asked. “You’re worrying me. I don’t—”

“Aunt Grenda,” Jo said, cutting her off, “are there antidotes to different forms of poisons in your hospital?”

“Not all,” she said, breathing hard, “but many.”

“Please gather all you can—anything to revive—and meet me in the Lord’s Quadrant.”

She talked on, asking more questions, but Jo didn’t hear them clearly. He bolted away, running as fast as he could.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jo hurtled ahead, dodging past harried rabbits who scrambled out of his way as he sped recklessly down the dim corridors. Clasping his bow in hand, he came to the Lord’s Quadrant gate, which was open. The guards who should have been keeping watch were all lying on the ground, motionless.

“No, no,” Jo muttered as he sped past, then turned the corner leading to the council chamber. He threw himself against the large oak door, and it burst open. He stumbled inside, drew his sword, and peered around.

No one was there. It was deadly quiet.

Jo hurried out the open door and crept quickly along the hallway, listening for any unusual sound. At last he heard a muffled groan, and he rushed in that direction. This time, when he came to another large door with two soldiers slumped by its frame, he turned the handle carefully and looked inside. Jo saw a large anteroom with several more doorways, and an open hall leading—he suspected—to a common living room. This must be Lord Ronan’s family chambers. Tiptoeing inside, he snuck silently down the hall.

Jo quickly came to the doorway of the large common parlor. The room was long, much of it obscured by tall wooden support beams ornately carved and staged in sequence till the far side ended with another large door, which stood open. As his focus fell lower, he inhaled quickly. There were rabbit forms laid out along the floor, including Emma, Heyna, Jervie the cook, and Amber. The cook was out cold, much like the soldiers Jo had seen slumped along the way. But the three does’ eyes were open, and a panicked expression haunted their frozen faces. Heyna saw Jo, and her eyes widened slowly.

She struggled, trying to speak. “Thlotts …” she moaned, slurring as she tried to make her mouth work. “Dthartsss …”

“Darts?” Jo whispered.

Heyna’s eyes went wide again. Jo nodded and hurried ahead, ducking around the support beams as he rounded a long row of cabinets. He couldn’t help but glance back at Amber’s pleading, anxious eyes. He swallowed hard, snapping back to view the perilous room.

Jo was creeping along warily when a buck sprang out from behind the cover of one of the far pillars. Slimmo appeared with a blow-dart poised on his lips. He blew, and a small dart raced Jo’s way. Jo swiveled quickly, narrowly avoiding the first dart. The second came fast, and Jo instinctively raised his blade, somehow blocking the small stinger tipped—Jo had no doubt—with poison.

Slimmo danced behind another column, and Jo did the same. Breathing hard, Jo quickly checked himself over for hits. Just one dart would quickly render him immobile and leave Slimmo to complete his deadly scheme.

“So it was you all along,” Jo called. “You were always Bane Graveheart.”

“She made me a bane,” Slimmo spat, “and turned my heart into a grave. I tried to warn them. I tried to get Ronan Lovestealer to leave on his own, but now he will go on alone—to his own solitary grave!”

“What have you done with Lady Elisabeth?” Jo asked. “Her children? Will you deprive them of a father?”

“It’s his fault!” Slimmo raged, rushing out from behind the column and firing several more darts in succession before hiding behind another tall beam. Jo saw the colorful blur of the cook’s apron, heard the quiet clinking of the metal neck hoops. The darts sunk into the wooden column near Jo’s head as he crouched back.

“Stop this, Slimmo!”

“Jo, Jo!” the anguished cook cried as he resumed a hiding place. “You must understand me. Of all of them, I thought you must understand. You can never give up on love!”

Jo felt sick. He shook his head. Glancing back at the motionless bodies lined up behind him, he saw Amber’s expressive eyes filling with tears. He winced. I’ve been such a fool!

“Slimmo,” Jo said. “It’s not too late. Grenda’s coming with antidotes. I think we can revive everyone. Revive them all, and no one has to die. You can’t kill Ronan—not if you love Elisabeth. Not if you love your Beth. You’ve been deluding yourself for years into believing that it’s right, but it’s not. It’s wicked. She’s another buck’s wife. You’ve convinced yourself it’s possible, but it’s not. Even if you take her away, they will never give up looking for you. I will never give up. I’ll find you. I’ll stop you.”

Slimmo laughed. “Find me? You don’t know how long I’ve planned this, Jo Shanks, you ungrateful youngling. Grenda’s antidotes won’t keep the blastpowder barrels from bringing this entire warren down. By the time you find them all, I’ll be long gone, and no one will ever find us, I assure you of that. Not your best tracker, or your cleverest scout. That cave you saw was only one of many. And no one knows them like I do. I’ve been planning this for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Slimmo, please,” Jo begged. “We’re friends, right? Please, don’t do this.”

A long silence was finally broken when Slimmo spoke again. “How did you know it was me, Jo?”

“It was the cup. The archer’s cup,” Jo said, hoping to stall Slimmo with conversation—hoping Cole would get there in time. “It was the blackroot tea and how you got it. I remembered your wet clothes in your secret pantry. I remembered about the first lit blastpowder barrel set past the water gate. That made us all suspicious of the three keymasters and Lead Captain Truff. But you didn’t need a key, did you?”

“I need no keys. I am the key,” Slimmo said, laughing. “So, I erred when I let you in on my secret tea. I thought I could trust you—that you were different. I thought you understood me, because of your own young love.”

“I did,” Jo said. “I do. I know that you’re confused about what love really is. I think you’re telling yourself that your obsession with Beth is love, but it’s not.”

“I’m doing everything in my power to be with her!” Slimmo raged. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

“That’s ownership. That’s stealing. That’s slavery, Slimmo,” Jo said as calmly as he was able. “I know that now. I’m not ready for love until I’m someone who has honor—someone who values honor above my own feelings and needs. Someone who has honor and can give honor.”

Slimmo rushed out again, firing several darts in succession as he fell back to the far side of the room. Jo dove for cover, then sprang up and gazed across to track the cook’s new position. If he does that one more time, he’ll sting for it. Jo quietly drew and nocked an arrow. But the blastpowder kegs the cook mentioned might be set anywhere. If he killed Slimmo, they might never find them all or evacuate the citadel in time. And where could they go if they had to evacuate this many rabbits so quickly? With those wolves out there, it would be a massacre. All these thoughts competed inside Jo’s mind while he tried to think of how to engage the enraged buck.

“Jo,” Slimmo said, his voice quavering as he groaned with some straining effort on the far side of the room, “I hope you’ll remember, after my Beth and I are gone away together, how I was a good buck. I helped folks. I was loyal, always.”

“Prove it, now,” Jo said, and he stepped out from behind his column, bow lowered below his waist. Slimmo rose too, with a grunt, bearing the body of an unconscious Lady Elisabeth. In his right hand, the cook held out a sword.

“I think you won’t shoot me, Jo,” Slimmo said, his eyes wild. “I may move at the last moment, and you’d kill my love. I trust you won’t try that.”

“Put her down, Slimmo,” Jo said, stepping slowly nearer. Slimmo eased closer to the motionless form of Lord Ronan, slumped on a couch. The citadel’s lord was insensible, arms out wide, head lolling back so his neck was exposed.

“Never, Jo. I’ll never give up on love,” Slimmo replied, shaking his sword. “And now it’s time for Bane Graveheart to follow through on his promise. Ronan must die.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Keeping Lady Elisabeth as a shield, Slimmo shuffled a few steps forward in front of a wooden column and raised the sword over Lord Ronan’s motionless body.

Jo’s eyes thinned to slits as he tracked the motion and, beginning to raise his bow, considered every possible shot. Quickly, he measured the slim opening and—as his arrow leveled up to his eye-line—released it. Jo exhaled as the shot sped ahead, finding the tiny gap between Lady Elisabeth’s limp form and Slimmo’s bulging apron attachment. The arrow shot through the double rings of the apron’s neck and sank deep into the wooden column behind, pinning Slimmo. Arrested in motion, the tall chef’s killing strike fell short, but his desperate stroke managed to begin a tear in the apron that ripped through the fabric, finally splitting it in two.

Slimmo screamed just as Jo, rushing ahead, reached him and wrestled away his blade. Then Cole was there, breaking into the chaotic scene with Owen and Studge alongside. Cole took hold of Lady Elisabeth and tore her away from Slimmo’s clutches while Studge placed himself between Slimmo and Lord Ronan. Jo tackled Slimmo, sending him to the ground in a rough tumble that led to an intense scuffle. Owen dove in and helped Jo hold down the seething, fevered Slimmo.

“It’s over, Slimmo,” Jo cried, taking the cook’s face in his hands as he shouted. “It’s done, now!”

“Never!” Slimmo cried, writhing against his captors. “I’ll never give up … on love.”

Jo whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Slimmo. I’m going to help you, all right? Easy. Easy. Gently there, Owen,” he said.

“I’m trying,” Owen hissed back as he struggled with holding Slimmo down. Cole had laid Lady Elisabeth down gently and, after checking her over for injuries, came and helped Owen and Jo.

“Never give up!” Slimmo cried. “Never!”

Grenda arrived and bent to check on the motionless rabbits, beginning with Emma. “Oh no,” she cried. “What has happened here?”

“Can you help them?” Jo called across the room.

“I don’t know what they’ve been poisoned with,” she said.

Jo turned back to Slimmo, gazing into his face. “It’s time, Slimmo. Time to help us save these rabbits. Those are my friends, and our princess, Emma. She’s the rightful bearer of the Green Ember, Slimmo. We need her. Rabbitkind needs her. How do we save her?”

Slimmo struggled on a few seconds more, then slowly stopped fighting his captors. He groaned and mumbled, winced and wailed as Jo stayed close to his face. “Help me save my friends, Slimmo. Please. It’s not too late for them—or you.”

Slimmo’s fur was drenched with sweat and his eyes were wide and wild, but he breathed deeply, blinked a few times, and spoke softly. “They are not in danger,” he said. “They will wake up … after a few hours and … all will be well. It’s only a sedative. It’s mostly lalla oil. I have not meant to kill anyone else. I only meant to harm Ronan. I meant to kill no one else.”

“The blastpowder barrels?” Jo asked.

“The barrels are lit and all over the warren,” Slimmo said, “but they are not filled with blastpowder. Only pepper. I only wanted time to get away with my Beth.”

“Where are the barrels?” Jo asked. “I’d like to see a few, just in case.”

“I have lost your trust?” Slimmo asked, tears pooling in his eyes.

“I’m afraid so,” Jo said, breathing hard.

Slimmo nodded. “There is a list in my apron pocket,” he said, tears spilling down his face. “You’ll find them all there.”

Jo nodded to Owen, who took the list from the torn apron’s pocket.

“Go check them out,” Jo said, nodding to Owen and Studge. They nodded and hurried out.

Slimmo clung to the torn apron, hugging it to his chest. He curled up and sobbed as more soldiers arrived and helped Grenda begin to move the drugged rabbits carefully to the hospital.

“Captain Truff?” Jo asked Cole.

“I think he must be drugged too. When I couldn’t find him in his quarters and asked around a bit, I grabbed Owen and Studge and sent a message to the soldiers at the main gate. Then I got here as quickly as I could.”

“He’s been drugged as well,” Slimmo blubbered out. “He’s locked in my secret pantry.”

“Let’s go, Slimmo,” Jo said as he and Cole dragged the buck to his feet. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to lock you up.”

Slimmo nodded, and several soldiers stepped forward to take custody of the cook.

“I’ll go with them,” Cole said, “and I’ll see that we get Captain Truff to the hospital as well.”

“Thanks,” Jo said. “I’ll help Aunt Grenda here.”

Cole and the soldiers left with Slimmo, and Jo crossed to bend by Grenda, who was tending to Emma. “Is she going to be okay?”

“I think so,” Grenda replied. “If Slimmo was telling the truth, then it’s not harmful long-term. They’ll just be foggy for a little while.”

There was a fury of pounding steps down the hall outside, and Jo leapt up, tearing free his sword again as he stood over his unconscious friends.

Lokson burst around the corner, his sword drawn and his face wild with fright. “What’s happened?” he cried desperately. “Where’s Amber?”

Jo raised his non-sword hand, then slowly sheathed his blade. “She’s right here, Lokson. Grenda is taking care of her.”

“She’s going to be okay, sir,” Grenda said.

Lokson knelt by Amber’s side and took her hand. Tears came to his eyes.

After a few moments, Grenda spoke. “Did you win?”

Lokson looked at her in confusion, then blinked away tears as he realized what she was asking about. Jo had forgotten as well. The Ultimate Archer’s Cup was being contested just then.

“No, Aunty,” Lokson replied. “I lost. Shanks, you and I were disqualified. It’s between Cheltham and Flynn now. I, uh … I got word just before my turn that Amber might be in danger. I came at once. I … I, uh … have certainly lost.”

Jo extended a hand to Lokson, who took it, and they shook.

Grenda smiled, glancing at Amber. “Perhaps not all is lost.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Jo watched Emma and Lord Ronan take the high platform in the midst of the Blackstone common, both now fully recovered after a day of rest.

Lord Ronan raised his hand to quiet the cheers of the gathered rabbits. “My dear friends, we meet today to celebrate our deliverance from difficult days. More than that, we meet to formalize an alliance with the rest of rabbitkind against the tyrannous Preylords and Morbin their king.” Fists were extended high all over the common, a Blackstone gesture that Jo was inspired to see. “I want to publicly apologize for being too slow to see the need to unite. And so—long after I should have, but I hope not too late—I hereby pledge my loyalty and faith and,” bowing before Emma, he continued, “in the name of Blackstone Citadel and all her hosts, promise to aid and support you and your cause all our days!”

Cheers and approving shouts sounded throughout the common. Emma waved and nodded graciously as flowers were tossed up to gather around her feet.

Jo grinned, and Heyna smiled at him, but she quickly resumed her careful scrutiny of everything and everyone near Emma. Cole slapped Jo’s back. “Couldn’t have happened without you,” he said. “Well done, my friend.”

“Thanks, Cole.”

Lord Ronan rose and signaled Lead Captain Truff, who, along with Lokson and Grenda, hurried up to join their lord on the platform. Lord Ronan motioned for silence. “I am delighted to see you share my enthusiasm for fully joining the cause. Our pledge is to make up for lost time by bringing an energetic force into the fray to fight alongside our kind for our Princess Bright.” More cheers, but Ronan raised his hand again. “To help lead our citadel in formalizing our loyalty, I have asked the other two of the three keymasters of Blackstone, Lokson and newly appointed Grenda, to join in leading our pledge. And Lead Captain Truff will begin it.”

Truff bowed low to Emma, then rose up and faced the largest part of the crowd. He placed his fist over his heart and, turning back to Emma, began. “My place beside you,” and the whole host joined in, with Jo, Cole, and Heyna shouting as loud as the others, “my blood for yours! Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!”

Then the crowd could not be held back from their shouting. Exuberant songs were struck up, and they danced and hugged and laughed and hoped. Amid the cheer, Jo stayed near the stage. Alongside Heyna and Cole, he watched over Emma with great care. Emma smiled, arm in arm with Lady Elisabeth, as she spoke with the lord and lady’s young children. Lord Ronan smiled at the scene, while just behind him Lokson, Truff, and Grenda huddled together in conversation.

Nate Flynn appeared, nodding to Jo as he threw back his hood. He turned to Cole. “Perimeter is clear. My bucks are staying sharp at all key points. Every danger spot is checked out and held by a Bracer. In other words, all is well here.”

“Well done, Captain,” Cole said. “Carry on.”

Nate nodded and hurried off again, replacing his hood. He hadn’t made it far into the happy crowd before someone spotted him, and soon a throng gathered around him as they called his name. “Nate Flynn, the greatest archer in all Natalia!”

The crowd around him swelled, and they soon lifted him onto their shoulders and paraded him around the common, shouting his name and hailing him as the champion archer of the age. Jo looked on, smiling.

“Could have been you,” Heyna said to Jo, and Cole winced sympathetically. “You were unbeatable that day.”

“I’ve never seen better shooting,” Cole said, patting Jo’s back. “You would have won.”

Jo glanced up at the stage, where Emma was laughing as she danced with Ronan’s toddling son, crowned in a braided chain of daisies. “We did win,” Jo said.

* * *

A few hours later, Jo entered the detention area. After speaking with the lead guard, he found Slimmo’s cell and saw the slim cook slumped in a shadowy corner.

“How are you feeling, my friend?” Jo asked.

Slimmo looked up, and a beam of light illuminated the sad smile on his face. “Sorry. Jo, I feel so very sorry.”

“Lord Ronan received your letter,” Jo said. “It was, I think it’s safe to say, the best letter he’s ever received from you.”

Slimmo’s head dropped, and he nodded. “I hope he knows I was—that I am—sincere. I have wronged him so badly in recent days, but my heart has been set against him for years. I have been a brooding disease here, and I must … must be cut out.”

“I agree that you can’t stay here,” Jo said. “You’re being transferred. Come on.” With that, a guard came and opened his cell. Slimmo staggered out as the guard clapped irons around his wrists.

Jo looked back at the cell, saw the cook’s wadded-up apron in the corner. “Want to bring that?” Jo asked, pointing.

“No,” Slimmo replied. “Certainly not.”

They took a roundabout path to the main gate, avoiding busy places, and Slimmo hung his head and remained silent as they walked.

Finally, they reached the main gate and walked into the clear sunlight of a bright morning. A band in black stood gathered, alongside several blue-robed bucks.

Jo turned to Slimmo. “There’s a party of votaries leaving for Halfwind on an important mission. Lokson and his band are accompanying them. I vouched for you. You’re going with them.”

“Really, Jo?” Slimmo said, tears in his eyes. “I deserve to die—to rot away in prison. I can’t possibly deserve to be set free.”

“It’s not exactly freedom, Slimmo,” Jo said. “It’s a dangerous mission that’s vital for the cause. They need to eat, and you know how to keep folks fed, and you’re handy in a dangerous situation.”

Lokson stepped forward. “Many of us in this band have things to regret. Much to amend.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Cheltham stood among the soldiers. Jo met Cheltham’s gaze a moment, till the black-clad buck looked away, a pained expression on his face. Lokson continued, “They can’t keep you in prison while they mobilize for war. And you can’t stay here and help. Come with us, Slimmo. Maybe we can all do something to make up for the mistakes we’ve made—something for the cause.”

“Thank you, Lord Lokson,” Slimmo said, bowing.

“I’m just Lokson,” the pale red buck replied. “I have affirmed my loyalty to the house of Ronan. I have renounced all designs on the lordship of Blackstone. I mean to be, in this time of great need, only an archer in the army of Jupiter’s heir. A weapon to wield against Morbin, a tool to help bring about the Mending we all long for.”

“Aye to that, sir.” Slimmo nodded solemnly, then turned back to Jo. “Thank you, Jo,” he said. “May I shake your hand?”

Jo stepped forward and, extending both arms, embraced Slimmo. “I haven’t given up … on you.”

Slimmo nodded and, wiping his eyes, crossed to join the soldiers and blue-robed brother votaries.

Jo turned to Lokson. “I owe you an apology, sir.”

“No,” Lokson said, “I owe you an apology.”

“Me first,” Jo insisted. Lokson nodded, and Jo went on. “I was wrong to try to confuse Amber—to ignore her stated wishes and continue trying to win her affection. I see now how badly done that was. I have apologized to her. I ask you to forgive me too.”

“Of course I forgive you, Jo,” Lokson said, shaking his hand. “And I must also thank you. You showed me more of what kind of buck I must be to truly be worthy of her love. She has been patient with me, discouraging my maniacal pursuit of recalling my father’s lost lordship here. I lost sight of the big picture and lost her respect. You showed me the way back. I am not worthy of her, and I think we all know that. But I hope to be. I aim to be. I am committed to it. Not just for her, but because it’s right. So, thank you, Jo, for showing me the way.”

“You’re a noble buck, Lokson,” Jo said, “whether you’re a citadel lord or not. Please believe me when I say I am rooting for you to succeed—on your mission, and in your life with Amber.”

“Thank you, Jo,” Lokson replied. “Because of some arcane aspects of our law, I have the right to pass on my key and seat on the council here to whomever I choose. I know this hasn’t always been a friendly place to you, from my own incivility to Matron Wilder’s attempt to drive you away with fire, but I hope you’ll consider staying. I want you, Jo, to be the third keymaster of Blackstone.”

“I am deeply honored, my friend,” Jo said, bowing. “But my place is with the princess. And we move now to First Warren and the end, I hope, of this war. My friend Picket Longtreader is even now fighting on the inside, and I must be there when we break through to join him and Master Helmer on the field. I must humbly decline, but I do so with the utmost gratitude and regret.”

“An honorable answer, from an honorable buck,” Lokson said. “Then the key goes to Captain Truff. Perhaps that is most proper.”

“Agreed,” Jo replied. “Safe journey, Lokson.”

“And to you, Jo.”

“I hope to see you,” Jo said, “with Amber, when this is all over. In the Mended Wood.”

Lokson bowed, then raised his head and smiled. “In the Mended Wood.”

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S. D. Smith is the author of The Green Ember Series, a middle-grade adventure saga. Smith’s books are captivating readers across the world who are hungry for “new stories with an old soul.” Enthusiastic families can’t get enough of these tales.

Vintage adventure. Moral imagination. Classic virtue. Finally, stories we all love. Just one more chapter, please!

When he’s not writing adventurous tales of #Rabbits WithSwords in his writing shed, dubbed The Forge, Smith loves to speak to audiences about storytelling, creation, and seeing yourself as a character in The Story.

S. D. Smith lives in West Virginia with his wife and four kids.

www.sdsmith.com

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