The wind blows through the pines. As they move, their trunks groan like old doors. Danver hops off the furs and disappears into the brush to look for breakfast. My empty stomach growls with impatience. I’ve never missed a meal in my life.
I absently reach for the necklace Dimitri gave me, but my fingers brush skin. The necklace is gone. I jump up and pull the layers of bedding from the cot.
My ruby-studded dress is missing as well.
Little spots dot my vision, and I sit back before I pass out. Not only has Dimitri abandoned me, but he’s taken my horse and dress and left me with nothing but this wretched outfit.
And worse—I gave him the changeling stone.
Chapter 2
Idon’t like walking. I’d like it less if Dimitri had taken my boots as well, so I suppose I should be grateful I fell asleep with them on—not that it kept him from snatching back the necklace.
I shake my head and run my hand through my snarled curls. It would have been nice if he’d left me a comb.
Despite how upset I am, I still can’t believe Dimitri did this to be cruel. I don’t know what happened, but he wouldn’t have left me like this.
Yet, he did.
“No, he didn’t!” I yell to the forest around me, startling several birds that have taken to following me, flitting from tree to tree. One peers at me from the safety of a bush, and I glance down at him. “Sorry.”
Despite my tired feet and growling stomach, I won’t go home until I have the changeling stone back. I will find it—and Dimitri with it.
“Come on, Danver,” I call over my shoulder when thelittle fox darts down a rabbit trail. Like always, he listens and returns to me.
We continue west, which is the way the caravan must have traveled. Near the edge of Primewood, I will reach a small village, and there I must choose one of three roads. I have no idea which one they may have taken.
The rumble of horses alerts me someone is approaching from behind. I dart into the trees, hiding behind their thick trunks. It’s the third time today I’ve done this. Eventually, one of these groups is bound to be my father’s men.
I watch the animals approach, but this time the horses are only pulling a wagon. The old farmer smokes a pipe, puffing out the smoke in a leisurely manner. He looks like he hasn’t a care in the world.
This may be my chance.
I step into the road and wave an arm. “Sir?” I call out, giving the man plenty of warning to slow his wagon.
The man draws his horses to a stop, puffs out another lungful of smoke, and then tilts his straw hat back on his head.
“I’ve lost my horse. May I ride on the back of your wagon?”
The farmer scratches his jaw and squints in the bright morning sunlight. “I don’t give rides to your kind.”
“I’m not from one of the traveling troupes,” I say.
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side, challenging me.
“I swear, I’m not,” I insist, and then I motion to my skirts. “I can’t explain this, but I’m not a street performer.”
The man shakes his head and clucks his horses on.
“No—wait!” I cry, lunging forward. “Do I have an accent?”
Thankfully, the horses stop, and the farmer scrunches his brow. “No, you don’t.” He takes another puff from his pipe. “Found yourself in trouble, have you?”
With a heavy sigh, I nod. “I have, sir.”
He mulls my request over and finally nods to the back of the wagon. “Be quick about it.”
“Oh, thank you!” I snatch Danver out of the brush and hop up before the man notices the fox in my arms.
