Erika woke with a start and sat up quickly in her bed. Something’s wrong. She pulled her satin covers back and hurried to her patio, pushing open the doors. A red sun climbed over the hillside, illuminating the sky with a bright magenta glow. Below her, a thin stream of gray laced the forest surrounding the castle and the fragrance of burning evergreen filled her lungs. Smoke? There were no flames, only smoke. She threw her surcoat over her chemise, slipped into her shoes, and hurried to her father’s study, a room whose stained glass faced another section of the castle grounds. Her father slept, and careful not to wake him, she opened the thick oak door to his terrace. A small fire burned in the distance, beyond the lake. Erika let her father sleep and ran down the corridor, seeking a guard.

“Find out who is camped out there,” she ordered. The sentry bowed, “Already Captain Lennon has ordered men to investigate.”

“Well, what news?”

“None yet. It seems the fires are unattended.”

“Unattended?”

“They surround the castle. But no one is near them. Our men are snuffing them as we speak.”

No one lights fires around a castle without intending to do something pervasive. But who and what? She met Olinda and Rhea at their door, still in their nightclothes.

“I smell smoke. What’s happening?” Rhea asked.

“Someone is burning the castle grounds.”

“Who?”

“How should I know?” Erika asked. “Get dressed!”

They slipped back into their rooms and closed the doors. Erika hurried through the palace. Whatever the threat, she shouldn’t confront it in her nightclothes. She pushed the door to her room open and startled Sylvia, who’d been preparing her wardrobe for the day. “My armor,” Erika commanded none too pleasantly.

Sylvia sighed. “Fairest, we have soldiers?”

Erika scowled, and immediately Sylvia bowed. “Pardon my boldness.” Sylvia wasted no time gathering Erika’s gambeson, her trousers which had been washed and put away in the cedar chest, her pauldrons and gorget. “Did you want the gauntlets as well, Fairest?”

“We’re fighting men this time, Sylvia. I will need whatever is in that chest, and my father’s sword and my bow. And a shield if you can find one for me.”

“As you wish.”

“We must move Father to the keep.”

“I will send guards to take him.”

“Send guards but I will lead them.”

“Perhaps you should stay with him,” she suggested. She spoke kindly, like a mother. Erika sighed as the woman tied her gambeson taut.

“Thank you, Sylvia, I know you’re concerned for my safety, but my brother isn’t here, and my father isn’t able to fight. Someone from our family needs to lead the soldiers. There’s no question it should be me. My sisters should stay in the keep with Father.”

Sylvia bowed and picked up the breastplate. “As you wish, child.”

“Sylvia! Please. I’m no longer a child.”

“Of course, you aren’t, Fairest. You are a strong and brave woman, and you will defend your palace and be victorious.” Their eyes met.

“Thank you.”

“Fairest!” A soldier stopped at the door, breathless. He bowed. “The fires were a trap. Our men are being ambushed as they put them out”

“Who is doing this?” Erika gasped, tying her cuisses, and buckling her baldric. “Fetch the sword, Sylvia.” The maid slipped out the door in a rush.

“They wear masks and heavy cloaks. No insignia that we’ve seen. They hide in the bushes.”

“How many soldiers have we lost?”

“Three were wounded, but we’ve brought them to safety. These revolutionaries have surrounded the castle, They’re everywhere.”

“Pull your soldiers back and regroup. Have the hoplite soldiers guard the entries. Let the fires burn for now. We can’t lose men like this. No attack until we find out who this is and what their intentions are.”

“Yes, Fairest.” He saluted Erika, sending warmth throughout her body. She returned his salute as Sylvia stepped past him with her father’s weapons. The soldier left.

Erika sheathed her sword, attached her daggers to the baldric, and stormed into the hall as the guards carried King Tobias on a stretcher.

“Take the tunnel,” Erika ordered and shadowed them as they opened the walls to the secret passageway.

“What’s going on?” King Tobias asked, waking. He shuffled on his stretcher as they lowered him down the circular stairwell. “Let me up. Where are you taking me?”

“You’re fine, Father, we’re taking you to the keep. The castle is under attack.”

He tried sitting up, so Erika rushed to his side. “Just lay quiet.”

“Give me my sword, young lady.”

“No! Father! You’re in no shape to fight. I’ll wield it for you.”

The soldier at the foot of the stretcher adjusted his weight. “Please, Vasil, we could move you more easily if you lie still.”

Tobias sighed heavily and shrunk back down onto his pillow. Erika adjusted his robe as they walked and then held his hand. Olinda and Rhea came down the stairs behind them.

“Who in God’s name is attacking us?” the king asked.

“We don’t know,” Olinda answered. “But we’ve brought breakfast. When we get to the tower, we’ll make you all comfy and feed you. Rhea’s got broth.”

“I don’t want broth! I want to defend my throne. Where is Barin?”

“He’s not come home yet,” Erika whispered. She wished they were at the keep already. The soldiers needed a commander. “Can we hurry?” she asked the guards.

“Erika, you’re making matters worse. Go do whatever you need to do. We’ll take care of Father,” Rhea suggested.

The tunnel had already narrowed too much for Erika to walk alongside the stretcher and trailing behind made no sense. “I will return,” she promised and ran back the way she had come.

Rory’s horse had slowed to a canter once he came to the forest that bounded Castle Prasa Potama. A welcome sight with the rising sun. What he didn’t find welcoming was the smoke floating downwind toward him. Had someone set fire to the palace? He veered east, intending to ride to higher ground where he could see the landscape and determine if Barin and his men were inside the castle spread. On a road often used by merchants and their wagons, he prodded his horse to a trot along the hillside and where several bends leveled to viewpoints that looked out over the castle and all the valley. When he rounded the first bend, he pulled his horse to a quick halt. Soldiers occupied the overlook. They crouched behind brush and bramble directly in front of him, bolts nocked and pointed at the castle.

Barin leapt onto the road. His sudden presence startled Rory.

“Vasil!”

“You! The Deserter! What are you doing here? Spying?” Barin pointed at him. “Shoot this man!”

Rory’s horse reared. He swung the steed around and galloped down the hill; the stallion kicking up a tail of dust and stones. Bolts shot out at him. Within minutes a cavalry pursued him. Rory whispered in the stallion’s ears and the horse leapt off the hilly trail, changed course, and galloped cross-country toward the castle. The horse stretched his head and flew, clearing gullies and soaring over logs and garden walls. A volley of projectiles soared at him. Like a lightning strike, an unexpected pain hit Rory. An arrow burrowed deep into his shoulder. He bent over as tears flew from his face.

Thank God this horse belonged to the king, for the stallion raced for his grain. Blood leached down Rory’s back and sprayed across his arm. The arrow caught the wind and jiggled inside his flesh, tearing open the wound. Rory fought to stay conscious. He had to get to the king. He had to find Erika if only he could stay mounted, he’d make it. His arm grew numb. The grasp on his reins loosened and his vision narrowed as the world went black around him. His horse slowed and stopped.

He fell.

“Fairest, a rider. Someone’s fallen off a horse just outside the castle ingress.”

Erika had no sooner appeared out from the passageway to the keep and closed the door when a guard came running.

“Where?” she asked.

“The Eastern entrance. He’s been wounded, but I believe he’s still alive.” The guard raced alongside her, their boots echoing on the hardwood floors. “They’re bringing him in. We wanted you to see, though, in case he’s a spy, or…”

“Why would they shoot their own spy?”

“For precaution? I don’t know.”

When she neared the ingress to the eastern entrance, she broke into a run. The man lay on the ground, face down, his red hair a sure sign of his identity.

“Rory!” she cried and knelt next to him. The arrow shaft protruded out of his back. She slid her hand under his arm to see if it had gone through him, and, feeling no point, she called to the soldiers who had surrounded her. “Bring me cloths, a lot of them, and warm water. Tell Sylvia to come here. Get a stretcher ready.” Her hand shook as she untied his cowl and removed her armguards. Blood oozed from the wound, staining the floor. “And a jug of wine. This is going to hurt.” She leaned low over Rory and whispered. “Rory, it’s Erika. You’re safe in the castle. Can you hear me?”

He gasped with shallow breath and flinched when she touched the arrow. “I need…”

“You need to be quiet. I’m going to get this arrow out of you, but first I have to dig into the wound and find the head.”

Sylvia came with a tray of folded linen and knelt next to Erika, offering a flask of red wine to the princess. When Erika took a drink, the alcohol warmed her insides and calmed her nerves. She knew what had to be done, her brother taught her about arrow wounds, and she had helped him on the field before, but never had she performed this maneuver on her own. She thanked the maid and rolled up her sleeves, poured wine over her hands to sterilize them, and drew her dagger. Rory’s cloak had bunched up near the arrow, and so she rent it and then cut Rory’s shirt around the shaft. Peeling his clothes from the wet blood that they adhered to, she pushed the frayed fabric away to expose his back. She closed her eyes for a moment and said a prayer to the healing goddess Ygeía, knowing how badly this would hurt. With both hands, she carefully twisted the arrow. Rory’s wail pierced not only her ears, but her heart.

“The arrowhead is not lodged in a bone,” she whispered to Sylvia after making a complete rotation. Slowly Erika worked her fingers into the wound alongside the shaft and inched them through his flesh. Her clothes absorbed his blood. She pushed gently, carefully. Rory moaned and kicked. “Hold him down,” Erika told a sentry, and two men quickly knelt by her and held Rory’s legs steady.

“Soak a rag in wine and put it in his mouth,” she instructed Sylvia, tears forming in her own eyes, but keeping her hand immersed inside the wound. When Rory’s cries were muffled and he sucked on the wine, she continued digging into the lesion until she felt a large, sharp object.

“There!” she said. “I have it now, Rory,” she said, clutching the arrowhead. She closed her fingers around it, lifted herself on her knees to get traction, took the shaft with her free hand and gently pulled. Rory screamed. As much as Erika wanted this to be over for his sake, she had to keep pulling. The shaft and stone finally came free with a gush of blood. Erika moved away, and Sylvia immediately packed the wound with multiple folds of cloth. Rory panted, his face red and soaked with tears. Erika leaned over him and kissed his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Rory. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” To the sentries who had brought a stretcher, she said, “Take him to a room once Sylvia has the dressing wrapped tight. Give him water. Give him whatever he wants whenever he wants it.” She rose as the soldiers lifted him carefully onto a stretcher. “Sylvia?”

“I’ll tend to him,” her servant answered.

“Fairest!” Rory called out as they lifted the stretcher. “I must talk to you.”

She’d rather he had time to heal before they talked, but she returned to his side.

“It’s Barin.”

“What’s Barin?”

“Outside. Attacking the castle.”

Erika gawked at him. Was Rory daft?

Rory took long breaths between his sentences. “He thinks Moshere has invaded us.”

She waited. Unbelieving. Barin had died, hadn’t he?

“He’s under a spell.”

“Barin, my brother?”

“Barin the Prince. Yes. Your brother. Skotádi captured him and gave him a brew… or something. The demon has control of his mind. He’s part of the devil’s plan.”

Erika pushed Rory’s hair back from his face and touched his burning cheeks.

“Thank you, Rory.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked.

“I find it hard.”

“I rode all the way from Fairmistle. All night. I stumbled on his troops this morning. Neal is coming with more troops. He knows what Barin is planning. Fairest, we must stop your brother. Neal will kill him. I fear…” he swallowed, biting his lip. “I fear for your brother.”

“Where is Kairos?”

Rory squeezed his eyes shut. The pain must be unbearable, she thought.

“He’s with Barin.”

Erika took his hand and whispered. “I’ll think of something.”

But could she?