Aidan marched for his father’s chamber impatiently, Leo at his side, with a deepening premonition that something was wrong. He had been searching for his sister Kyra all over the fort, Leo at his side, checking all her usual haunts—the armory, the blacksmith’s, Fighter’s Gate—and yet she was nowhere to be found. He and Kyra had always had a close connection, ever since he was born, and he always knew when something was off with her—now, he felt warning signs inside. She had been absent from the feast, and he knew she would have not missed it.
Most concerning of all, Leo was not with her—which never, ever happened. Aidan had grilled Leo, but the wolf, clearly trying to tell him something, could not communicate. He only stuck to Aidan’s side, and would not leave it.
Aidan had spent the feast with a knot in his stomach, checking the door constantly for any sign of Kyra. He had tried to mention it to his father during the meal, but Duncan had been surrounded by too many men, all of them too focused on discussing the battle to come, and none taking him seriously.
At first light Aidan, awake all night, jumped up and ran to his window, checking the breaking dawn for any sign of her. There was none. He burst out of his chamber, down the corridor, past all his father’s men and into Kyra’s room and he did not even knock as he put a shoulder to it, running inside, looking for her.
But his heart had fallen to find her bed empty, still made from the day before. He knew then, for certain, something was wrong.
Aidan ran all the way down the corridors to his father’s chambers, and now he stood before the giant door and looked back at the two guards before it.
“Open the door!” Aidan ordered urgently.
The guards exchanged an unsure look.
“It was a long night, boy,” one guard said. “Your father won’t take kindly to being awakened.”
“Today could bring battle,” said the other. “He needs to be rested.”
“I will not say it again,” Aidan insisted.
They looked at him, skeptical, and Aidan, unable to wait, rushed forward and slammed the knocker.
“Whoa, boy!” one of them said.
Then realizing his determination, the other guard said, “All right—but it’s your head if anything happens. And the wolf stays here.”
Leo snarled, but the guard reluctantly pushed open the door just enough for Aidan to step inside, closing it behind him.
Aidan rushed to his father’s bed to find him sleeping in his furs, snoring, a half-dressed serving girl lying beside him. He grabbed his father’s shoulder and shoved him, again and again.
Finally, his father opened his eyes with a fierce look, staring back as if he were going to whack him. But Aidan would not be deterred.
“Father, you must wake up now!” Aidan urged. “Kyra is missing!”
His father’s look morphed into one of confusion, and he stared back, eyes bloodshot, as if in a drunken haze.
“Missing?” he said, his voice deep, gravelly, rumbling in his chest. “What do you mean?”
“She did not return to her chamber last night. Something has happened to her—I’m certain of it. Alert your men at once!”
His father sat up, this time looking more alert, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the sleep.
“I am sure your sister is fine,” he said. “She’s always fine. She survived an encounter with a dragon—do you think a small snowstorm blew her away? She’s just somewhere you cannot find her—she likes to go off by herself. Now go on. Be on your way before you end up with a good spanking.”
But Aidan stood there, determined, red-faced.
“If you won’t find her, I’ll find her myself,” he yelled and turned and ran from the chamber, hoping that somehow he had gotten through to him.
*
Aidan stood outside the gates of Volis, Leo beside him, standing proudly on the bridge and watching dawn spread across the countryside. He checked the horizon for any signs of Kyra, hoping perhaps she’d return from firing arrows, but he found none. His foreboding worsened. He had spent the last hour waking everyone from his brothers to the butcher, asking who had seen her last. Finally, one of his father’s men had reported that he had seen her riding off toward the Wood of Thorns with Maltren.
Aidan had combed the fort for Maltren and had been told he was out for his morning hunt. And now he stood here, watching for Maltren to return, eager to confront him and find out what happened to his sister.
Aidan stood there, shin deep in snow, shivering but ignoring it, hands on his hips, waiting, watching, until finally, he squinted as he saw a figure appearing on the horizon, charging forward in the snow, galloping, wearing the armor of his father’s men, the dragon’s crest shining on his breastplate. His heart lifted to see it was Maltren.
Maltren galloped toward the fort, a deer draped over the back of his horse, and as he neared, Aidan saw his disapproval. He looked down at Aidan and came to a reluctant stop before him.
“Out of the way, boy!” Maltren called out. “You’re blocking the bridge.”
But Aidan stood his ground, confronting him.
“Where is my sister?” Aidan demanded.
Maltren stared back, and Aidan saw a moment of hesitation cross his face.
“How should I know?” he barked back. “I am a warrior—I don’t keep track of the frolicking of girls.”
But Aidan held his ground.
“I was told she was with you last. Where is she?” he repeated more firmly.
Aidan was impressed by the authority in his own voice, reminding him of his own father, though he was still too young and lacked the deepness of tone he so badly craved.
He must have gotten through to Maltren, because he slowly dismounted, anger and impatience flashing in his eyes, and walked toward Aidan in a threatening matter, armor rattling as he went. As he neared, Leo snarled, so viciously that Maltren stopped, a few feet away, looking from the wolf to Aidan.
He sneered down at Aidan, stinking of sweat, and even though he tried not to show it, Aidan had to admit he was afraid. He thanked God he had Leo at his side.
“Do you know what the punishment is for defying one of your father’s men?” Maltren asked, his voice sinister.
“He is my father,” Aidan insisted. “And Kyra is his daughter, too. Now where is she?”
Inside, Aidan was trembling—but he was not about to back down—not with Kyra in danger.
Maltren looked about, over his shoulder, apparently checking to see if anyone were watching. Satisfied that no one was, he leaned in close, smiled, and said:
“I sold her to the Lord’s Men—and for a handsome price. She was a traitor and a troublemaker—just like you.”
Aidan’s eyes widened in shock, furious at his betrayal.
“As for you,” Maltren said, reaching in and grabbing Aidan’s shirt, pulling him close. Aidan’s heart jumped as he saw him slip his hand on a dagger in his belt. “Do you know how many boys die in this moat each year? It’s a very unfortunate thing. This bridge is too slippery, and those banks too steep. No one will ever suspect this was anything but another accident.”
Aidan tried to wiggle his way free, but Maltren’s grip was too tight. He felt flushed with panic, as he knew he was about to die.
Suddenly, Leo snarled and leapt for Maltren, sinking his fangs into his ankle. Maltren let go of Aidan and raised his dagger to stab the wolf.
“NO!” Aidan shouted.
There came the sound of a horn, followed by horses bursting through the gate, galloping across the bridge, and Maltren stopped, dagger in mid-air. Aidan turned and his heart lifted with relief to see his father and two brothers approaching, joined by a dozen men, their bows already drawn and pointed for Maltren chest.
Aidan broke free and Maltren stood there, looking afraid for the first time, holding his dagger in his hand, caught red-handed. Aidan snapped his fingers, and Leo reluctantly backed off.
Duncan dismounted and stepped forward with his men, and as they did, Aidan turned to them.
“You see, Father! I told you! Kyra is missing. And Maltren has betrayed her—he has sold her to the Lord Governor!”
Duncan stepped forward and a tense silence overcame them as his men surrounded Maltren. He looked nervously over his shoulder to his horse, as if contemplating escape, but the men came forward and grabbed its reins.
Maltren looked back at Duncan, clearly nervous.
“You were going to lay your hands on my boy, were you?” his father asked, looking Maltren in the eye, his tone hard and cold.
Maltren gulped and said nothing.
Duncan slowly raised his sword and held the point to Maltren’s throat, death in his eyes.
“You will lead us to my daughter,” he said, “and it will be the last thing you do before I kill you.”