Sanson’s eyes widened, obviously thinking about what Kip’s mother had sworn him to, but he said nothing but, “How do we get to Garriston?”

“We float the river first.” Kip realized then that he’d lost the purse Master Danavis had given him. He didn’t even know when. So even if they made it down the river, they wouldn’t be able to pay for the trip to the Chromeria.

“Kip, the soldiers were in a big circle around the whole town. If they’re still like that, we’ll have to cross through their line twice. And the town’s still on fire. The river could be blocked.”

Sanson was right, and for some reason that made Kip suddenly furious. He stopped himself. This wasn’t Sanson’s fault. Kip’s eyes felt hot. It was so hopeless. He blinked rapidly. “I know it’s stupid, Sanson.” He couldn’t look his friend in the eyes. “But I don’t have any other ideas. Do you?”

Sanson paused for a long moment. “I saw some dead wood on the bank that might work,” he said finally, and Kip knew it was his way of telling Kip he trusted him.

“Then let’s go,” Kip said.

“Kip, do you want to… I don’t know, say goodbye?” Sanson nodded in the direction of Kip’s mother.

Kip swallowed, holding the knife-case in a white-knuckled grip. And say what? I’m sorry I was a failure, a disappointment? That I loved you, even if you never loved me? “No,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 12

The boys crept out of the cave. Kip went first. Apparently that was the price of becoming the leader. Kip had been under these same stars on the river dozens of times, but tonight there was hunger in the cool air. The wind had changed direction, and now the smells of the light, misting rain opening the earth mingled with woodsmoke and the faint, fresh fragrance of the oranges ripening on the trees. Always before, that scent had cheered Kip. Tonight it was faint, ephemeral, as fragile as Kip’s chances.

They made it to the river’s edge without seeing any soldiers. They’d floated the river before, all four of them grabbing a few planks of wood for extra buoyancy, but mostly just lying back and letting the current carry them. But they’d always waited until late fall, when the river was lower. Even then, they’d all sported dozens of scrapes and bruises from the rocks they couldn’t avoid. It was the middle of summer now, and though the river was lower than in the spring, it was still high and swift. That meant they would be able to float over rocks that would scrape them in the fall, but the rocks they couldn’t avoid they would hit much faster.

Sanson found the sticks he’d seen before while Kip waited anxiously, trying to peer downriver for any hint of the soldiers. The clouds over the village were glowing orange, lit by the fires below them. Sanson returned with a few branches, not enough for both of them. The boys looked at each other. “You take them,” Kip whispered. “I float better than you.”

“What do we do if they see us?” Sanson asked.

Kip’s nerve almost failed him as he thought about it. What could they do? Run away? Swim away? Even if they made it to the banks of the river, where could they go? The town was on fire and there were only fields around town. Men on horses with dogs helping them would find Kip and Sanson in no time.

“Play dead,” Kip said. After all, we shouldn’t be the only bodies in the water. Actually that wasn’t true; this far upstream, they should be the only bodies in the water. If any of the soldiers realized that, the boys would quickly become real corpses.

The water was cold even this far from the mountains, but it wasn’t freezing. Kip sat down in it, and the current began pulling him toward town. Sanson followed. They were pulled around the first bend and approaching the spot where Kip had first come to the river when he saw the flaw in his plan.

To play dead meant that in the sections of river that were most dangerous, the places where he and Sanson would most want to see or listen to find out if they’d been discovered, they’d have to keep their ears submerged and their eyes fixed on the clouds above. If they were discovered, Kip’s plan guaranteed that they wouldn’t know it until too late.

They should get out of the water. He couldn’t do this. Kip glanced back. Sanson was already lying back, floating on his back, ears covered, limbs loose. He’d been pulled over to the other side of the river, and the current had already brought his lighter body even with Kip. Kip’s heart hammered. If he got out now, Sanson wouldn’t know it. Kip wouldn’t be able to grab his friend without making so much noise that it would rouse anyone within hundreds of paces.

A voice spoke out of the gloom on the riverbank. “Yes, Your Majesty. We think the drafter climbed up into that tree. The dogs tracked him that far and lost him.”

Kip saw the torch first. Someone was approaching the bank of the river, not five paces downstream. His first thought—to run like hell—would get him killed. He swept his arms once, twice, paddling downstream, then he lay back. The cold water closed over his ears, muffling all sound except the desperate thumping of his pulse.

The bank here was raised a pace and a half, high enough that even lying back, Kip could see the man. Kip wasn’t two paces away, and the torch the man held illuminated an imperious face in its flickering orange light. Even warmed in torchlight, there was something fundamentally cold about that face, an unpleasant smirk hiding in the corner of that mouth. The king—for Kip had no doubt, even in half a second of seeing him, that this man was King Garadul—was not yet out of his twenties but already half bald, with the rest of his hair combed to his shoulders. He had a prominent nose over a tight, immaculate beard and thick black brows. The king stared upstream, a vein on his forehead visible even in the torchlight, gazing at the opposite bank where Kip had crossed. His angry question was barely more than a murmur through the water closed around Kip’s ears.

Then the king turned just as Kip was starting to get downstream of him. And he turned left, toward Kip. Kip didn’t move a muscle, but it wasn’t because he was being smart. He felt warmth blooming in the cold water between his legs.

It was only the torch directly between the king and Kip that saved the boys. His eyes went right over them, but blinded by that light in the darkness, he saw nothing. He turned, swore something, and disappeared.

Kip floated down the river, head back, almost disbelieving that he was alive. The water was cold around him, the stars were pinpricks in Orholam’s mantle above. They were more beautiful than he’d ever realized. Each star had its own color, its own hue; brilliant rubies, startling sapphires, and even here and there an elusive emerald. For perhaps twenty paces, Kip floated in utter peace, enrapt by the beauty.

Then he hit a rock. It struck his foot first and spun him around so he was floating sideways. Then another rock, mostly submerged, caught his shirt and flipped him facedown in the water. He gasped and flailed, freezing with fear as his head came clear of the water and he realized how loud he’d been.

A little way down the river, Sanson had pulled his head out of the water and was staring at Kip with horror. How could Kip make so much noise? Kip looked away, ashamed. They floated in silence for a long minute, staring into the darkness, waiting to see if any soldiers would appear. They did their best to avoid the rocks, legs pointed downstream, hands paddling in little circles to keep themselves afloat. But no one came.