She whipped her gaze in our direction, and her back stiffened. “You’re early,” she said curtly.

She joined us on our side of the street, inspecting the bucktoothed Dieci suspiciously, wondering aloud if the homely beast had ever been ridden. In truth, we didn’t know, though he took to the saddle well enough. As she checked his cinch, a large lunch wagon clattered by on its way to the docks and great wafts of greasy fried eel filled the air around us. While I didn’t favor this favorite regional delicacy, its aroma was not unpleasant, but Pauline’s hand flew to her mouth. Her face paled, and she doubled over, her morning meal splattering to the street. I tried to come to her aid, but she brushed me away and clutched her stomach again as another wave overtook her and there was more spillage. I was certain her stomach had to be empty now. She straightened, taking a shaky breath, but her hands were still protectively pressed to her stomach. I stared at her hands, and in an instant, the rest of the world disappeared.

Oh, blessed gods.

Pauline?

It hit me as swiftly as a punch to my gut. No wonder she’d been so sallow and tired. No wonder she was so frightened.

“Pauline,” I whispered.

She shook her head, cutting me off. “I’m fine! I’ll be fine. The parritch simply didn’t settle properly.” She sent me a quick pleading look with watery eyes.

We could talk about this later. With Gwyneth looking on, I hurriedly tried to cover, explaining that Pauline had always had a delicate constitution.

“Weak stomach or not, she’s in no shape to travel into a hot canyon for berry hunting,” Gwyneth said firmly, and I was grateful that Pauline agreed. Still looking pale, she insisted she could return home on her own, and I reluctantly let her go.

“Skip the parritch from now on,” Gwyneth called after her as she rode away.

But Pauline and I both knew it wasn’t her morning meal that had made her sick.

From the seed of the thief

The Dragon will rise,

the gluttonous one,

feeding on the blood of babes,

Drinking the tears of mothers.

—Song of Venda

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Devil’s Canyon was aptly named. The temperate breezes of Terravin didn’t venture down here. It was dry and dusty but strangely beautiful in its own way. Large gnarled oaks mingled with tall palms and barrel cactus. Jewelweed taller than a man hugged the thin rocky streams that sprang from creviced walls. It looked like a demon’s stash, mismatched flora stolen from the corners of the earth to create his own version of paradise. And of course there were the blackberries, his seductive fruit, but we hadn’t come upon them yet.

Gwyneth blew a puff of air from her mouth, trying to cool her brow, and then unbuttoned her shirt, pulling it off and tying it around her waist. Her chemise did little to hide her generous br**sts or their perkiness beneath the thin fabric. My chemise was much more modest than hers, but in spite of the sweat trickling down my back, I was reluctant to shed my shirt. I knew Terravin was more relaxed about exposed body parts, but in Civica, nearly bared br**sts would have been scandalous. My parents would have—

I smiled and threw off my jerkin and then pulled my shirt over my head. I immediately felt the relief of the air on my damp skin.

“There you go, Princess. Isn’t that better?” Gwyneth said.

I tugged abruptly on Otto’s reins, and he voiced a loud complaint. “Princess?”

She halted Dieci much more leisurely and grinned. “You thought I didn’t know? The all-knowing Gwyneth perceives everything.”

My heart raced. I wasn’t amused. I wasn’t even entirely sure she wasn’t just fishing. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

She feigned offense, the corners of her mouth pulling back in a smirk. “You doubt me? You’ve seen how good I am at assessing the tavern patrons.” She clicked the reins and moved forward. I followed her, keeping pace as she continued to talk, seeming to enjoy this game even more than the one she played at the tavern. “Or,” she said with grand flourish, “it could be I have a crystal ball. Or … perhaps I snooped around in your cottage?”

The jewels in my bag. Or worse, the stolen—

I drew in a startled breath.

She turned to look at me and frowned. “Or it could be that Berdi told me,” she spelled out plainly.

“What?” I pulled on Otto’s reins again, and he voiced another high-pitched whine.

“Stop doing that! It’s not the wretched beast’s fault.”

“Berdi told you?”

With slow, deliberate grace, she dismounted from her donkey, while I clumsily vaulted from mine, nearly tumbling onto my face. “After all her talk about not telling anyone?” I shrieked. “All her admonitions to be careful and hiding us away for days on end?”

“It was only for a few days. And telling me was different. She—”

“How is announcing it to a tavern maid who chatters with strangers from hither and yon different? There was no reason you needed to know!”

I turned to lead Otto forward, but she grabbed my wrist and jerked me around roughly. “Berdi knows I live in town and I’d be the first to know if a magistrate came nosing around or leaving notices for your arrest if it should come to that.” She released my hand.

I rubbed my wrist where she had twisted it. “So you know what I did?”

Her lips puckered with disdain, and she nodded. “I can’t say I understand why. It’s far preferable to be shackled to a pompous prince than a penniless philanderer, but—”