Times are hard. The voices of discontent growl as their stomachs rumble louder. A Jade Islandic Fire Magician arrived at court yesterday, seeking an urgent audience.

Abby was dead.

With shaky rhythmic movements, Alex stroked the nose of the beautiful black mare with an equally black mane. The Scorian horse stared at her blankly, blowing warm air out of her nose, while the Stable Master jabbered on in the background, "... during the winte' moons, we fed he' oat and beet pulp, but..."

Alex inhaled a sharp breath that got stuck in her throat. Yanking Abby out of her mother's lifeless embrace had been pointless; she might as well have died surrounded by those who loved her most. It would have been easier for Nick too. He had lived on a high of hope, and fallen so deep in the depth that Wrath had created for him.

"... of course then this needed to be adjusted." The Stable Master patted the saddle on the shelf behind him, its leather glimmering in the hue of sunlight.

Alex bit her lip, her stomach tumbling down to her toes. Less than ten feet between her and a potential way out.

She could not. Not because it was the King's horse she was petting—she did not care—but because the attack on Laneby had been a cruel test of the God of Pride; one that she had failed. She hadn't been able to save Fox. She hadn't even tried to save Abby. If she left now, she would lose Seb and Nick too.

The black mare tossed her head, as if she too wanted to refrain Alex from abandoning her friends. Besides, running away wouldn't stop the pain that the Gods were inflicting on her.

She laid her hand on her stomach and swallowed an excess of saliva as cramps raged war in her body, spreading guilt through every vein. Lord Brandon would be so disappointed in her. Strutting around with her bow and shooting a tree to grab a man's attention was not the way of the warriors. The Captain had spared her no glance. His officers had mostly avoided her. And now Nick would probably never talk to her again.

"Eve'ything al'ight, Missy? Ya look a little pale."

Instead of the Stable Master's friendly eyes, the hateful scorn of the magician flashed before her. Bile quickly rose at the back of her throat. She sank down on the straw and reached for a nearby bucket. Thick tears sprung from her eyes as she hurled out chunks of the half-digested cheese sandwich she'd had for lunch.

"No-no, Missy, 't is no good. Meh clove's. Meh fresh clove's fo' Lady Fa'ah." The rest of the Stable Master's yammering was deafened by a second wave of nausea covering more slime over the man's clovers.

There was nothing she could do to stop it. The Gods were having her in their power now. She was the piece of worn-out cloth they tossed around as they invented new ways to turn her life into a living hell. Since she was a pathetic excuse of a warrior and an even more terrible friend, she deserved nothing less.

She wobbled as she finally managed to sit up without heaving. A sharp whistle pierced her throbbing head.  "Mike, clean out this bucket. Can't give this to no beastie no mo'e."

"Aye, Master Dicky. I'll go and get new clovers for Lady Farah too."

"Do that." The Stable Master slid his arm under Alex's body and picked her up, throwing her over his bony shoulder. "Come, Missy, lemme get ya out of he're. Give ya some ai—'"

"Put me down!" The abruptness of the man's actions gave room to Wrath. She slammed her fists onto his back, her voice scraping against her painfully sour throat. "I'm almost a woman grown, not some infant that needs to be carried. I can walk."

The screaming didn't seem to bother the Stable Master. He kept on walking at a steady pace before placing her on a bench with railings in the shape of horses' heads.

She curled up, her legs clutched to her chest. The air outside was warmer than in the stable, yet fresher. In the meadow in front of her frolicked a spotted brown foal beside his entirely white mother. A crossbreed, just like her. She buried her head on her knees and cried for all that she had lost, and all that was slipping through her fingers.

In this city she would be a nobody, with no friends, family, or a reason to live.

Her tears were far from dried when a blunt object poked her in the side. "Missy? To rinse ya mouth."

She looked up, accepting the wooden cup from the Stable Master's dirty hands. Her stomach clenched and gurgled at the thought of even taking the smallest of sips, so she held it in her hand and gazed into nothingness.

With a deep sigh, he sat down next to her. "Ain't ya fault, Missy. I'm af'aid the only women Ol' Dicky can look afte' have a tail and manes. I should take ya to the Captain's house. His maid's a real doll. She'll know what to do with ya."

"It's fine. Get rid of me." Humility finally settled inside her, chasing her sinful brothers and sisters out. "I'm a nuisance anyway—the girl who ruined the lunch of His Majesty's horse."

"Ya did. Lady Fa'ah was not amused, and clove' season is coming to an end."

She narrowed her eyes. Stable Master James had been the most peculiar man in all of Laneby, but Old Dicky outshone him by far. Her fingers itched to grab an arrow and yell that clovers weren't important, but violence was not the answer here. Not when she had been the source of his troubles. "Take me to the house then."

"As you wish."

As Dicky guided her back to the main gate, part of her still wanted to run off and never return. She didn't belong in this city that reeked of expensive perfumes and an abundance of food, but she had no coins or gear to travel elsewhere. And she needed to see Seb and Nick, even if it was just to find out that they were doing fine without her.

The Stable Master halted in front of an iron-barred door and knocked so violently that either the man's knuckles or the wood behind the iron would crack.

Both got saved when a young woman with long braided black hair opened the door and squinted at them. "Yes?"

"Miss Ma'y, I bring ya Missy Alex—one of the Laneby foals. Seems like it has all been too much for he'. I was just telling he' about Lady Fa'ah's hoof bath when she got sick ove' teh clove's I had picked fo' he' this mo'ning."

Mary held her hand before her mouth and she gasped. "Oh no, poor girl."

"Yeah, told Missy Alex too. Fa'ah was looking fo'wa'd to those clove's."

"The girl, Dicky. Not the horse." Mary rolled her eyes as she pushed the door fully open, beckoning Alex to come in.

"Good, good. I ain't said nothing." He raised his hands apologetically. "Captain's taking the boy to see his sister. Kiddo's a real mess. Ya gonna have ya hands full with the both of them."

"I'll look after the poor unfortunate souls." She smiled awkwardly. "Thank you, Dicky. You better take good care of the horses. It's what you do best."

"All fo' His Majesty." He grinned widely, showing all the gaps in between his rotten teeth, then disappeared behind the corner of the house.

Mary turned to Alex and picked a sticky stray of hair from her cheeks. "I apologise, sweet girl. Old Dicky tries really hard, but if he can't talk about horses, he's a bit lost."

Alex averted her gaze. "It's fine. I did cause a mess."

"No bigger than what that awful magician did to Laneby. I'm sorry for what you have been through. It must have been so harrowing." She brushed her hand over Alex's shoulder, squeezing her lightly. "Let's get you out of these rags and into a nice dress. I bet you'll feel better in no time."

"Rags?" Alex lifted her shirt, which had more holes and tears than she could count. Her clothes had never been of the best fabrics; Mother couldn't afford any better. Neither had the journey been kind to them. The God of Pride popped up on her shoulder, arguing to keep the clothes; to hold on to home a little while longer, but she defied Him. "Yes, you're right. I need something else to wear."

"Come on then."

She followed the woman into the living room, where rows and rows of army decorations in every colour of the rainbow hung against the walls. In the midst of all the military glory smiled the painting of a teenage girl with the same sharp eyebrows and wide nose as the Captain. His daughter, Alex assumed.

"There's hot water on the furnace, and the water in the well is relatively warm this time of the year, so I could prepare a bath if you wish to cleanse yourself completely."

Alex shuddered. She had never understood why people liked to soak in their own filth for hours on end to get clean. "No, it's fine, a bowl of water is enough for me. Doesn't even have to be warm."

"I should have known. You farmers and your silly practices." Mary picked up a fern green dress with lace edges from the top of the drawer closet behind her. "What do you think? Doesn't this look lovely?"

It was the kind of dress that Emily and Amy would have plucked each other's hair out for if a travelling merchant had arrived with it in Laneby. Either of them would have looked astonishingly beautiful in it, but not she. Whenever Mother had forced her to wear a formal dress, Ben had always laughed and said she looked like the jester in one of Nick's books.

He hadn't been wrong.

"Is it one of your dresses?" Alex asked.

"Oh no." Mary's brown eyes widened. She placed the dress on the table, running her fingers alongside the lace collar. "I could never afford this. It belonged to Miss Isabelle when she was your age. Even though she's a real woman now—living with her husband and two girls in Eastpond—the Captain can't throw away her old dresses. People often gossip that he lives in the past, but he's just a nostalgic man, our Captain."

"So I've noticed." It was all she could say without insulting the man. On the two days they had been riding, she had heard the story of how he had become one of King William's most trusted Lieutenants, and how he had beaten six other potential candidates in the Captain exam, making him the youngest Captain that had ever served in Sundale. Three more years and he would go down in history books as the Captain with the longest tenancy in the entire country. "But how old is she now? Miss Isabelle?"

Mary, who had briefly disappeared to a room in the back, returned with a bowl of water. Steam was rising up. She had added the hot water. "Sixteen. And you?"

"I turn thirteen the first moon of winter." Had there been anything left in her stomach, it would have instantly come out. In less than four moons, she would be eligible for marriage. Back in Laneby, Mother had already tried to make arrangements with Jillian and Frederic, but Nick was still too young, and George too wanted among the Laneby girls. And since a bride came with a dowry, Alex had settled to remain a free woman until Ben had picked his future wife. "Do you have some ginger I could chew on? I'm not feeling too well, actually."

"Of course, you poor thing." Mary opened one of the drawers and rummaged through it. "Did your Mother teach you that—the use of herbs, I mean?"

"She did."

"That's so clever. Here in the Sundale, many girls don't even bother..."

Alex plunged her head in the bowl. Underwater, she opened her eyes and stared at the bottom until the urge to breathe became too strong to postpone the talks about pretty dresses and marriages. She briefly contemplated drowning, but chose life instead. For Laneby.

"Here, take this." Mary stuck a large piece of ginger root under Alex's nose. "I'll give you a hand with your hair."

"Thank you." Alex grabbed the root and sucked on it. The taste and smell brought memories of Mother chopping up herbs and brewing potions to bring around Laneby. She had been no real Healer, but any small ailment could be relieved with one of her miracle brews, as she liked to call them.

"You have such lovely curls. I'm so jealous of you." Mary's hands massaged her scalp as she soaped her hair. "With a long dress and a breath-taking perfume, you're gonna make every young Cadet look your way. I bet you'll be married by next summer."

"I don't know. It's not like I have any gold."

"I'm sure Her Majesty will be able to arrange something for you. You are her nephew's friend, after all."

Alex bit the root, the sharp-tasting juice sliding down her throat and into her painful stomach. Seb, nephew to the King and Queen. It was still hard to believe. "Do you know when I can see Seb?"

"Lord Sebastian," Mary corrected her. "Maybe later. I've heard that he has been feeling under the weather. Hasn't left his room in days. He seemed fine—despite everything—when he was brought here. Nothing that a few glasses of water and a couple of bandages wouldn't cure him of."

"I need to see him. I think it's because of me that he's not well."

"Don't be silly. How can you say that when you don't know what's wrong with him? But I think it's serious. His Majesty hasn't made any official announcement of his arrival yet." She scooped up water to rinse Alex's hair. "Naturally the whole of Sundale already knows."

"The turning of the rumour mill." Alex frowned. Even in Laneby, it usually worked faster than the regular mill; still, it had not spoiled the secret of Seb's royal descent.

After she had washed completely, she carefully slithered into the dress. The last thing she wanted to do was make any brisk moves that could damage the delicate fabric, but the Gods were still tossing her around. As she pulled the sleeve, her thumb got stuck behind the string and the lace tore half an inch.

"Oh no." Mary brought her hand to her mouth. She whimpered for a split second, then shrugged it off. "It's fine. I'll mend it. Let me first brush your hair."

Alex ran her fingers through her semi-wet hair. "You don't have to do it. I doubt you'll still like my curls when you're done fighting the knots."

"This ain't the army so there won't be any fights." Mary shook her head. "Who taught you to speak like that?"

"Lor-" Alex paused. She did not want to hear the maid complaining that girls had no place fighting among the men, even if it was Seb's father who had personally asked her to join. Prince Brandon. Brother to the King. "Nobody. I was just being silly."

Before Mary could say anything, the front door flew open and in stepped Captain Jonathan with Nick trailing behind him. The Captain nodded as he acknowledged Alex's presence in his home, while Nick gawked around with his puffy red eyes. He had been crying.

"How was it with Abby?" she asked him.

"Fine." He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, his voice low and husky. "You look beautiful in that dress, like a true lily in the moonlight."

Alex snorted as Mary yanked the brush through her hair. Typical Nick to not answer like a normal person, but to quote a story. "You're not fooling me, Nicolas. That's exactly what Prince Lewis told the Pastry-Maker's daughter to woo her."

"Why invent new words if others have said it so well?"

"Because you don't sound sincere, Muttonhead."

He huffed. "Have it your way, Alex. Like you always do."

"Captain?" Mary laid the brush on the table. "Isn't there a third child with you—a little redhead? Lord Sebastian mentioned three friends. I took the liberty of borrowing a few army uniforms from the Academy, and I gave Miss Alexandra one of Miss Isabelle's old dresses."

"As long as I get that back." The Captain's brief tight-lipped smile turned into a slight pout. "Henry was taken captive by the magician responsible for the drama in Laneby. Another heavy loss for Lord Sebastian, I'm afraid."

"Poor child. All alone, and so far away in a foreign country. He must be so lonely." She closed her eyes, biting her lip. "Why must there be so much tragedy?"

"Only the Gods know." The Captain picked up two green uniforms from a chair and held them in the air. "So, Nicolas, which one do you think will fit you?"

Alex sucked harder on the ginger root as her stomach squeezed tight. Fox would have loved the golden buttons on the uniforms, though he would have given up halfway buttoning them up. If only she had shot those evil men, then he would have been here too.

Nick shuffled nervously as his eyes studied the outfits in detail. He should take the smaller one of the two, but he was no doubt contemplating whether the bigger one was really too big for him.

"Nicolas, hurry up." The Captain tapped his right foot on the floor. "Take one and have a quick wash. We've already lost plenty of time, and His Majesty is a busy man. I don't want to let him wait too long."

"You're going to the castle? Can I join too?" She couldn't care less about meeting the King, but she had to find out how Seb was doing. Not that she had any idea how to bring him the bad news of Fox, but she had to see him.

"No, you stay here with Mary," Captain Jonathan said firmly. "We're going to have a quick chat among men about Laneby—nothing to concern yourself with."

She rose from her chair, midway to Mary unravelling a knot so the brush still stuck to her hair. "But I'm from Laneby too. I saw things that Nick didn't see. You need to take me with you."

"Alex, please." Nick sighed. "Just stay here. You told me everything about Katla and his two warriors. I can tell His Majesty."

"But—"

"No 'but', Alex!" Nick gritted his teeth, the God of Wrath flashing from his eyes once more. "This isn't Laneby. For once in your life, do what you are told. You're just a girl!"

She burst out in tears as she dropped the ginger root to the ground. Hearing her worst fears through the mouth of her trusted friend was like a dagger to the back. Everything was falling apart. If this was what life in Sundale was going to be, then she would have preferred to perish in the flames.

But perhaps this was the second test that the Gods were preparing her for; one to atone for all the sins she had committed. From now on she was going to be a virtuous girl.

Or she would try anyway.