max Max waited till dawn before sending Claude back to the ridge where he’d left the troops they’d been traveling with. He hoped that the bare-branched copse of Swamp Maples had provided enough shelter for them.

Now that the violence was over, he was grateful he’d ordered the soldiers to remain out of sight and to not attack any rival forces, no matter how close the other battalion came to them. He understood the hearts of soldiers. That their instincts and training would make it difficult for them to sit back and watch while Elena’s army invaded their land. But he needed them alive, now more than ever. He needed to find Charlie.

He stayed behind while Claude went to collect the others, wanting to assess the destruction left behind by the enemy army. He wasn’t sure what he expected to gain from the inspection of the decimated village—he could see from his vantage point on the hillside that the Astonian soldiers had left no witnesses to their rampage—but his curiosity called to him all the same.

The black smoke that coiled and twisted through the air stood out against the pale morning fog, like an obscene reminder of the night’s events. His lungs felt leaden. The sickening crunch of newly charred wood and paper and textiles shadowed him with each and every step he took. The scent of destruction was cloying.

But worse than the burned homes, and the shattered glass that spilled onto the streets, was the blood that splattered stone and dirt and everything. Everywhere.

There were bodies, both those that were whole and those not whole. Burned and unburned.

Some hanging. And some not.

Max walked through the streets, avoiding as best he could the stares of so many vacant eyes. The corpses of children were piled against the still smoking rubble, their expressionless faces dirty from soot and ash.

Spikes had been speared into the ground at irregular intervals, and there were several with heads mounted on them: an elderly man’s, his eyes and mouth open; a woman’s, her hair tangled with blood, her eyes mercifully closed; a boy’s, not yet to adolescence, with red hair and green eyes that were now hazed over with death.

There were nooses too, and several victims had been hanged. Max glanced over them quickly, trying not to notice the way their feet still swayed, ever so slightly, as the sea’s breath rocked them.

But it was one woman in particular who caught his eye. Her hair was the same as the boy’s whose head had been impaled. His mother, if Max were to guess. But it wasn’t her hair that drew his attention; it was her neck. Something that glinted in the morning light.

He moved closer, feeling sick as he noted the way her hands were crudely bound behind her back, and seeing the blackened ligature marks that feathered out from the cord beneath her chin.

He tried not to look at her pale face as he reached for the chain that disappeared beneath the front of her bloodied blouse.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he ripped the necklace from her body and clutched it in his fist.

He barely registered the sound of hoofbeats behind him as he tried to imagine how this woman had come into possession of the pendant, although he wasn’t sure the how was the problem.

Fear lanced him, freezing the blood in his veins and making him incapable of moving for several long moments while he considered the implications of finding the necklace here, in this place. Now.

When he turned around, he was facing the division of men and women he’d brought with him to find their queen. “We need to scour every inch of this village, check every body to make sure Queen Charlaina’s not among them. And when we’re certain she’s not, one of you has to go back to the palace with word of this attack. We need to be certain they know we’re at war with Astonia.” When Claude approached, his eyebrow raised, Max opened his hand and showed the guard Charlie’s necklace. “She’s been here,” he announced. “And we’re going to find her if it’s the last thing we do.”

XII

Brook frowned as she patted her waistband. She stopped in front of me then and bent down, dropping low and patting her ankle, too.

“Damn,” she cursed. “I think I left my blade back in the cave.” She raised her hand to her forehead and glanced back up the hillside, her frown deepening. “You two go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

I watched for a minute as she jogged back up the way we’d just come. Rocks skittered down behind her as her boots found their way more easily in the daylight. The fog was clearing now too, and what remained was only what clung to the ground, wisps that hadn’t been whisked away yet by the crisp gusts coming over the cliffs from the water below.

I turned and followed Eden, focusing on making my way back down the rocky terrain.

We couldn’t see the VAN yet, but it wouldn’t be long. It would have been better if we’d been able to go farther the night before. Unfortunately, we hadn’t had enough time to plan, and it had been too dark to see where we’d been going, both of which had limited our escape route.

As the VAN came into view, I sighed out loud, and the tension in my chest loosened. “It’s still there,” I breathed.

Eden turned to face me, a slow grin spreading over her face, and I could see she was relieved as well. “It’ll be good to get out of here.” And then her expression changed as her focus shifted. I couldn’t tell what it was she was looking at, but I knew it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Brooklynn either, because Brooklynn had gone in the other direction.

Her attention was fixed on something in the hills, but not toward the cave where we’d spent the night.