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presentable.
    “I’m…I’m so sorry,” she started, and then she looked up. The slave who was holding her had let her hood fal back, and her face could be plainly seen. It wa s deeply lined and her dark hair was streaked with gray, but she was not, Julia thought, an old woman. Her eyes were deep-set but clear, and there was a hint of youth left in them.
    The woman smiled, and Julia noted that at least a few of the lines in her face came not from the rigors of hard work but from laughter. “I’m Helen,” she said simply. “Now, why don’t you tel us what’s troubling you?”
    There was a sharp intake of breath from the other slave, and a look between the two of them that Julia barely registered. The second slave let her breath out in a hiss and nodded almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know what to do,” Julia said, wiping her face and nose on her sleeve. “The monk said there was a prophecy—said I—we—were the Chosen Ones and I ought to free you, but I don’t even know where to begin!”
    Another look between the slaves—this one longer and more pronounced. Helen final y broke the silence.
    “A monk told you about a prophecy?” she asked slowly. Julia nodded.
    “And I’m not to tel Peter, but I think he’s already ruined everything with his sil y gunpowder and I don’t know how to overthrow the lords and I’m out of ideas!”
    The second slave removed her hood and stepped forward. She was quite a young woman—
    not much older than Julia herself, though with a hard look in her eye that could only have come from years of hard work and pain. “If you are the one who was promised us,” she said, “you wil not have to overthrow them alone.” She paused, and then broke into a smile. “I’m Alyce,” she said. “Our people have been waiting for you a long, long time, my lady.” It was her smile that final y brought Julia out of her tears and into the moment. Whether or not she was real y the Chosen One, she was the only one here. And she had to do something.
    “Would you…” she paused, uncertain exactly how to phrase her question. “Would you tel me your stories? Tel me your history. Tel me of Marcus and al the others.”
    Helen nodded. “Of course, my lady, but now is not the time. I wil arrange for you to meet with my brother, and he wil tel the tale true. But first, I feel you must know what you risk.” She stopped and glanced at Alyce, who nodded, urging her to continue. “You must understand that by siding with us your life is forfeit. The lords…” Again she hesitated.
    “The Wolf is not known for his mercy.” Julia nodded, not precisely sure how to respond. And then Alyce smiled again. She came to Julia’s side and held her face, stil red and wet from the tears, between her hands. “Welcome, Julia,” she said softly. “Welcome to Aedyn.”

CHAPTER
9
    T hat afternoon, Julia slipped out of her chambers and made her way down the stairs and through the dark corridors to the slaves’ meeting place, fol owing Helen’s directions. The tapestries hanging on the wal s became more and more dusty and threadbare as she went, and there was a dank, musty smel in the air as she descended into the bowels of the castle. But she held her head high, stepping briskly and with confidence, trying to look as if she had every right in the world to be there.
    She need not have worried. Nobody noticed or chal enged her. Julia found the door that Alyce had described and opened it, trying not to let it creak.
    She shivered—the air had a wet chil here, and there was a steady drip from somewhere to the left. She minced her

    way down a spiral stone staircase into what was clearly the basement of the castle. The fragrance of a cooking stew wafted through the dark stone cel ars, mingling with the less pleasant smel s of stagnant water and rotting food. She could see only by the flickering light of the torches burning at intervals, and she guided herself by running her fingers along the wal , shuddering