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look that emphasizes the bright blue of his eyes.
    Even in the shadows beginning to thicken the air, his eyes are aggressively blue, like a northern hunt dog meeting a stranger in the woods, debating whether to rip out the newcomer’s throat. I feel exposed all over again, though I know there’s little chance Niklaas has guessed what I was thinking a moment ago. He’s convinced I’m a fourteen-year-old boy, and I’m not going to linger to give him reason to suspect otherwise.
    Without another word, I slither down the other side of the boulder on my belly, ignoring my aching muscles, refusing to think about how nice it would feel to be soaking in the hot spring instead of hurrying back to the camp. I’ll have my chance for a soak later. Alone. Without any insufferable princes lurking in the water.
    “I’m not some baker’s daughter,” I mumble, dumping an armful of wood to the ground with more force than necessary. “And even if I were, I’d know better.”
    Across the clearing, Alama whinnies, her long tongue dangling lewdly from her mouth. I stick my tongue out in return, smiling when she rears her head and stamps the ground.
    I have to put up with Niklaas and his nosy questions and pearls of wisdom and piercing devil eyes; I don’t have to put up with being sassed by a horse.
    My small triumph cheers me until a flash of black draws my eyes to the sky above the valley. There, dozens of vultures—crooked wings spread wide and bald heads craned toward the ground—drift in slow, relentless circles in the fading light, searching the world below for the ogre queen’s prey.

Chapter Six

Niklaas
    When I arrive back at our camp—after a soak that has turned my toes to happy prunes and my aching back to mush—Ror is nowhere to be found. The horses are tied as they were and grazing peacefully, but I draw my sword anyway.
    Better to find out the boy is off answering the call and not need a weapon than to be surprised by an enemy.
    “Ror?” After a moment with no answer, I call a little louder, “Ror? Are you—”
    “Shh!” comes a hiss from my left. “In here.”
    I turn toward the sound of his voice, but find … nothing.
    “Inside the tree,” he whispers. “It’s hollow.”
    I circle around the petrified tree where the horses are tied and kneel down to peer inside. After a moment, my eyes adjust and I see Ror—a mad gleam in his eyes—crouched in the darkness ten hands away.
    “I’m hiding,” he says.
    “I see that.”
    “Maybe you should hide, too,” he says, scooting farther into the darkness. “There were two of them at the mercenary camp this morning. I was too muddled to think they might have been sent by the queen, but they could have seen us together.” He waves an arm, motioning for me to join him. “Come on! I don’t know how much they know.”
    “How much who knows?” I glance over my shoulder, poised to defend myself if whoever’s spooked Ror is still near the camp. “Who did you see?”
    “Not who, what, ” he snaps. “They’re everywhere. Don’t you see them?”
    “See what?” I ask, not bothering to hide my frustration. If there’s danger at hand, the boy needs to be less flaming vague!
    “The vultures swarming above the blasted camp!”
    I lift my eyes, but the sky is empty, save for the sliver moon rising above the Feeding Hills. “I don’t see anything.”
    “But there were so many,” Ror says, refusing to budge. “At least a dozen, and more flying in from the east.”
    I stand and turn in a slow circle. “Well, they’re gone now. Vultures can’t see much better in the dark than we can. They’ll be off finding a place to roost. I suggest we do the same. If you want your turn at the pool, you’d better get moving.”
    Ror crawls from his hidey-hole, staff clutched tightly in hand. He still looks spooked, even after his own search of the sky reveals I’ve told the truth. “I’m not mad,” he says, pointing a stubby finger in my direction. His hands