Chapter 3

They left for the small town of Homard the following morning. The town grew up alongside the road that led through the Thurmans and into the neighboring kingdom of Befelyn to the east. There were tales that Befelynian refugees were moving through Homard carrying pockets full of gems, eager to sell for food and water while an ogre battle raged over Befelyn. Alvie wished they had more items to exchange so Mildred could use them to hone her superhuman abilities.

They strolled along in quiet. As they climbed the same path the treasury wagon had travelled the day before, clouds scudded over the Gustav sky, and the cold, damp bite of an oncoming blizzard ran a shudder down her spine. Sasha glided in slow spirals above, her white wings blending seamlessly with the clouds.

Want food? Sasha sent an image of a small rodent scurrying along the underbrush.

I don't even know what that is. All tastes the same.

Not to me.

Eat raw. Tastes the same. Try? Sasha dipped her wing and circled her prey.

I'm unable to consume raw animals. Mildred trembled. And quit giving me pictures of organs I don't want to put in my mouth, like spleens, bones, and other stuff.

I can provide some for your brother. Mildred's thoughts were swept away by Sasha's laughter like a chill wind.

Mildred smirked at Sydney, who raised a brow and then glared up at the sky. "The two of you are conspiring against me again, aren't you?"

"She just wants to share her lunch with you."

Sydney blanched. "Last time she shared, I got a face full of rabbit guts from above. You tell your bird to keep her victims to herself."

He doesn't want any. Is the road ahead clear of soldiers?

No soldiers. Safe. Sasha dove for the ground and something shrieked as

she found her prey.

Safe. Mildred frowned as she walked past thick oaks whose trunks had large patches of rot clinging to them. Soldiers weren't the true danger in Gruidarid. If Elinor didn't stop draining the land with the demands of her magic, there wouldn't be anything left of Mildred's kingdom when she was ready to challenge the queen for the throne.

The thought that she might have to face Elinor sooner than she'd anticipated sank into her stomach like a stone. Ignoring Sasha's thoughts about her meal and Sydney's attempts to come up with a name for their daring escapades, Mildred mentally picked up each piece of her plan and examined it for weakness.

Step one: Rob the treasury wagons. Six robberies already accomplished without mishap.

Step two: Find a safe contact in each village who could distribute the goods to those in need. Alvie had taken care of that to mitigate the risk that someone untrustworthy might see the resemblance between Mildred and the late king and curry favor with the queen by reporting it.

Step three: Let the rumors of the robberies become attached to the idea of the princess returning to claim her throne so that she could build a base of loyalty. She hadn't actually figured out how to do that yet.

She hadn't, but Sydney had. She glanced at him and sighed. She was never going to hear the end of this.

"You're right, Sydney," she said. Alvie and Sydney turned to look at her as the road dipped between a stand of pines whose needles were turning brown and a meadow of brittle grass.

"Of course I am." He paused. "About what?"

"We need a name. Something that can give the villagers someone to be loyal to."

Sydney's eyes lit up. "That's what I've been telling you. And I overlooked Alvie's involvement—my apologies—which opens up an entirely new list of possibilities. The Fearsome Threesome."

"Not quite," Mildred said. "The Triumphant Trio."

"No." Alvie turned on his heel and kept walking.

"We could always return to the Royal Rogues. No number specified." "No," Alvie and Mildred said together.

Sydney huffed out a breath. "You two display such a staggering lack of imagination, it's a wonder I survive."

"We'll have to put some more thought into it," Mildred said.

"Meanwhile, the two of you haven't been practicing courtly conversation

like I asked." Alvie's voice was stern. "You can't interact with our nobility or that of Gruidarid's allies if you forget your etiquette."

"I never forget my etiquette." Sydney looked wounded.

"You aren't the sibling I'm concerned about." Alvie gave Mildred a meaningful look, and she huffed impatiently.

"Courtly conversation is tedious. I have better things to do."

"Better things than convincing our nobility that you can lead a kingdom, maintain its allies, secure new ones, and interact with royalty without bringing shame upon the kingdom of Gruidarid?"

"I was kind of hoping vanquishing Elinor would take care of all that."

Sydney grinned. "I could be your mouthpiece. Think of it! You'd be the mysterious mardushka who never speaks, and I'd be the voice of Gruidarid issuing orders, correcting fashion disasters—Did you see what Lord Fritz was wearing last time we were in his village? Ghastly.—and assuring one and all that my sister can smite them where they stand if they don't obey."

Alvie raised a brow at Mildred.

"Okay, fine. I'll practice courtly conversation."

She turned toward Sydney, who gave her a cheeky grin. "You are looking most fetching this morning. Though I only have Alvie for comparison, so take that as you will."

Mildred snorted. "Fetching? What kind of stupid compliment is that?" "I'm pretty sure snorting is beneath royalty." Sydney sounded smug.

"Fine. You also look most fetching. So fetching, in fact, that I might allow Sasha to share her meal with you after all." Mildred laughed as Sydney glanced uneasily at the sky.

"When I said courtly conversation, I meant it." Alvie swept a rotted branch from the road, sending it skittering into the ditch. "Enough foolishness."

"Pretend I'm a visiting ambassador from Akram," Sydney suggested. "Why do you get to be the visiting ambassador?"

"Because I thought of it first."

Mildred glared. "Next time I get to be the visiting ambassador, and you have to come up with a stupid conversation to pass the time."

"I had no idea Gruidarid princesses were so uncouth," he said in a near-perfect imitation of an Akram accent—long vowels, choppy consonants, and a mesmerizing singsong cadence that Mildred found impossible to mimic.

Her answering smile bared all her teeth. "I hope your journey wasn't too arduous, my lord, and that you are in good health. When you have refreshed yourself with sleep, I would love to give you my undivided attention so that we may discuss various issues of interest to both our kingdoms."

"Better," Alvie said. "Now practice how to negotiate with brokers from Balavata. After that, we'll deal with the customs of Llorenyae."