“His father ordered all those executions,” Belen said.

“Come on. Everyone knows King Micah was just a figurehead during the six years after his accident. And he died before the plague struck.”

“A figurehead who still had loyal generals despite his erratic behavior. When Micah decided to clean out the dungeons, they followed his orders. By the time word reached Ryne, it was too late.”

Flea started throwing stones to practice juggling. I joined him, glad for an excuse to end the conversation about Ryne.

Except it picked up where we had left off the next night and the following three nights. I had made a mistake in directing my questions to Belen on that first night. He had a sincere honesty that was hard to ignore, and, after getting the topic steered to Ryne, Kerrick let Belen take over the reminiscing.

However, on the fifth night Kerrick took first watch. Belen paced around the campfire and even Flea remained quiet. During the day, I had noticed the strain in Quain’s face and witnessed a couple intense, but private discussions between the men.

“What’s going on?” I finally asked Loren.

He heated water over the tiny fire—all that Kerrick would allow. Loren exchanged a glance with Belen.

“If you’re trying to protect me from bad news, stop it right now. I don’t like secrets,” I said to both of them. “I can’t help if you keep me in the dark.”

“We’ve a couple bands of mercs on our tail,” Belen said.

Having already warned Kerrick of this possibility, I wasn’t surprised. We then played hide-and-seek with the three different groups of mercenaries for the next two days. Our rest breaks shortened until we skipped them altogether. Cold food and a scant few hours of sleep during the day became our new routine.

Kerrick didn’t have to say that the mercs were closing in. I knew from the others. No one smiled. No one spoke more than a few words. No one put their weapons down.

When the sun rose on the third day, Kerrick stopped. We were at the edge of the forest. Spread before us was an abandoned village. A carpet of thick thorny vines had grown over all the wooden structures, obscuring the streets. White, man-size Lilys dotted the greenery. Peace or Death Lilys—it was impossible for anyone to tell them apart.

“Damn. They’ve been herding us like cattle to the slaughterhouse,” Kerrick said.

Belen noticed my confusion. “The mercs knew this was here.” He swept a hand out, indicating the buried village. “They’ve must have coordinated their efforts because the mercs have us boxed in on three sides. The only way we can escape is through the Lilys.”

Fear energized my tired muscles. Too bad it wouldn’t do me any good.

“We’re trapped,” Loren said.

“We’re dead,” Quain said.

Chapter 9

“Those thorns look sharp, but what’s wrong with going through the Lilys?” Flea asked.

“Nothing if they’re all Peace Lilys,” Belen said.

“Unfortunately, there is no way to know if there’s even one Death Lily hiding among them,” Quain said.

I met Kerrick’s gaze. “Did you know this was here?”

“No. The town is outside the forest. Besides, I can’t tell if a Lily is benign or lethal.”

“No one can,” Quain said. “That’s the problem. You don’t know until the flower opens, and by that time it’s, See you later, sister!”

Staring at the barrier, I tried to find a route that would avoid the white flowers. No luck. When we had plenty of workers, they would pull out the new shoots of all the Lily plants before they could grow a flower. With its deep root system that covered miles, eradicating the plant had been a full-time job. The Lilys also grew in unexpected places and the Death Lilys killed the unwary.

“Now what?” Flea asked.

“We stage an ambush of our own. If we move fast enough, we might be able to fight our way through one side and escape,” Kerrick said.

“Not going to work,” Belen said. “Too many of them.”

“I’ll surrender and they shouldn’t hurt the rest of you,” I said.

“No,” Kerrick and Belen said together.

“We’ll take our chances and go through the Lilys,” Kerrick said.

“You’re crazy.” Quain gestured with his knife. “I’d rather take my chances against the mercs.”

“What are the odds?” Loren asked.

“It’s more like a ratio,” Kerrick said. “Approximately one Death Lily for every hundred Peace Lilys.”

Everyone turned to the field. I estimated there were about three hundred Lilys.

“Approximately three Death Lilys,” Kerrick said. “I’ll pick a route with the least number of Lilys and go first. Belen, keep her close to you. You’ll be last. Who wants to go second?”

This was the first time Kerrick asked for volunteers.

“I’ll take second,” Loren said without hesitation.

“Third,” Quain said.

“Then Flea,” Kerrick said. “If one of those flowers so much as twitches, run.”

Lining up in order, we followed Kerrick. The flowers’ scent misted the air. A combination of sweet honey and tangy lemon that evoked a strong feeling of déjà vu in me. We climbed through the vines, avoiding the thorns with little success.

When we reached the halfway point, the crash and rustle of many boots sounded behind us. A line of mercs spread out along the forest. No going back now.

The mercs cursed and called us idiots with good reason. If a Death Lily grabbed you, it would do one of two things. Either consume your flesh and then spit out your bones, or spit you out whole. But don’t get too excited about being released. You’d most likely die later. Only ten percent survived the toxin the flower injected into them.

And if you were caught, your friends wouldn’t be able to cut through the petals. They were thick and fibrous. Plus they would need to get close to the plant. Then the vines would ensnare them, saving them for the Lily’s next meal. Nice, huh?

With the arrival of the mercs, Kerrick picked up the pace. We skirted many of the white flowers, but couldn’t avoid them all.

Memories of my younger brother kept surfacing in my mind. Something about the Lily’s scent reminded me of Allyn. He had gone from crawling to running in a matter of days and all before he turned a year old. Once mobile, he’d never stopped moving unless asleep. My family had constantly chased after him. I remembered bolting after Allyn with my heart slamming in my chest. He had wandered into a copse of trees and had been too young to know what traps to avoid. I couldn’t recall if I had caught him or not. The rest of the memory remained elusive.

Funny how one sound could bring everything back. A low hiss. I froze. How could I have forgotten? The shushing noise grew. Flea paused under a big bloom. Kerrick and the others had gone ahead.

The petals above Flea parted. I shoved Flea out of the way as the Lily attacked. A whoosh echoed. White petals surrounded me. Then all was black silence.

Cocooned within the Lily, I waited for the pricks. The toxin was supposed to kill me so the plant could digest me at its leisure. I should be terrified, except this wasn’t my first time inside a Death Lily.

My brother had finally stopped running long enough for me to catch up to him. He’d pointed to a huge hissing white flower, and in a heartbeat the Lily had grabbed me. Obviously, I survived. However, I had no memory of being released.

Two thorns pierced my arms. A familiar feeling flowed over me. I drifted as if transformed into a wisp of smoke. Forgotten memories sprang to life. After being spat out, I’d endured two weeks of sickness. However, the toxin must have blocked the memory of my time inside the Lily, and since no one, except Allyn, had seen me snatched, they didn’t know what had caused me to be sick. The symptoms matched a bad bout of stomach flu.

My consciousness now spread along the plant’s roots and into the plant’s soul. Through this strange mental link, I peered beyond the petals. Kerrick and the others had tried to cut the Death Lily down only to be caught tight in its vines. The mercs had watched them with amusement even though they had been upset over losing me. Or more accurately, over losing their share of forty golds.