Her first thought was to warn the others about Diaz. But that was foolish. She was far, far away Triad and her friends. They had knocked her out and taken her outside of the city...which was probably the reason for her pounding headache. They had to have covered dozens of kilometres by now—and travelling even further, judging from the movement beneath her feet—wheels.

She felt the bite of rope on her wrists. They'd bound her, not willing to under-estimate their captive, even if she was a harmless Keeper.

Smart, Kestra admitted begrudgingly. She wasn't harmless. Oh, not at all. She might be a Keeper, but she was a general's daughter.

She kept her eyes shut, maintaining the guise of sleep whilst she explored her binds with as little motion as possible. They weren't smart enough to have drugged her, so she had a clear mind to start plotting her escape. The ropes were tight and clever,

but standard.

What did these people think Keeper Queens learnt? Miras was a nation of warriors, and Kestra's mother was their general. Even if escaping binds and surviving captivity hadn't been part of her training, Myra would have instructed her in it anyway. She wasn't a progidy, but she'd get out of these in a few hours. But that would be too early. Her current captors might be stupid, but Diaz wouldn't be.

She'd need to be smart and bide her time. She couldn't make a run on the first night; they'd suspect that and she would be captured within minutes, her plan over before it could truly begin. On the second, her chance of escape was nearly as slim. The third night...maybe, if she played the terrified and docile girl well enough. But she'd take the second if she had to, depending on when they were planning on killing her.

The thought sent an involuntary shiver down her spine and she cursed herself for the movement.

Kestra had had Alexandrius obscure parts of her mind—the ones that held information about their numbers, resources and spy networks— from others like him and would also be able to remove those details from her own grip before they'd begin torturing her. Reaching for the information now, she found it already gone. Good.

But there were other things she knew. That if they found and ransomed Aaron Crimson, they'd have his sister begging at their feet. That to capture Maia was to have Layla at their mercy as well—and that the former was far less guarded.

All the places where her friends were weak. Not physically—that was all obscured—but emotionally.

If Diaz had any sense, she'd try to torture it out of her. She quietly vowed to stay silent. Like her mother would. Like Nala would. They were the strongest people Kestra knew. They would laugh in Diaz's face.

But she couldn't mock the traitor general. She already regretted threatening them with her friends' retribution. She needed to pretend to be tame, weak. A little girl, barely past twenty, out of her wits with terror. She couldn't let her cunning behind her eyes show, or give any indication of the plans whirring inside her head. If she couldn't wield fear as her weapon, then she would wield an appearance of helplessness instead.

She risked cracking open an eyelid. She had been cramped into crate, the space small enough for her to feel the walls pressing in on all sides. Her feet and wrists were tied, but she'd already known that.

There was only a slight risk of them noticing she was awake in here, so she allowed herself to shift slightly.Once her eye was aligned to one of the slits in the crate, she squinted to get an idea of her surroundings. Flashes of green were her only reward. They were outside the city, by the looks of things. Somewhere in the countryside. The sky was dimming, which meant it had been at least eighteen hours since she'd been captured. Her body clock was skewed enough that it told her little. Her parched throat and growling stomach were far more informative.

Giving up her sight as useless, she strained her ears for any sound. There was

nothing except the clattering of wheels. She was rocking back and forth. Was she in some sort of prison wagon, adapted for Diaz's use? That made the most sense.

They were taking her somewhere. A stronghold maybe, where they could rest, regroup and conceal her from her friends—probably already trying to find her.

She couldn't let them drag her too deep into the wild, especially since they certainly weren't going to keep her alive forever. She was surprised they hadn't slit her throat already. When Diaz had talked about her plan to bring Myra down piece by piece, she hadn't sounded like she was planning on ransoming Kestra back to her. She didn't have much time before they decided it would be easier to just kill her now. If she was deep in the deep wild when that happened, no rescuers would be able to find her in time.

Nor did she want to stick around until whatever nefarious plan they had for her which justified risking letting her live commenced. Today she'd gauge her surroundings and Diaz's plans. Tomorrow she'd plan her escape. Either that night or the night after, she'd make a run for it.

The Isthmus was verdant and filled with life, or it had been ever since the Second Crimson War ended. Forests were in abundance; rivers and mountains and valleys spotted the land. Not to mention, the labyrinthine woodlands of Miras were a few days' north. Her escape would have to be soon.

The wagon slowly ground to a halt. Kestra close her eyes again and returned to her original. She willed herself to stay calm as footsteps sounded ever louder, but her heartbeat was thundering in her ears.

How do sleeping people look? Kestra wondered desperately, certain she wasn't pulling it off properly.

"Still asleep," a voice called out and she fought down the sigh of relief that bubbled within her.

"It's been a full day since we knocked her out in Triad," another scoffed. "Pathetic. I thought the liar queen would have a thicker skull."

Laughter rung through the air, but Kestra hid a smile. The fools. They'd told her exactly what time it was—eight o'clock at night, precisely twenty-four hours after her capture. And they called her pathetic.

"We should set up camp for the night," one of them said.

"If we don't get to the Wastes in time, they might be able to track us down," another voice warned.

The Wastes? No. It couldn't be. She must have heard them wrong. If she hadn't, and they took her there...

Her friends wouldn't even find her body. Or at least what was left of it.

Kestra forced herself to calm down and think straight. To avoid the Bird of Prey Mountains ringing the southern edge of Miras, they'd probably take a ship to the Wastes. If they had a hired crew and captain who didn't know who they were serving, she might be able to gain an invaluable ally there. But if it was only her enemies on that boat...

If they were going to go on a ship, then she'd need to move. Fast. There was

nowhere for her to flee to in the middle of the ocean.

If it had been a day since Triad, they could be on the shore by now. She'd have to figure out when they were taking the ship. If they boarded tomorrow, then she'd have no choice but to risk everything and run tonight.

"Once we get to the Bird of Prey Mountains, we'll be safe." Diaz's voice.

Kestra blinked. Those mountains were home to the entirety of the Alliance's armies. She had to be joking.

"They're too arrogant to search their own territory." Diaz continued. "So long as we stay to the hidden passes and the wildest parts of the range, we'll be fine. Camp now. We're close to the Hawks, and our greatest threat is exhaustion. Wake the liar queen up, give her some food and water and put her in a tent. She's still valuable to us—remember that."

Kestra felt hands reaching for her and pulling her up and out of the crate.

Only after they'd shaken her did she allow her eyes to open. If they caught

on to how much she already knew...

Finally able to see properly, Kestra assessed her captors. Diaz had already walked off and left her in the care of several warriors. A couple were younger than her, little over eighteen.

She moved her focus to her surroundings. It was dark already, but she could make out a forest—not a dense, twisting one like she'd been afraid

of. They would likely make camp in a clearing there, hidden from sight.

"Check the ropes, Isabel," one of the older ones commanded. Her companion complied and Kestra was suddenly grateful she hadn't begun the work of loosening them yet.

Others had already begun to set up camp and they took her into a tent and placed a hood over her face. Too late. She already knew there were around fifty valkyries in the camp. All armed.

Her tent was in the centre. Any rescuers would have to fight to get to her—and if she wanted to escape, she'd have to sneak past row after row of tents. But it also gave her a good view of her surroundings. They were in a clearing, as predicted. The more experienced warriors were placed in a ring around her tent, watching her constantly.

It wasn't going to be easy to escape, but she might have a chance when they started to travel again. If she loosened her bonds before they left in the morning and slid out when no one was watching—but that would require them to be particularly stupid. If she could make them think she was docile, she might be able to get her guards to lower their defences and sleep through their watches. Maybe she could escape during the night that way.

But all her plans relied on sheer luck and extraordinary stupidity on Diaz's part. Every method of escape was blocked, and Kestra was quickly realising that what happened next was entirely in her rescuers' hands.

She rejected the thought on instinct. She couldn't just give up.

She's smart, Kestra thought. But I'll be smarter. I have to be.