Turn's out, Sam's a talker.

His mouth practically never stops moving. He points out landmarks and road signs, houses of people he knows, and different types of flowers that grow along the well-worn path. At first, it's weird but helpful, so I soak everything up in silence. He's persistent, though. All it takes is one sideways glance over his shoulder, flashing me his massive, sad, brown eyes, and I cave.

"What's that flower?" I ask, pointing to a watch of tall stalks. Each has a cluster of bright purple blossoms circling the top. Their own weight causes them to droop towards the ground.

Sam laughs. "You really aren't from around here, are ya?" After pulling Milly to a stop next to a large patch, he tells me, "That's willowherb. Heard some call it fireweed, though. It grows best in ash. Guess that's where the name came from."

I point across the flatland at a cropping of white flowers that sit much lower to the ground. Their petals fan out from a fuzzy-looking yellow center. "And that one?"

"Daisies."

Sam dismounts, and my body naturally slides down into the crook of Milly's back. The horse tosses her head but doesn't move.

"My mama always likes daisies," Sam says as he cautiously tip-toes through a patch of brambles to get to the flowers. Once there, he draws a short-bladed knife out of his pants pocket and cuts a handful of them.

"Bringing her some home?" I ask as he returns.

"Nah." With a massive, dopey grin on his face, he holds the tiny bouquet out to me. "For you."

A surprised gasp slips out of my mouth as I take the stems. They're slightly fuzzy, but stiff and lively. I've read about this sort of thing—men bringing flowers to the women they're interested in and her fawning over them for days, or until they inevitably wilt. In the past, I thought the concept was sort of silly. Who would want a handful of plant carcasses as gifts?

Turns out, I do.

I stroke the petals with a single finger as Sam climbs back onto Milly's back. "Thank you," I whisper, still in awe. He glances down at me and laughs.

"Mama taught me to be a gentleman. You're welcome, o' course." He clicks his tongue, and Milly starts moving again. I smile softly at the bouquet. It wasn't a gesture of romanticism but of manners.

We bob along in silence for a few minutes. How am I going to keep the flowers in shape, considering the bumpy ride we're on? The mid-day heat has only grown worse since we left the beach, and I'm already sweating. What will happen to the flowers in these temperatures?

Holding them in one hand, I tug my hair off my neck with the other. Zula could have sent me something to hold it up with. Having an entire mane of fire-red waves doesn't really help me keep cool. I could easily braid it, but it would only hold steady for a short while. Maybe...

"Sam?"

He jumps a little, probably surprised I broke the silence. "Yes'm?"

"Do you have a string of some sort? A ribbon or small rope?"

He tilts his head sideways to look at me. "What in the worlds for?"

I laugh. "I'm going to braid my hair to get it off my neck. It's really hot out here."

"Oh!" His cheeks flush a bit, like he's embarrassed he didn't think of that. "Sure."

He reaches behind him into the bag hanging from Milly's rump and pulls out a myriad of trinkets. There's a wooden stick with a blackened tip, another small knife, some buttons and white thread, a long strand of rope with knots tied along it, a scrap of paper, and some loose seeds. Finally, he withdraws a green ribbon. It's a bit frayed on both ends but solid.

"I don't think my daughter will mind if I give you that," he says with a smile.

"You'll have to tell her I said thanks."

After taking the ribbon from him, I tuck the daisies under my leg, gather my hair, and braid it as simply as I can into one heavy plait. It sits over one shoulder like a thick anchor chain. It isn't fancy like the braids Mama used to spend so much time doing, but it gets the job done. Already, the sweat on my neck is drying.

As an afterthought, I tuck the little white flowers into the strands of hair. The ribbon goes on last, tied in a tight knot to keep it together. Sam grins down at me but says nothing.

The ride continues, full of Sam's happy chatter. He tells me about his daughter, how she loves working with him on their farm outside of Lykke. She raises her own chickens (a thing that Sam has to describe to me and I admit sounds downright terrifying) and grows strawberries in the garden plots that line their front yard. Her days are mostly spent chasing her "precious" chickens away from the fruits.

I know automatically I'd love the little girl; she and I both have a sweet tooth.

With some prompting, Sam tells me about the city of Lykke. Of course, I know the city's layout from my grotto's extensive historical library. I've read that it's laid out on a radial grid, and all roads lead to the palace complex at the center. It makes it impossible to get lost. As long as you keep walking, you'll either end up at the palace or at the wall encasing the city.

Sam goes into further detail, though. According to him, there's an excellent farrier ("Someone who shoes horses, of course.") down in the southwest corner of Lykke who also likes to bake breads that taste better than any of the foreign bakers' loaves. The man's buns are so good that the prince himself visits on occasion.

Then, there's a widow who lives east of the city's market square who embroiders the most beautiful designs. Rumor has it that the prince has tried to hire her, but she refused.

He knows his people like I know mine.

No, like Mama knew hers.

"Do you see the prince very often?" I ask as we leave a blissfully cool patch of trees. We're a good distance from the shoreline now. Here, the air is lighter since the salt has lifted. If I strain, I can still smell the ocean. Her sound is long gone, though.

Sam shakes his head. "I live outside the wall, remember? Can't say I've ever seen the prince, to be honest. Apparently, he comes into town once, twice a week, but that's usually to cross to the docks." He pauses. "You know, I think my cousin told me he used to come down and play handball with the kids. When he was much smaller, before Queen Else died."

"So he's not very sociable?" I ask, ignoring the second part of what he said. I don't want to give my brain any reason to feel sorry for Prince Eero.

"Not anymore. Quite the opposite now, I've heard," Sam says.

Well, that puts a kink in my plan. How am I supposed to befriend someone that isn't even social? I'll have to figure it out, I guess.

One step at a time.

First, I've got to worry about getting into the palace. Then, I'll deal with how to get closer to the prince.

"Tell me more about the city," I say absentmindedly, trying to come up with some sort of plan that doesn't rely on me hiding in the walls for a month.

Maybe I can ask for a job. Castles need servants, after all.

##

Mid-day is long gone by the time the sun-bleached walls of Lykke rise into view. I'm sore from being astride the horse for so long, and there's a thin layer of brown on my arms from the duty road. Sam has done his best to keep my spirits high, bless his heart. I just feel so tired.

With every step, the pressure of what I've agreed to do drips down on me. It settles on my shoulders, only to sneak up into my ears after a moment and run laps around my brain.

You should have thought this through more. You're just one girl. You can't stop a war.

You should have thought this through more. You're just one girl. You can't stop a war.

You should—

It nags and nags and nags, an unrelenting wave beating against the shoreline. I keep trying to place a line of defense between me and the water, a pile of tightly packed sand or meticulously placed stones, a mantra of some sort for the doubts to hit against...

But it isn't working.

I did think this through!

... Mostly.

I know what I need to do; it's just the specifics that are evading me. I'm a smart girl. Surely, I can figure it out. That last thought sends my uncertainty alight again.

What if I don't figure it out? What if I can't? What happens then?

Zula was pretty clear exactly what would happen if I ran or failed. He'll take Papa's place and rule over Vandya as king. Who knows what he would do with that level of control.

But it's okay. I've got this. I can figure it out.

What if I can't?

I know I'm spiraling. It's like my arms and legs are tied to an anchor and it won't stop pulling me down. No matter how many times I repeat "the plan" in my head, no matter how much I kick upwards against the torrential whirlpool, it keeps dragging me in.

The effort of trying to keep my head above water is exhausting.

So, I refocus on another issue: You're just one girl.

No, I'm a princess. A mermaid princess. I'm the daughter of the renowned King Triton. Like my father, the Divine has blessed me with Her magic. I'm never fully alone; all the ocean is behind me, waiting for my command.

The whirlpool weakens a bit, and I manage to take a deep breath. My shoulders and fists relax.

No matter what this task throws at me, I am not alone. With the right support systems, even the world's deepest trench is explorable.

All I have to do is kill one man. It shouldn't be that hard.

"Do you want me to walk you inside the city?" Sam asks softly, steering Milly towards the wall. A crowd gathers around an ornate wooden door. It seems to be open to welcome the visitors, but a throng of guards spell out something else. I do a quick head-count: ten on the ground and at least five that I can see along the upper level.

My hands start sweating, and the spiraling begins anew.

"No, I'll be okay," I answer, keeping my eyes on the men as Sam pulls us to a stop.

"You sure?"

"Yes." It's best not to get used to leaning on others. I'm going to have to figure it out for myself in the end. "Surely I can find the palace."

Sam laughs, a deep, hearty sound that I've come to enjoy listening to. "Well, I sure hope so, or you're in trouble." He dismounts and reaches up to help me down.

If it was anyone else, I might shy away from his hands wrapping around my waist. But it isn't. This man can't stop rambling about his daughter and their farm. He gave me flowers, shared his canteen of water with me, respected my silence when he asked where I come from, and has been excellent company during the day.

There's not a thing about him that I consider threatening.

So, when he grabs me and lifts me from the blanket, I don't stiffen or fight. He places me firmly on the ground and offers me a warm smile.

"Good luck in there," he says, reaching into one of his bags and offering Milly a rolled mixture of something brown. I assume it's a treat because she munches contentedly. "If you ever need anything..."

I smile back at him. "I'll find you straight down this road at about half-a-days distance. Look for a big red windmill and little Rosie's chickens."

He belly-laughs at that, and his cheeks redden. "Yeah. Somethin' like that." After rubbing the back of his neck to ward off the embarrassment of oversharing, he pats me on the shoulder and gestures to the door. "You're gonna be fine. I can tell. Got that warmth about you. Like a warm day by the beach. Last time I checked, the Divine protects her own anyway."

Caught off guard, I jerk my head back towards him. "Excuse me?"

"Not everyone in Anjord remembers the old gods," he continues, the smile fading from his face, "but those of us who do know how to recognize fellow worshippers. I won't ask or press you for any details, but... you just got that look about you. I can't explain it, really."

I look down at my chest, where the heat of my magic has suddenly flared to life. It must be his recognition or his reverent tone. Either way, the Divine appreciates it.

"Thank you," I whisper, looking back up at him. "For everything. Neither of us will forget it, I promise."

Sam nods shyly. "The Divine has already blessed me by the multitude. Consider this my way of paying her back a pinch. Now," he grasps me by the shoulder and steers me towards the door. "Go on. Before it gets dark."

I stumble forward a step but quickly regain my footing. Looking over my shoulder, I wave at him. There's a gentle ache in my stomach. No wonder he was so kind to me. Did the Divine send him across my path just to make sure I made it this far?

Was She doing what She could to protect me?

I'll never know, really, but this is more proof that I'm not alone.

With a deep breath, I clutch my bag's strap and walk up to Lykke's door.