Finn
I sit on the edge of a thin straw mattress in a tiny room, one of many honeycombing what was once a playhouse. Crooked nails jut from equally thin walls, clearly constructed as quickly as possible when the townsfolk discovered they were going to be hosting their new queen and a not insignificant portion of her army. Laughter echoes over the tops, where they don’t quite reach the ceiling.
“It’s safe,” I tell Elian through the mind-link. “Or about as safe as anything is.”
“Where should I go?”
I give him directions as best I can. “If that fails, you want the town of Tarrin.”
“And the crown prince?”
“Not exactly.”
I pick at my rough pants and glance at the slim curtain sectioning off a tiny corner of our room. It rustles, an elbow jutting into it, or maybe a knee. Behind there, Xan
