arms.
Why? Maeve glanced down at the seaweed in the basket, then realized that the basket was shielding her breasts from view much better than her hair could do. She gave Bettina a grateful look. “Thank you.”
“I can come with you as far as the village,” Bettina whispered as she walked alongside her.
“Thank you,” Maeve whispered back.
“Quiet,” Alfred ordered. “And hurry it up.”
“You’re in big trouble now, shifter!” Quentin raced in front of the women as they slowly climbed the dune.
Maeve took a deep breath to calm her nerves and racing thoughts. How could she escape? Or would it be better not to escape? If she remained here, she might learn a great deal of useful information. Or she might end up locked in a dungeon.
In any case, there was nothing she could do now but play along. She couldn’t fight or run away—these Embraced soldiers could strike her down or kill her with a wave of a hand. Could she talk her way out of being a prisoner? Brody had claimed she was a beauty, a siren who could make men cross the sea for her. She’d never believed it, but it wouldn’t hurt to see how effective her so-called charm could be.
When she reached the top of the dune, she gave the soldiers a friendly smile. “My name is Maeve. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alfred and . . . ?” She glanced at the wind-wielding soldier. He looked a year or two younger than she was.
“Darroc, Miss.” He bowed his head.
Maeve widened her smile. “Your gift is very impressive, Darroc.”
He blushed. “Thank you.”
“Are there many more like you here?” Maeve asked.
“Yes, about—”
“Shut up!” Alfred elbowed Darroc in the ribs, then glared at Maeve. “You’re our prisoner. We’ll ask the questions.”
Obviously, her charm didn’t work on everyone. Even so, Maeve figured it would be better to behave more like a guest than a captive. “I would be happy to answer your questions, Alfred.”
His glare grew wary. “You would? You’re not here to spy on us?”
Maeve scoffed. “Goodness, no. Are you taking me to the queen? I would be delighted to meet her.”
Alfred smirked. “As if you have any choice.”
Maeve forced a smile. “May I ask her name?”
“Cahira,” Darroc answered when Alfred remained silent.
“She lives in the big castle over there.” Quentin pointed west.
Now that she was at the top of the dune, Maeve could make out the towers in the distance. Was this the castle she’d seen in her dream? Would she meet her mother there?
“The queen might throw you in the dungeon,” Quentin added, then bit his lip with a look of regret.
Maeve groaned inwardly. Her “guest” approach wasn’t working well, either.
“No more talking.” Alfred motioned to a path that wound down the hill. “This way.” He took the lead, followed by Quentin, Bettina, and Maeve.
She realized Darroc was staying close behind her. Probably so she couldn’t attempt a mad dash back to the ocean.
Once they reached the bottom of the hill, the path led them along a valley for a short distance. The sand gave way to grass that felt much cooler beneath Maeve’s bare feet. When they climbed another hill, she stopped at the top with a gasp.
The wide, shallow valley was filled with a farming village. Several wooden cottages stood in the center, made of roughly hewn logs and thatched roofs. Surrounding the homes were vegetable gardens and, farther out, fields of grain and a pasture of cows and sheep. It looked much like any other farming village Maeve had ever seen, but what made her stop and stare were the laborers.
Children.
Some of them appeared to be under the age of ten. Were these the Embraced children Lord Morris had taken from their families?
“Keep moving,” Darroc grumbled behind her, and she followed the others down the hill. After passing through a field of grain, they reached a garden where a few children were digging up root vegetables.
Maeve winced at their dirty feet, ragged clothes, and resigned, weary expressions. Did the queen know what was going on here? Did she actually condone it? “Are these the Embraced children?” she whispered.
Bettina nodded. “They live here until their Embraced gift shows itself. Then Queen Cahira and Kendric decide if the gift is powerful enough for the army.”
“Who is Kendric?”
“The general,” Bettina whispered. “If the gift is deemed . . . undesirable, the child remains here.”
“As a slave?” Maeve muttered, and Bettina winced.
“Quiet!” Alfred glanced back at them, scowling.
They reached the outskirts of the village, where a young