Free Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) by Garrett Robinson Page A

snatched the purse and threw it back. The bag slammed into Annis’s chest, making her wince.  
    “Are you a fool? I am your mother’s guest. What would any honorable person think of me if I stole from her? And as for you, what daughter thieves from their mother?”
    Annis’s nostrils flared. “And you took nothing from your parents when you ran away from home?”
    Loren balked, unable to think of a reply.
    “I thought as much,” said Annis. “It’s a fine thief who calls another sneak dishonorable. This purse is a tiny thing, one from a chest of many. No one would notice it gone, least of all Mother. How do you think you will make your way upon the road without a penny in your pocket?”
    “Your mother is kind and generous to me, and to you as well. What reason could you have to do this?”
    “Because,” said Annis, her eyes flashing. “I wanted to come with you. But now I think I may not wish to travel beside one so stupid.”
    The words might have stung, but Loren’s mind leapt far away in an instant. She saw herself beneath the Birchwood boughs, Xain standing before her. I want you to bring me with you.
    That is what I feared, Xain had said. No. I will not.
    How could she have been so foolish? Now she could see herself in Annis, too young by half, asking a favor she could not understand.
    But no. There was a difference.
    “My parents had turned my life to something scarcely worth living. Your mother tends to your every need and has raised you to be no fool besides. We are nothing alike.”
    “We are more alike than you know,” hissed Annis. “If I do not—”
    A shout cut her off. Both their heads snapped toward the sound. Near the front of the caravan—a bustle of sudden activity.
    “What is that?” she murmured.
    “An alarm,” said Annis. “They’ve spotted someone on the road.”
    They jumped to their feet and ran. It took only a moment to reach the front of the caravan where Damaris stood with Gregor looming beside her, blocking his lady from the road.
    “Mother, what is it?” cried Annis.  
    Loren looked for the purse of coins, but it had vanished.
    “Riders,” said Damaris. “Several, and led by a constable.”
    Loren quailed. “Is it . . . ?” She could not finish.
    “One from yesterday? I cannot tell. But we should not take any chances. Loren, come with me. Quickly.”
    Damaris hurried down the line of caravans. “You remember the compartment set in the wagon floor?”    
    “Yes,” Loren panted, breathless from fear. “I can hide there.”
    “Not the same one. Here.”
    Damaris stopped at the fourth wagon in the line. Loren vaulted into the back, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
    Now that she knew what to look for, Loren spotted the edges of the panel easily. Her fingers found the crack, and she heaved it upward. This compartment held no brown cloth packages, leaving her plenty of room to lie down. Grateful, she slid into the floor and pulled the panel back over herself.
    It took forever before she heard the thunder of hoofbeats down the road, growing ever louder before pulling to a stop nearby.
    “Who approaches?” Gregor’s booming voice shook the caravan floor.
    “The King’s men, about his business.” Loren did not recognize the voice as either Corin or Bern. Yet they might still be here, she reminded herself.
    “The road seems fairly thick with constables,” said Damaris. “Two visited only yesterday.”
    “The same who sent us,” came the new voice. “They seek a man and a girl, and said they saw the girl near your caravan.”
    “They told us the same,” said Damaris. “But we told them we had seen nothing.”
    “I have heard the tale. But then I questioned them closely. For many merchants upon the road carry goods that give the King great displeasure. To stow them, such merchants might hide panels and holes within their wagons. I asked my brother constables if they had searched for such concealment, and they confessed to their folly.