“Old man. Wake up. Hey.”

Sander groaned. The persistent jostling of his shoulder and Leander’s impatient voice finally pulled him up from the sea of darkness.

Mouth dry as the Sahara, Sander mumbled, “What, what?”

“Wake up. You’ve been shot,” Leander said.

“What?” Sander pried his eyes open. He stared up at a sage green canopy pulled tight cross skeletal bones of metal. The truck. They were back at the truck they’d abandoned days ago. Pain lanced through his left thigh, the ache resonating down through his knee and up into his hip.

“I said you’ve been shot. Don’t you remember?” Leander asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course not. You fainted like a sissy.”

Frowning at the verbiage, Sander pushed Leander’s hand away from his leg. “Stop. What are you doing? Where are Mattias and Gunnar? The guards? Has anyone called Chey?” He tried to sit up.

“There you go. Get mad. It’ll clear your head faster.” Leander placed a hand on Sander’s chest and pushed him flat to the truck floor. “The stitches are done. Good job on staying out while I did that, by the way.”

“Leander.” Sander hated the weakness gripping his body. He had no strength. Vague memories of white and cold and fever-hot surfaced as Leander pressed a bandage over a spot on his thigh. Once again, he attempted to brush Leander’s hand away.

“Mattias and Gunnar allowed us a getaway. When you passed out from the fever, that Tiemus ass went for a gun to try and make you go out permanently. He got off a shot and then chaos broke out. Mattias and Gunnar insisted on staying behind so that I could get a good head start with you.” Leander stared down at Sander, brows pulled together in scrutiny. “How much pain are you in?”

“You left the house alone with me? How did you—have you heard from Chey?” Different concerns surfaced at the same time. Sander was desperate for information about his pregnant wife and children. He also needed to know that his brothers, both of them, got away from the farmhouse intact.

“I have the satellite phone charging right now,” Leander said. “And yeah. I drove through a blizzard with you on a sled. No, I don’t know how we didn’t wreck or get lost. Dumb luck, or something.” He paused. “I haven’t been able to raise anyone yet at Kallaster. But we’ll keep trying.”

Sander brushed Leander out of his space. “Stop staring at me like a bug on a pin. What’s the plan for Mattias and Gunnar? Is there one? How many stitches did I need?” With effort, Sander pulled himself into a sitting position. Teeth chattering, aching head to foot, he crossed his arms over his chest for extra warmth. Still in his winter wear, he noted that Leander hadn’t removed his camouflage pants but had widened the slit near the shot to do his dirty work.

Leander handed over a hot mug of tea. “Drink this.”

Sander accepted the cup, thankful that Leander was so resourceful. He sipped the bitter liquid, making a face once he swallowed it down.

“Got meds in there. Something for the pain. When you’re done with the drink, we’ll get you started on antibiotics. You’ve got a raging fever, as I’m sure you know. We need to treat you before you slip into sleep and don’t wake up.” Leander arched his brows as if to say, that wouldn’t be good. Picking up a mug of his own, Leander sat on an overturned crate as the wind buffeted the sides of the truck.

Sander listened to the wind whistle. Impossibly, it seemed even colder now than it had since the very first snowfall. Maybe it was the fever. Probably the fever. Yes. “We’ve got to get back to Kallaster. Immediately.”

“I know.” Leander blew across his mug before testing a sip. “I had to see how bad the bullet damage was, though. Thankfully, it just took a little chunk out of your leg. Blood loss was enough to make you delirious for most of the ride here.”

“Will Mattias and Gunnar be here soon?” Sander asked again, looking for a time frame. He shuddered, fighting off the cold, while his insides burned. Sweat dripped from his forehead, running like liquid beads of glass down his cheeks.

“I don’t know. Mattias told me to get you out, so I got you out. I imagine they’ll secure the family long enough to make their own getaway. It’s smarter to wait until they get here to go on.” Leander sipped from his mug.

“And what if they take a wrong turn? What if they stay for hours, making sure we have a good head start? We’re wasting time. Chey could be in trouble.” Sander loathed not knowing what was going on at home. He really didn’t want to leave his brothers behind, but what choice did he have? Mattias was a skilled fighter, and Sander had to trust that he knew what he was doing.

“If they don’t show up by tomorrow morning, we’ll go,” Leander said. “We need to get your fever down. You’re no good to me on that sled, you know. I could use someone to help me look for tells in the landscape so we don’t drive into a ditch. You know this land better than anyone.”

“I don’t know every square inch,” Sander retorted. However, he agreed. Two pairs of eyes were better than one. “Honestly, I don’t know how you made it here by yourself.”

“Telling you. Dumb luck,” Leander insisted.

“Maybe a little of it. Not all.” Sander knew firsthand how clever Leander could be. The man thrived on the impossible, on completing tasks no one else could. No wonder Mattias and Gunnar had chosen Leander to see him to safety.

“I couldn’t see crap,” Leander grunted.

Sander rasped a laugh, despite the dire situation. “You’re part homing beacon or something. Innards are really a giant GPS.”

“I wish,” Leander muttered. He finished his drink and set the mug aside. Picking up the remnants of his stitchery, he began to clean and sanitize each piece. Once done, he put everything back into the first aid box and stashed the kit aside.

“How is it out there?” Sander asked after a time. His tea was gone. Leander pushed a cup of water at him next, along with two white, oblong pills.

“Take those. It’s as bad as you think it is. Probably worse.” Leander whisked the teacup away, then stared at Sander until he took the pills.

“They’re gone, they’re gone,” Sander said after he swallowed. “You’re worse than a mother hen.”

“Someone has to keep you on track when Chey’s not around.” Leander fished out trail mix and handed Sander a packet. “Try to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“Eat it anyway.”

Sander sipped the water. He didn’t take the packet.

“So help me, you stubborn ass, I will sit on you and force these down your throat,” Leander said, shaking the package.

Sander snatched the trail mix out of Leander’s hand. He tore open the top, dumped in a mouthful, and chewed. The peanuts, carob pieces, cashews, chocolate bits, and raisins didn’t taste as bad as he thought they might.

“Not so bad, eh?” Leander said.

“Stop watching me eat,” Sander said just before popping a palmful of the mix past his lips.

“But not bad, right? We’ll work on some jerky next. Got to get more protein in you.” Leander stuck a bit of jerky between his teeth and tore off a bite.

“One thing at a time,” Sander said. He saved his energy after that, saying little, letting his thoughts carry him across the frigid landscape to Kallaster. While he ate he thought of his wife, his children. The unborn baby due in a month.

Methodically, he chewed.

Inwardly, he felt like hell. But he chewed, and then ate jerky, and sipped more water.

He had to get stronger and beat the fever and the sickness.

Snow turned to sleet, attacking the tarpaulin like a thousand angry birds.

Chey paced the room like a caged animal. Situated in the center of the castle, this particular parlor had no windows to the outside. Not that fleeing into a blizzard was her first choice of salvation. The ideal outcome would be her overtaking the guards and Helina, liberating Raune and the men loyal to Sander, and imprisoning the traitors until the storms broke.

Imprisoning Helina the first time hadn’t worked out so well, she reminded herself. The witch was wily and obviously still had sway over some of the prominent members of the council.

Chey considered all her options: playing fake, like she was in labor; bargaining; threatening; outsmarting the former queen.

She needed the upper hand.

Unfortunately, Chey knew the guards would be expecting all manner of tricks and wouldn’t likely come running to aid her. What, then? What was the answer? Physically limited due to her advanced pregnancy, there were only so many avenues of escape.

If she did manage to slip free of the room, what would the guards do if they caught her? Helina had made it sound as if her death should be an accident, so blatant murder was out of the question. There was a little leverage in that knowledge.

After passing by a large tapestry hanging on the wall, Chey stopped and reversed her steps until she stood before the meticulously detailed image of a medieval battle. The depiction did not hold her interest. What did hold her interest were the secret passageways hidden in the walls of Kallaster Castle. Kings of old were paranoid men—and for good reason. Coups, war, and assassination had been a prevalent part of life back then. Secretive means of escape meant a sovereign might survive an attack or an attempt on his life.

Stepping closer, Chey laid her palm gently on the material. Having lived in Kallaster a good many years, she knew quite a few entrances and exits to the tunnels.

But not all.

Did this parlor have one? She couldn’t recall Sander ever mentioning it.

If you find a passageway, what will you do? Where will you go?

Chey thought her first stop needed to be Raune. She badly wanted to see her children, make sure they were safe, but nothing good would come of her finding them without protection. The guards loyal to Helina would simply imprison them all and she would be right back where she started. Chey couldn’t count on Helina allowing her to remain with her kids. The former queen would probably separate them for spite.

Quickly pressing her fingers around the seam of the tapestry, Chey sought clues that a doorway existed behind the floor-to-ceiling art. She knew some of the doors were obscured by tapestries, hidden into the wall itself. Other entrances were cleverly disguised in plain sight. There was one such doorway in the master suite. If she had only realized the danger sooner, she might have disappeared into the passageways and made her escape.

Lingering on what ifs did her no good now.

She spent the next hour searching every nook and cranny for a hidden exit. The tedious task left her frustrated and increasingly restless. Ignoring the soreness in her muscles from her tumble down the stairs, Chey forged ahead, moving from one wall to the next. She knew the doorway might be so well concealed that she would never find it.

On the fourth and final wall, she thought she felt an unusual angle around the edge of a molding. Was it slightly crooked? She leaned in and peered closer, looking for telltale gaps while she smoothed her fingertips along the seam.

Before she could tell one way or the other, the meager light from the single candle flickered wildly then went out.

Thrust into darkness, Chey banged a closed fist against the wall. Being forced to locate a hidden door by touch alone would make the search all but impossible.