Her startled expression went unnoticed behind her scarf, and the men in the crowd began to call her name: “Karen! Dance, Karen!”

Snapped back into reality, she backed up, bowed with flourish, and jumped lightly down from the stage. She heard cries of protest as she rounded the corner into the tiny back room that served as her dressing room. Exhausted, she slid down against the wall and sat perfectly still, her hands resting limply at her sides. It couldn’t have been—Kiara…?

“Of course not,” she admonished herself sharply, “you see her everywhere. But still—I should at least look.” Rising, she changed quickly from her costume into a plain, straight blue dress. She slid her hair from her ponytail, combing it with her fingers into soft curls. Tying them back with a matching ribbon, she slipped quietly out the back of her room and through the back door onto the streets of Kuskus.

The streets were relatively empty. Karen could hear the churning of the waves from the port, and the quiet murmurs of people as they wandered the streets. She slipped unnoticed around the corner and studied the people. No sign of Kiara anywhere, but Karen was only mildly disappointed. She had been looking for her sister for so long that she was used to false alarms. Sighing, she paused for a moment, listening to the people around her. There was anxious talk of warriors being in the area, some said highland generals, some said Toran, but Karen believed none of it. Only last week there had been talk of Ruka Bright himself wandering the streets.

Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. They were back.

There were four men, sometimes more, who wandered into Kuskus periodically to torment the girls of the town. Generally smelling of alcohol and sweat, as though they had not bathed in days, they walked freely through the town, taking whatever they pleased. No one dared stand up to them, and while Karen was disgusted, she knew that she couldn’t take them on herself. A deep suspicion ran through her that Kiara’s disappearance was their doing, but she couldn’t bear to think what they might have done to her.

They started calling insults to the women nearby, sometimes reaching out to grab them. One of them saw her and poked one of his friends in the ribs, pointing to her. Karen turned and walked quickly toward the docks, knowing if she ran, they’d follow immediately. She hurried out across the planks toward the boats. There was one she had never seen before, a huge ship with multicolored flags. She stood still, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, studying the flags. *They can’t be Highland…or Harmonia…* A warm hand closed lightly on her shoulder. “Pardon me, my lady,” the young man said quietly, gently moving her aside and walking rapidly toward the boat, his red cloak flowing out behind him. Another man, dressed in blue, came directly behind him. “Camus,” he panted, “Do you have to walk so fast?” Camus didn’t answer; he simply stepped up onto the ship’s ramp and onto the deck. The other man went up after him with a slight sigh of impatience. Karen moved closer to the ship, then recognized the flags. “This ship,” she asked a sailor, “where is it headed?”

“Rockaxe,” the man replied. “We’ve got a few tickets left, if you want one.”

“Well, I—“ She fingered the potch in her pocket; she carried her money everywhere with her, so as not to lose it.

“Well, look at that,” a nasal voice intoned from the port entrance. “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

The gang had gathered behind him; their eyes gleaming intensely. Karen noticed that Camus and his friend stood by the deck railing, watching. Karen handed the potch to the sailor and scurried up the ramp. She heard them run across to the ramp and demand tickets. She stood on the deck, watching them, her palms beginning to sweat.

“We don’t want tickets,” the leader said crossly, “Just that girl.”

“I’m sorry,” stammered the sailor, knowing full well they’d probably beat him for it that evening. “I can’t let you on without tickets and—“ He cast a despairing glance at the soldiers on deck. The one in the blue silently signaled the captain, and the ship smoothly pulled from the dock. Karen smiled broadly as she watched the dock dwindle in the distance.

She turned, the sun shining down on her, and cast a broad smile at the soldiers. They both nodded, acknowledging her presence, and turned to go into the depths of the ship. Karen leaned against the deck railing and watched the waves. She was mildly nervous, but her innate sense of adventure overwhelmed her with excitement.

“You must be a friend of theirs,” the captain commented, “I’ve never seen Miklotov make the ship leave for anyone like that.”