The woman picked up the staff and handed it to Solomon. For a moment, though, she did not let go of it. "I have chosen you to bear the Mark," she said, her voice strong and clear. "Make it count. I am going after the Fellmorans. The princess is still trapped in the inn. What will you do?"

She let go of the staff.
__________

Amalthea awoke to a roaring heat. She picked herself up off the floor and covered her mouth as she looked around. Tables, chairs, and dining implements lay strewn about the room, or what was left of it. Flames licked the wooden mugs and plates, and the roof glowed bright orange. The wooden floor lined up great walls of flame. And the doorway was blocked by a fallen, burning timber.

The princess dropped to her knees.

[i]This is it. This is the end. It's all my fault. If I'd just had the courage to help, we'd be alive and happy.[/i] She clutched at her chest and grimaced as tears trailed down her cheeks and evaporated in the simmering heat.

"The window," someone rasped. The princess whipped around to see her killer, the red-headed girl, prostrate on the floor with a large splinter through her leg.
"The window?" Amalthea repeated.
"Yes, are you daft? The one-" The girl coughed. "-the one I came in through. Your room. Escape there."

The princess stared at her slack-jawed for a moment. "Okay. Sure." She ran upstairs, burst into her room, and sobbed at the sight of her window untouched by fire. "Thank the gods!" She climbed out, hung on the ledge, and dropped out.

Rose sat up and glanced around. None of her men were present. That meant the army must have rescued them before setting fire to the inn.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and crawled for the stairs herself.