Chapter 222

It was two weeks of training for Jane and her Thirteen. Two weeks of waking up before the sun to fly each canyon run, to master it as one unit. Two weeks of scratches and sprained limbs, of near deaths from falls or the Owl gang s squabbling or just stupid miscalculation.

But slowly, they developed instincts—not just as a fighting unit, but as individual riders and mounts. Jane didn’t like the thought of the mounts eating the foultasting meat raised within the mountain, so twice a day they hunted the mountain goats, swooping to pluck them off the mountainsides. It wasn’t long before the witches started eating the goats themselves, building hasty fires in the mountain passes to cook their breakfast and evening meals. Jane didn’t want any of them—mounts or riders—taking another bite of the food given to them by the king’s men, or tasting the men themselves. If it smelled and tasted strange, odds were something was wrong with it.

She didn’t know if it was the fresh meat or the extra l