He had never felt so utterly alone.
- CHAPTER 4 -THE STRANGER
They were nearly to the guard headquarters, where the doors to the underground prison waited, when Hoff came to a sudden, stiff halt. He snapped his hand to a crisp salute.
Rolan, who’d been walking in a daze, now tried to focus. They were standing at the edge of Verity Square, in the center of the government district. The duke’s palace rose to the north, square and white and gleaming, its peaked roofs rippling with flags. Ahead of them, a tall man in a blue cape stood with his hand on his belt, talking to another man in a black cloak. A few guards stood about, keeping a watchful eye on the citizens milling around. Sleepy vendors pushed carts, hastening away from the square. A Listener glided past, serene and strange in their featureless clay mask.
It took a moment for Rolan to recognize the man in the blue cape. He’d never seen him so close-up before, and he was shorter than the statue that rose just behind him, chiseled into his likeness.
“The duke,” Rolan whispered, feeling a glimmer of hope.
“Hush,”said Hoff.
The street around them was quiet, Rolan realized suddenly. They were near the heart of the city, where it should be busiest. He noted the closed doors and locked shutters, the hurried steps of the people who did pass by, as if they couldn’t wait to be elsewhere. Whenever he’d seen the duke out of his palace before, he’d been surrounded by crowds of people, those wanting favors from him, those wanting to sell him something, those who just wanted to see a duke.
But today, it was like people couldn’t get far enough away.
As Hoff ushered him around the duke and toward the guard headquarters, Rolan realized why.
It was the other man—the one the duke was talking with in low tones. He had apresencethat exuded darkness. It made Rolan want to run the other way too. The day was brightening, sunlight spreading over the city, and yet when it reached the stranger, the light seemed to shy away, parting around him so that he stood in a perpetual swath of shadow. His long black cloak was patched and tattered, the shoulders capped with hard, studded leather. A long, sheathed sword hung at his waist, and when Rolan stared at it, he thought he could hear itwhispering.
“Keep moving,” ordered Hoff in a low growl.
Jerking his attention from the stranger, Rolan looked instead at the duke. They were nearly past him now. Nearly out of shouting distance.
“Your Grace!”
At Rolan’s shout Hoff let out a furious groan and yanked him along faster. But Rolan didn’t let that deter him from what could be his final chance at justice.
“Your Grace, this man is wrongly arresting me, an innocent and helpless child!”
“Shutup!” Hoff plastered a hand over Rolan’s mouth, but he was too late. Rolan had been heard.
The duke raised a hand. Hoff stopped obediently and glared daggers at Rolan. The other guards rearranged themselves around the duke as he strode toward the boy and the captain, his brow furrowed.
Duke Benhald of Crisanth was a slight man, his graying hair neatly combed away from his face. His mouth rested in an easy, bland smile.
“What’s this, Captain Hoff?” asked the duke.
Rolan tried to speak again, to make his case, but Hoff’s hand smothered his words. He could only wriggle uselessly, probably looking more rabid than wronged.
“It’s the whelp of some criminal lowlife, Your Grace,” said Hoff. “Not worth your esteemed notice.” Hoff shook Rolan until his teeth clacked. “A dose of Your Grace’s hospitality will set him right, I should think.”
Rolan struggled to no avail. He bit the hand over his mouth, and Hoff jerked it away, hissed, then clamped his fingers down even harder. Rolan groaned, afraid the man would break his jaw if he tightened his grip any further.
“Poor, misguided boy,” the duke said, drawing back a little at theexpression in Rolan’s eyes. He regarded him with the same curious pity with which Rolan had once watched a wounded rat. “What a shame. I have been thinking of instituting some kind of program for the city’s youth, you know. So many troubled young souls…”
As the duke nattered on aboutrehabilitationandbehavioral correctionand other words that washed meaninglessly over Rolan, he became aware of another gaze fixed upon him.
The stranger in black.
He was watching Rolan from beneath his hood, his face shadowed but eyes curiously illuminated.
Rolan stared back, unwilling to be cowed by that eerie gaze. His spine began to shiver but he held the man’s eyes all the same. It felt like they were pressing on each other, testing to see who would look away first.
Rolan did, but only because Hoff jerked him backward. Apparently the duke had concluded his monologue aboutreforming the wayward youth, likely boring even himself, and was now turning away. He spared not another look for Rolan.
So much for justice.
