Page 74 of The Swindler’s Daughter

“Just,” Rowan finally said as his eyes darted from one spot on the floor to another, “just go. All of you. Go. I’ll take care of this. This was my idea. It’s my—”

“No,” the four of us answered nearly in unison.

“YES,” he affirmed. “There is no reason for all of us to hang.” He turned to John. “John, we have to keep her safe. If you consider me a friend at all, you will take her far away from—”

“I’m not leaving,” I insisted.

Rowan turned to me. “You were just yelling about our impossible situation. Now I’m asking you to take yourself out of it.” He looked to John. “Please, John.”

John’s face fell. They looked at each other in silence for several heartbeats before John closed his eyes in defeat and turned to me.

I pulled an arrow, nocked it, and aimed it at John’s chest. “Don’t even try,” I warned, my hand steady and my mouth tight. “I’m getting pretty tired of you all thinking I’m some precious little gem you have to put in your pocket to protect.”

John stepped back, hands raised, and I lowered my bow. Then I fixed my gaze on Rowan. “Might I remind you all that of the five of us, I’m the only one who grew up without a roof over my head. I’m the only one who was a thief before this all started. So stop trying to protect me. Just because I’m worried about what happens next doesn’t mean I can’t handle whatever it is.”

Tyson rolled his eyes. “We know you can, but if you get so worked up over—”

“I’M ALLOWED TO HAVE FEELINGS!” I stared at all of them in turn. Each of them failed to hold my gaze except for Rowan, who just looked at me like he was devastated and proud all in one. “Now, I’m sorry I was yelling, but I’m perfectly willing to have a conversation about what to do next, so let’s figure this out together.”

Eventually they all nodded, and I managed to sweep all my misgivings into a pile that I would deal with later. Everything inside me begged me to run away and never look back, but I wouldn’t do it without Rowan. If he stayed, then I would too. I just had to face the very real possibility that by staying, we were going to lose the future together that we hadn’t even managed to speak about yet—a potential future that sat in the air between us, in the memory of the I love you and the kiss that never happened.

When I looked to Rowan, it was clear that he held the same lament. Regret and doubts hung on his features. Then he crossed to me, pulling me into his embrace, holding me with a desperate fierceness. “I just can’t lose you,” he said into the crook of my neck. “I lost her. I can’t lose you too.”

I hugged him back, trying to reassure him, but my own strength was waning, seeping into the floorboards as uncertainty dragged us all down.

A ruckus erupted below us. First it was the murmur of many voices and many footsteps outside. We all froze, wondering who it was and waiting for the noise to pass. Instead, the large front door clanked and groaned and opened. Voices chimed back and forth. The telltale glow of lanterns flickered off the walls.

Our sanctuary had been breached.

“Go” was all I had to say. Each of us turned and raced toward the servants’ stairs at the opposite end of the corridor. The one lantern that Oliver held swung wildly in his hand but lit the way well enough that we found the stairs—only to descend all of five steps before realizing it was entirely blocked.

“No, no, no,” Rowan muttered.

“It must have collapsed from the fire,” John said.

“Can we go up?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s an upper gallery. It connects to the other wing.”

We all turned again, trying not to trip over each other as we climbed back up, but the moment we came back into the corridor, a voice shouted, “Stop!”

We faced our opponents. Two swords, two bows, and one staff were held at the ready, pointing in the direction of the nameless, faceless group of people approaching from the other end. We were in so much trouble, but self-preservation makes even the most foolish of people think they can be brave.

All we could do was wait, huddled together as footsteps echoed off the walls, and figures took shape in the lamplight. A large man led the way, his gait sure and steady. Terror clogged my throat, but Rowan managed to find his voice.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

I heard the distinct hiss against leather as several blades were unsheathed, but the man in front held up a hand to his side, staying the aggressive advance of his men as he continued toward us without rushing and without alarm. He stopped only when the lamplight from the group met with the glow emanating from our own lantern.

With the large, imposing man standing there in all his finery and looking not the least bit intimidated, my heart gave one vicious thump, and I had the sinking feeling that I knew exactly who he was.

A moment ago, I’d been lamenting our situation, thinking it couldn’t get any worse.

“I am the Duke of Winberg.”

It was worse.

“This is my home, and it’s clear you do not belong in it.” There was intensity in his voice, roiling just beneath the surface, making it clear that though his words were calm and measured, our situation was precarious at best. “Lower your weapons.”