Page 64 of The Hood and his Thief

“What do you mean what happened?” Rhosyn snarled. “You tried to assassinate King Byron. Did Gower put you up to this?”

His eyes widened so far that white showed all the way around his irises. “He wanted me to do something… I told him I wouldn’t,” the man sputtered. “But then the groom, Hamish—the one with the unnerving eyes—he said something to me. I…I don’t remember.”

Rhosyn froze. Mr. Gower’s groom. Something began to click into place in her mind, only to be blocked by shouting from the hall.

“Down there! That’s where the shot came from.”

Panic overtook the man’s expression. “No…no! I’ll hang.”

Before Rhosyn could do anything, the man shifted beneath her. She moved to press her weight into him so he couldn’t escape, but he didn’t try to push her off. She had the odd feeling of sinking and blinked incredulously as the servant beneath her appeared to sink into the floor as if being submerged in water.

In a second, he was gone. Rhosyn patted the floor where he had been in disbelief before an image flitted through her head: Sponsorship papers for a Talented who could walk through walls.

She shot to her feet, ready to dash out into the hallway and try to cut the would-be assassin off downstairs. Before she took one step, several King’s Guard and Royal Police piled through the door, shouting.

There she stood, alone in the very spot the shot had come from, holding the weapon that had been used in an assassination attempt on the King.

“There she is. Arrest her!”

Chapter thirteen

Rhosyn’s brain tumbled to a halt, like a carriage meeting an unfortunate end in the street races that crashed through the lower city. In the smoldering wreckage of her plan, her mind fixated on one thing: The widened eyes of Royal Police, taking in the person who had attempted to take the life of their country’s leader.

The scarf that had been tied around her head fluttered to the ground at her feet, having come loose in the mayhem. Even without her hair showing, she would have been recognizable to those who had crossed paths with her at the station for years.

Fletcher and Davies stood to one side of the bunch, expression morphing from open in shock to contorted in fury as the moment stretched.

“I… It wasn’t—I didn’t…” Rhosyn searched for words to deny the appearance of the situation.

But it wouldn’t change what was about to happen. They would arrest her as the real killer ran away. After she had disappeared from the Royal Police with no explanation—and was clearly no longer a hostage—they wouldn’t be quick to believe any of her explanations.

The shock that held the room in temporary suspension was shattered by a ripple that ran through the assembled guards and officers. A tall figure pushed its way towards the front of the crowd.

Rhosyn swallowed as she caught sight of shaggy auburn hair. Then, Nate stood before her. A long moment stretched, where she was sure everybody assembled could hear the pounding of her heart. Nate’s good eye widened slightly before his face became unreadable, his mouth set in a hard, straight line.

“You are under arrest for attempting to assassinate King Byron.”

Rhosyn’s ears rang, and her knees trembled. Even Nate—the closest thing she had to a family—believed the worst of her right now. She expected the rage of betrayal to burn like fire in her veins, but instead an icy cold washed over her. She nearly crumpled where she stood, but a flicker of Nate’s eyes caught her attention.

He glanced back and forth between her face and the rifle still clutched to her chest. He took one slow step forward. Surely he didn’t think she would shoot him?

No. Nate could have had her disarmed and on the ground by now, and never shied away from jumping into danger to protect his family or his King.

He was dutiful and proud of his position, and he wouldn’t refuse to arrest her in front of all these onlookers. But he would give her a chance to escape. Rhosyn’s fingers tightened on the gun. Nate’s chin dipped in the tiniest of acknowledgements.

Before she could second guess herself, Rhosyn angled the gun forward slightly and pulled the trigger at the same time. Plaster exploded everywhere as the bullet hit right at the base of a second chandelier. People shouted as the chain holding the light fixture detached, but Rhosyn didn’t stay to watch it plummet to the floor between her and her would-be captors, momentarily blocking them from view.

She dropped the gun, knowing she was unwilling to actually shoot anybody to escape, and spun towards the window. Not breaking her stride, she jumped up onto the sill and twisted in midair, catching the overhang above the opening with her fingers.

If she descended, she would be throwing herself into the path of more guards. The roof was her best chance to make a getaway, and she only had a few seconds head start. Wishing for Ansel’s agility and thanking the royalty’s gaudy architecture for its ample handholds, she scrambled up the last story to the roof.

As soon as her feet hit the slate tiles, she took off, dashing up the steep slope of the gable. The garden where the party had been was in the back of the manor, but her best chance of escape from the property would be through the gates at the front, left open for all the comings and goings of guests.

She reached the towering peak of the roof and crested to the other side. Instead of running down hill, she fell to one hip, sliding down feet first. The tiles rucked her skirts up and skinned her legs, leaving a stinging in their wake, but Rhosyn didn’t stop. She let gravity build her momentum, gaining speed—and hopefully distance on her pursuers.

At the end of the steep slope was a small flat section of roof over the front entrance. She tumbled onto it, descent halted with enough force to knock a grunt from her. A few stumbling steps took her to the very edge, when her eyes lit on exactly what she was hoping for: carriages.

She had never driven one before, but there was no better teacher than necessity.