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“Is that a . . . noblewoman?”
Hands turned me over. I squinted up at them, my face contorted with pain. I didn’t have to pretend to feel it.
“What happened?” a fisherman asked, examining my side. “Were you shot?”
“What’s your name?” asked another.
“Mara Stroud,” I mumbled.
“Stroud?” Another man asked, joining the first. “Enforcer, come here!” he yelled.
Cael ran toward us from the marina as if he’d simply been on a routine patrol. He crossed the sand, then leaned over me. “She’s in bad shape. Looks like a pistol shot.”
I nodded.
“Who did this to you?” Cael asked a little too loudly.
The fishermen leaned in, listening closely.
“The queen’s assassin,” I whispered.
Their faces revealed their shock.
“Yarrow?” one man asked.
“What about the heir?” Cael asked. “Have you seen him?”
I looked at the three men, my face grave. “She shot him, too. But he didn’t survive.”
They were silent. More fishermen and Enforcers gathered around me. Cael repeated what I’d said, over and over again, reinforcing the story until no one could doubt it was true.
They picked me up and carried me up the shore and through the city gates, the hinges groaning as the giant doors swung open. I looked over my shoulder, giving a final glance to the sea before we passed through the enormous stone archway into the city that would soon be mine.
ChapterForty-One
The carriage tookme and Cael through the streets, stopping when we reached the front gates of my house. Night had fallen and burning street lamps flanked the iron gates. My father ran across the grounds to meet us. He had the same long stride, blonde hair, and firm jaw as always, but he felt like a stranger.
My heart was torn, conflicted. I held so much anger, but somehow, it wasn’t enough to drive out a lifetime of love.
He picked me up in his arms and pulled me out of the carriage.
I wanted to fight him, to speak my hatred, but all I could do was cry. I buried my face in his neck and let him carry me up the path and into our house.
Cael stayed behind.
My father took me through the entry and into the bedroom closest to the front door and laid me gently on the four-poster bed. I forced myself to stay calm and hide my anger. I couldn’t let him realize I knew about his lie or he’d stop me from going back to Graham.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I know you were shot, but . . .”
Apparently, neither of us knew what to say.
He sighed. “You know, you almost ruined the whole plan when you left with the heir. But now”—he gestured at me—“you’re able to use it to your advantage. By the time the rest of the city hears, they’ll be convinced Maeve Brennin is guilty.”
“How did they find out I left?” I asked. I’d always been so private and reclusive that I couldn’t imagine someone missing me.
“When the heir disappeared, most of the city suspected Maeve—that note you planted was an excellent touch—but some, as well as Maeve herself, obviously, thought we had something to do with it. The Academy came to question us. I couldn’t cover for you when they insisted on searching our home, so I gave them a sob story and told them you’d gone missing.”
“It seems like that would’ve made me look more guilty,” I said, “especially since they caught us climbing the wall here.”
