AllFreeNovel
Share Us
For the first time, Stavros’s sword wavers. Even he isn’t going to suggest that a riven sorcerer could get away with blasphemous fraud in the grandest building that bears all the gods’ blessings.
He doesn’t outright lower the blade either, though.
“You—” he starts, and Casimir’s head jerks to the side with a ripple of his tawny hair.
“Someone’s coming,” he says quickly. “Probably the Crown’s Watch. Stavros—we can’t hand Ivy over to them. Not when Kosmel himself is watching over her. We should at least give her more of a chance to explain. She’s never hurt any of us, and gods know she’s had plenty of opportunity.”
Alek purses his lips. “We need to understand exactly what’s going on.”
Stavros inhales with a hiss through his teeth, but his sword hand drops to his side. He glares at me while he answers the others. “What are we going to say happened here, then?”
As my spirits rise with the unexpected reprieve, fragments of an idea come together in my head. “Let me handle that. I’m the one whowashere for most of it.”
Stavros grimaces as if he’s going to argue, but right then the sound of hurried footsteps reverberates from just around the bend in the stairs.
My pulse stutters for a different reason. “This battle isn’t over. There are other scourge sorcerers out there. If they find out we were working together—”
I don’t need to say any more. I doubt the former general cares about protecting my identity at this point, but he spins to charge down the stairs and meet the incoming brigade while motioning Alek and Casimir farther up the steps.
The glowing sigil has faded away. I snatch at the torn fabric of my bodice to cover my lack of dedication brand just as a familiar blond head comes into view beyond the other men.
“I’ve brought the full squadron of royal soldiers,” Benedikt announces. The king’s bastard half-nephew sounds a little ragged but still manages a jaunty lilt. “Although from the fact that all the shaking and crashing stopped a few minutes ago, I assume we’re not quite as urgently needed as expected?”
A couple of men in the rich blue uniforms of the Crown’s Watch appear behind him at the front of the squadron. I draw farther to the side where I’m less visible. My mouth has gone dry.
One word from Stavros, one swerve in his resolve back toward ridding the world of all illicit sorcery, and I’ll be meeting the hangman tomorrow.
His voice comes out terse. “It appears everything is under control now. There’s only one villain up here, and he’s been subdued. You’re welcome to bring him down the tower to take him into custody.”
Benedikt lets out a soft huff. “Barely needed at all, then. Well, I was happy to lead the charge all the same.”
One of the soldiers in view lets out a snort he doesn’t even try to stifle. Benedikt’s grin stiffens just for a second.
He turns toward the squadron. “The threat has been quelled. It’s been an honor ushering you into battle even if it never happened.”
The other soldier I can see barely spares Benedikt a glance, his attention focusing on Stavros. “Are you sure all’s clear up here, General? This fop didn’t seem to know much about anything.”
The self-proclaimed “bastard’s bastard” lets out a light chuckle as if he thinks the insult is a joke. Stavros taps his prosthetic hand against Benedikt’s arm in a subtle gesture of solidarity.
“None of us was sure what we were going to be dealing with,” he says. “But the immediate danger has passed. I need to speak with the king. If a few of you could go ahead and inform him that I’ll require a private meeting—”
“I could—” Benedikt starts to volunteer.
But the first of the nearby soldiers is already turning away from him to shoulder down the stairs. Benedikt falls silent and gives an awkward shrug.
Stavros strides back up the steps and over the woven vines, I suppose to collect Wendos’s unconscious body. But he pauses beside me just long enough to speak in a dark murmur.
“You’ll come with me and follow my lead to the letter, or gods help me, Kosmel will find himself missing a Hand too.”
Two
Stavros
The thief walks down the shadowy palace corridor with a meekness she’s never shown in my presence before.
On our way down the tower, she picked up the cloak she must have discarded, and now she has it wrapped tight over her dress. Her head dips low beneath the hood that conceals her pale red-blond hair. Her shoulders have hunched as if she’s drawing in on herself.
She’s trying to make herself look weak. Fragile.
