Rhone jerked his blade free, and the groaning man slumped to the alley floor. Rhone took a step back, but kept his eyes trained on the man as he drew his last breath.
Movement in Carver’s periphery made him tense. He twisted, just in time to see a fifth rebel come around the corner, a loaded crossbow leveled at Rhone.
“Duck!” Carver shouted as he charged the rebel.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Rhone fall to his knees and roll.
The violent snap of the fired crossbow rang sharply in the alley, the bolt shooting through the air. It struck the stone wall, chipping the surface before the bolt clattered uselessly against the cobblestones.
Carver slammed into the shooter, tackling him to the ground.
The crossbow flew from the man’s hands. He grunted as his head thudded against the hard street. His eyes rolled back in his head, his body going limp.
Carver’s breaths sounded harsh in his ears, his hands clenched in the man’s tunic as he straddled him. It took a moment for the haze of the fight to dim enough that he could make out the subtle rise and fall of the man’s chest. The rebel was alive, just unconscious.
“Thank you.”
Pulse still racing, Carver looked up at Rhone. The knight towered over him, offering Carver a hand.
The bone ring was all he could see. Blazing Saints, he’d just saved Rhone’s life. It had been pure instinct. An unconscious decision in the heat of battle.
He prayed he wouldn’t come to regret it.
Rhone’s hand remained open, waiting. Slowly, Carver took it, allowing the older man to help him to his feet.
Three dead bodies littered the alley, along with one unconscious rebel and another who was in the process of dying—loudly.
The first rebel to attack Carver writhed on the ground as he clutched his blood-soaked abdomen. He sucked jagged breaths in, and tormented whines escaped with every exhale. Perspiration slicked his bloodless face as he watched Carver and Rhone approach, terror and dread nearly drowning out the agony in his eyes.
“Where is Tam Ja’Kell?” Rhone demanded, his voice hard and uncompromising. “Where is she going?”
The fight hadn’t lasted long, but it was long enough; especially if Tam had realized she was being followed, and she’d sent these men to give her more time to escape. They’d lost her. The thought made Carver’s fists clench.
Pain seized the rebel, making his entire body tense. There was a cloudiness in his eyes that made Carver doubt he’d even heard Rhone’s words. Especially when he rasped, “You may have stopped us, but you haven’t stopped the attack.”
Carver froze. “What attack?”
The man blinked, shock momentarily slackening his face. And then a horrific smile curled his lips, now slicked with blood. The macabre sight transformed the suffering in his eyes into a fanatic’s violent sheen of victory. “You don’t even know.”
Rhone knelt beside the man, his dagger raised in silent threat. “What attack?”
The rebel wheezed out a laugh, though he instantly groaned, still holding his ruined stomach. “We will rise,” he chanted through his teeth with an almost reverent fervor. “We will rise.”
Rhone’s knife flashed.
The man howled in pain.
Carver ground his teeth. Forced his eyes to stay open. Forced the past to remain buried.
“What attack?” Rhone repeated coolly.
Desperation thinned the rebel’s weakening voice as he said, “A massacre. The emperor can’t ignore us . . . anymore.”
A chill slid down Carver’s spine.
Rhone’s gaze hardened. “Where?”
The rebel wheezed pitifully, death beginning to draw a shroud over his eyes. “Can’t stop it,” he whispered. “Too late . . .”
