Tam paled.
It was a lie of course, but one she needed to tell. If the rebels thought Tam was dying, they’d be less likely to try and take her with them.
One of the rebels swore. All of them drew weapons. Janson’s shock was carved on his face.
Amryn eased back another step, the ring still brandished in front of her. “I’m not going with you,” she told Janson. “If you try and take me, I’ll kill you, too.”
Tam swayed—then collapsed.
The rebels flinched back from her crumpled body.
Janson’s gaze sharpened into a glare. “You fool,” he seethed at Amryn. “She was the only one who knows where Prince Argent is!”
His words made her thoughts and breath stutter. “Argent is dead. Tam killed him at Esperance.”
Janson’s eyes blazed. It was as if he hadn’t heard her words. “The Rowan will be disappointed,” he growled. “But I’ll let him take his anger out on you.”
Amryn turned and ran.
She heard Janson’s barked orders, heard the crunch of gravel as the rebels tore after her.
Her eyes were fixed on the prison door. If she could get inside—lock it—she’d be safe. Gravel bit through the thin soles of her shoes and her long skirt dragged against her legs, slowing her down. Her breaths came harsh and fast, her heart beating madly.
A hand clutched her skirt, yanking her to a halt.
She cried out as she stumbled.
A solid arm snared her waist, jerking her back against a hard chest. A meaty fist strangled her wrist, immobilizing her ringed hand.
She screamed.
“Silence her!” Janson ordered.
A hand clapped over her mouth. Two rebels easily wrestled her into submission, despite her best efforts to get free.
Panic clawed inside her, terror choking her as they began to drag her away from the palace.
The prison door burst open. Carver charged into the yard, sword drawn, fury twisting his face. Ivan and Ford fanned out behind him, with three palace guards following.
Amryn could have wept.
Janson cursed. He snapped orders, and rebels rushed to intercept them. Amryn’s heart clenched. Saints, the rebels outnumbered them.
Carver didn’t seem to care about that fact. His focus was on her, even as his sword swung without hesitation.
Even with the bloodstone, Amryn felt a slice of pain as a rebel howled.
The second man who had helped subdue Amryn rushed to join the fight. The hand covering her mouth disappeared as she was yanked off the ground and hauled toward the gate.
Desperation flared. “Carver!” she screamed.
“Amryn!” He was so close, but still too far. The clash of blades filled the night, punctuated by shouts.
She kicked, elbowed, and bucked against the man holding her. He grunted with each blow she managed to land, but the arm banded around her only tightened, constricting her breath. The fingers around her wrist were a vice, making her bones grate painfully together.
Then they were passing through the gate and entering a shadowed road. Jamir was already kneeling on the back edge of a waiting wagon, which was laden with crates. Stark fear roiled inside him as he spluttered at Janson. “Just leave her! Let’s go!”
Janson jogged to the wagon, but he didn’t climb in. He threw a look over his shoulder, back through the gate. The sounds of battle rang out. Cries of pain. The ringing crack of swords. Shouts for reinforcements. Janson’s eyes shifted to Amryn. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his rage cold and dark as he viewed her. “It’s too late,” he said.
