The guards looked bored as they stood around the seamstress’s stall, watching the market goers will dull interest.
Bryn raised her voice casually. “I’ll just be a moment, Sergeant Preston.”
The sergeant took a moment to walk around the perimeter of the canvas tent to check for security concerns. He gave a small nod for Bryn to proceed.
Mam Nelle gathered up the bolts of lace and lifted the tent door for Bryn. Inside, a worktable laden with fabric and seamstress tools flanked one side, and a stool rested in the corner.
Valenden Barendur sat on the stool, sipping from a flask.
“Val!” Bryn rushed to throw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over as he rose from the stool.
“Whoa, take care, princess. You nearly made me spill my brandy.”
Bryn squeezed him harder, burying her face in his chest. He smelled like the Baersladen; like horses and smoke and their long days together on the road. She felt the prickle of tears at her eyes.
She pulled back, gazing up at him. “Lords and ladies, I’m glad to see your face.”
“Afraid it wouldn’t be attached to my neck any longer?”
She grinned. “I knew you’d make it out of Ardmoor. This is Mam Nelle.” Bryn motioned to the seamstress. “We can trust her, as well as her son and daughter.”
Mam Nelle gave Valenden a wink as she pretended to busy herself with the lace.
“Yes, Christof smuggled me in here rolled up in a length of velvet,” Valenden explained. “All in all, not an uncomfortable way to travel.”
Bryn grinned up at him. He smoothed a tender hand over her hair. “You’re all right?”
She nodded. “Carr believed my story—or at least he’s acting like he does. I’m sure word has reached you of the engagement.” She paused. “There’s only one problem.”
“Let me guess, it involves my brother?”
She swallowed, not wanting to speak the next words. “Carr wants to hang Rangar as my second engagement gift.”
Mam Nelle, listening in, sucked in a breath as she measured lengths of lace.
Valenden muttered under his breath as he tipped his flask back for another long sip. “By the gods.”
Bryn glanced toward the tent flap, knowing the guards would be suspicious if they took too long. She whispered, “Have you heard that my brother is alive?”
“Christof told me, yes. I’m happy for you, princess, that your brother still lives. But are you certain he can be trusted?”
“He was led astray by Captain Carr, but he sides with the rebels now.”
Valenden’s eyes filled with a healthy amount of skepticism, but he slowly nodded. “If that is truly the case, then Mars is the rightful crown heir.”
“I’ve told him I’ll support his claim to the throne.”
“You’d give up your own claim so easily?”
She knit her fingers together, thinking of the bustling market outside. Though it was familiar, it didn’t feel like where she belonged. “This isn’t my home. The Baersladen is.”
Valenden studied her face. “Have you seen Rangar?”
She nodded, though she couldn’t hide her worry. “He’s as well as one could be who’s traded one dungeon for another. We need only to free him, and he’ll lead the uprising.”
Valenden’s head pitched up toward the tent ceiling as he thought. “Christof says Captain Carr’s turned the castle into a fortress, protected by those loyal to him. There’s little chance of us smuggling Rangar out . . . ” He stroked his chin. “So, maybe we let Carr do it for us.”
“What do you mean?”
