“Stop,” a voice yelled from the building.
Charles pulled his horse up sharply as Clark climbed out of a window and dropped to the ground.
“Clark, stay back,” Shea called.
“It’s alright, Shea.” Clark held out a hand as he made his way over to stand between the two of them. Charles watched him come, a guarded expression on his face.
“What are you doing?” Clark asked him.
“I’m standing up for people like us.”
“By killing Shea? She’s never done anything to you. If anything, she’s helped us gain status.”
Charles almost looked like he might listen. He parted his lips to speak when one of the other men said, “Enough chitchat. Kill them.”
“I’m afraid he’s right. We’ve come too far to turn back now.” Charles unsheathed the sword at his side.
Clark took a step back, placing himself between Shea and Charles.
“Clark, move.”
Clark shook his head. “I refuse.”
“I’m doing this for us. For what we went through.”
Clark shook his head. “I want no part in this. If you do this, you’ll have to go through me first.”
“Very well, then.”
There was a sharp cry as the man to Shea’s right slumped off his horse and fell to the ground. Fallon stood next to him, bloody sword in his hand.
A dark figure leapt from the building next to them, landing on Charles and taking him to the ground. Braden took advantage of the distraction and let his arrow fly. It found its target in the shoulder of the rider behind them.
Charles and his assailant rolled, their limbs a furious blur as they fought.
More of Charles’s men poured out of the street in front of Shea. Even with Fallon, Clark, and the person Shea assumed was Fiona, they were outmatched.
There was a woman’s cry of pain. Charles rose to his feet, the sword in his hand bloody. He aimed a kick at his attacker.
“Fiona,” Clark cried, running for the other woman.
“You can’t win,” Charles shouted at Clark, who ignored him.
Shea’s eyes rose to the buildings beside them, shadows lurking on top of them. Bright eyes flashed from above.
“No, I think it’s you who can’t win,” Shea said in a soft voice, her focus still on what waited above.
A frigid wind picked up around them, rustling Shea’s hair and plucking at her clothes with harsh hands. She could almost hear voices in the air. A tingle skated along her skin, a sensation very similar to that of the mist.
Betrayal. Weapons. A path.
All the ingredients were there.
“What would you know?” Charles said, ignoring Shea. His voice was ugly, no hint of the shy, studious man of before in it. “They treat me worse than the throwaways simply because of a birth defect. He’s the worst of them.”
Charles pointed at Fallon, his face a mask of disgust. “Patting me on the head, saying good job with that stupid beast board. Elevating your little friends who lied to him, lied to us all, to protect you. When meanwhile, I exist on the scraps of the kindness of his elite.”
“You need to stop this,” Shea said, edging towards Clark and where he knelt by Fiona. “You won’t like the consequences of what comes next.”
