Harlan’s eyebrows lowered. ‘How will the merchants source food and access supplies?’
‘They won’t,’ Borin shot back. He wandered back to the throne and took a seat. ‘That is the point of the exercise. No one in, no one out. You will be amazed how quickly the killer will be revealed.’
‘What if there’s trouble in the borough?’ Harlan asked.
Borin narrowed his eyes on the commander. ‘No one in. No one out. They might finish with a new-found appreciation for law and order.’
Shapur shifted. ‘There are times my men need to—’
‘Did I stutter, Warden?’ the prince asked, making his voice as loud as possible without actually shouting.
Shapur stared at him for the longest moment, then bowed. ‘No one in. No one out.’
* * *
The square was packed so tightly that the girls could not get near the notice. Word was spreading though, drawing every merchant to the square to read the news with their own eyes.
‘All it takes is one person spreading misinformation to cause blind panic in an already fragile borough,’ Lyndal said as they waited.
A woman with a young baby pressed to her chest squeezed past them. Her eyes met Blake’s, and Blake saw the same hopelessness in them she had seen in Harlan’s the day before. That was the moment she knew the rumours were true.
‘Almost there,’ Lyndal said, holding onto her sisters. They could not afford to be separated.
After what felt like an eternal wait, they reached the notice. They read it once, then twice.
March 4, 1327
By royal decree, the merchant borough will be closed until King Oswin’s killer is brought forward. No one, including members of the king’s army, will be permitted to enter or exit the region. Anyone with information regarding King Oswin’s death should present themselves at the royal gate.
‘Closed?’ Lyndal said, her face screwing up. ‘How can you close a borough?’
Blake looked up at the defenders watching them from atop the wall. They had not passed one guard on their walk there. She wondered where Harlan was and what he had said on the matter. She found it hard to believe that anyone would be in support of such a lockdown.
‘What if the killer isn’t found?’ Lyndal asked as they turned away and weaved their way back through the crowd. ‘Are we to be left to starve?’
The answer was yes.
Prince Borin wanted justice for his father’s death. Blake knew only too well what grief did to a person. It could consume every part of you if you let it—and his grief was only a day old.
Once home, the Suttone women gathered around the small table in the main room. Garlic was on Candace’s lap. Their remaining food sat in front of them: four carrots, a turnip, two leeks, two spoonfuls of butter, a duck no one had the heart to slaughter, and one of the saddest cabbages Blake had ever laid eyes on. All of it provided by Harlan.
‘Some of the vegetables can be regrown with enough daylight.’
Blake closed her eyes against Lyndal’s optimism. She just needed a few minutes to wallow. Not just for the loss of food but the loss of Harlan. Her memories of those precious days spent together were beginning to age, and she was so angry at herself for cutting that time short. Where had it gotten her?
Not fed.
Not pieced back together.
Happiness seemed so far out of reach at that point she doubted it would ever come again.
‘Soup is the most logical meal plan,’ Lyndal continued, ‘because we can just keep building on it as more food arrives.’
‘Arrives fromwhere?’ Blake asked, tone blunt.
Lyndal looked between them all. ‘We shall get it from somewhere.’
Blake rose, unable to take it any longer. ‘The food sitting on this table is a joke. It’s barely enough for one week. This could drag on for months. Or perhaps they’ll never find the killer and we’ll all die.’
