Blake shook her head as though warning him back. He was about to cross a line that could not be uncrossed. But he stepped over it willingly, pulling her into his arms and crushing her wasted frame to his chest. ‘The only way an arrow is getting to you is through me,’ he said into her ear.
Blake covered her face with her hands.
‘Both of you behind me,’ Harlan instructed the girls before turning to face the prince.
Borin leaned over the edge, eyes narrowing on Harlan. ‘Something you want to say, Commander?’
Harlan glanced at his father, who was gripping the embrasure, watching him intently. That was not admiration on his face. ‘This is not justice, Your Highness. This is genocide.’
‘Words of a traitor!’ the prince boomed.
‘Words of truth!’ Harlan looked around. ‘Not one of my men wishes these people dead, yet every man will kill if you tell them to.’
Borin was practically hanging over the edge. ‘Except you, Commander?’
This was his opportunity to self-correct, step aside, follow orders, but Roul’s words stuck in his mind. ‘I became a defender to protect the kingdom, not contribute to the suffering. I will not shoot arrows at people who have committed no crimes.’
The prince slapped his hand on the stone again. ‘Then you will die along with them. Not one of your men will think twice about shooting atraitor.’
Blake pressed her forehead to his back.
‘Your commander has deserted you,’ Borin shouted to the defenders below. ‘What do we do to deserters?’
Blake’s bony arms went around his middle, as if she could shield him somehow. She was trembling. Harlan drew his sword and anchored his feet firmly in front of the sisters. Six months earlier, he could not have fathomed drawing a weapon against his own men, his king. His father.
So this is how it ends for me?
His eyes went to Astin. His friend. His brother through this miserable existence. Astin gave him the smallest nod. A tiny gesture of understanding, of forgiveness. Harlan would be labelled a traitor. Slaughtered by his own men. Shot down by his own king. Yet his only regret in those final moments was that he had stayed silent for as long as he had.
None of the defenders on the ground made a move towards him.
‘Draw your weapons!’ Borin shouted, agitated by the lack of movement below.
Roul stepped into sight and drew his sword. Harlan was surprised that he was first to act, but he was also one of the best defenders he had ever had the privilege of training. He would do the job he was trained to do.
Every muscle in Harlan’s body tensed as he drew closer. He could win that fight, but it was just one fight. Every defender he cut down, another would replace him.
But Roul did not raise his weapon at Harlan. Instead, he turned and looked up at the prince. ‘I too refuse to contribute to the suffering any longer, and I stand with my commander.’
Harlan exhaled. While he did not want to be responsible for the young defender’s death, he knew in his gut Roul probably would have arrived at the conclusion on his own anyway.
One by one, the other defenders drew their swords and closed in on the merchants. Blake’s arms tightened around him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
He did not want those to be her final words. His hand went over hers, the tension so thick in the air it was difficult to breathe.
The defenders did not use their weapons on the merchants. They turned to the wall, as Roul had done, in an act of defiance.
Prince Borin’s mouth twisted. He pushed back from the wall and looked in Shapur’s direction. ‘Take charge of your men, Warden! Every defender with a bow should have it nocked, drawn, and pointed in that borough!’
Shapur blinked slowly. ‘Your Highness—’
‘This is not a discussion! This is an order.’ Borin spun around. ‘Archers ready!’
Shapur stood motionless, torn between duty and love for the second time in his life.
The men atop the wall did as Prince Borin had ordered, but their actions were not the sharp, authoritative movements of a defender. They were slow and hesitant. Still, if instructed to shoot, they would shoot.
