‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Lyndal said. ‘Defenders gather in the square for any number of reasons.’
The women raised their hoods as they stepped out into the drizzle, angling their faces against the weather. Their neighbours, Thea and Birtle, were standing on their veranda. Thea cast a sympathetic look at Blake as she passed, while others locked up their shops before joining them on the muddy street. The Suttone family were not the only merchants missing a family member. People spoke in hushed voices as they headed for the village square by the east wall. The wall separated merchants from royalty and military. Merchants rarely entered the royal borough anymore—unless they were headed to the tower.
When they reached the cobblestoned square, the women weaved through the crowd towards the front.
‘Where’s Eda?’ Blake asked, looking over her shoulder.
Lyndal slipped her arm through their mother’s. ‘How have we lost her already?’
One of Eda’s many skills.
They stopped when they saw the cart covered by a canvas sheet. It was surrounded by defenders. Dread filled Blake’s stomach. She grabbed hold of her skirt to give her hands something to do. Lyndal glanced in her direction, her smile long gone.
The portcullis rose, drawing everyone’s attention. The king rode through, flanked by his two sons and surrounded by a ring of bodyguards. This only confirmed Blake’s suspicion about what lay beneath that canvas. The king was there to deliver one of his famous speeches, to express his disappointment. They were designed to make the merchants feel like insubordinate children, but instead of a good spanking, they were forced to watch their loved ones suffer or die.
Blake locked her knees when her legs shook.
The royal men positioned themselves behind the cart, using it as a buffer. King Oswin only ever wore one expression—seriousness. His deep frown lines were evidence of that. His grey eyes were as depressing as the sky framing him. Sharply groomed eyebrows completed the look.
Prince Borin sat tall in the saddle beside him, a mirror image of his father. Despite coming of age, he was still a foot shorter and had yet to sprout facial hair. His hand rested on the hilt of an expensive sword that Blake was quite certain had never left its sheath.
The youngest prince, Becket, now in his sixteenth year, looked like he had been dragged from his bedchamber against his will. He wore no weapon, his hands resting comfortably on the pommel of his saddle.
‘I would like to say a few words, Commander,’ the king said.
Commander?
Blake searched among the defenders until she spotted Commander Wright standing off to one side. He responded to the king with a nod before his gaze swept over the crowd. Her lungs stilled when his eyes landed on her. She saw the recognition in them and half expected him to step forwards and arrest her given their last encounter. Instead, he looked away.
‘It breaks my heart to stand before you today,’ King Oswin began, his voice booming across the large space, ‘and speak of traitors. These men are your sons, grandsons, brothers, and fathers. Your neighbours. Your friends. These are people I built walls, sixty feet high, to protect.’
The outer wall had been his first act as king. And he had been building walls ever since.
Candace was trembling now. Blake thought about taking her other arm, but she did not trust herself to move. Lyndal was the best person to care for their mother in a crisis. She had been the one who kept the house running after their father passed, knowing Kingsley had his hands full with the shop and the rest of them were drowning in grief.
Prince Borin spoke up next. ‘Imagine our disappointment at discovering that so many of you are stealing from our farmers, Chadorian men who are fighting to meet the needs of this kingdom.’
Blake’s gaze drifted back to the commander, who was keeping a close eye on the crowd.
‘It falls on me to remind you all, once again, what happens to thieves and traitors.’
Prince Borin signalled to the defenders, and they stepped up to the cart and began untying the ropes holding the canvas sheet in place.
There was a collective intake of breath as they pulled the cover back, revealing twenty corpses stacked in four piles.
A woman close by cried out; another covered her face and turned away. Blake looked from body to body until her vision snagged on a filthy hand draped over another corpse. It was not the hand that stopped her but the simple brass posy ring enclosing the middle finger. She would have recognised it anywhere, because it had once belonged to her father.
She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her lungs to work. The commander glanced in her direction before turning his attention back to the cart. The defenders secured a noose around the neck of each corpse, then carried them one at a time to the wall. They tossed the ropes up to the men waiting atop it and hauled the bodies up the stone, out of reach of their loved ones watching on in horror.
She knew the moment her mother recognised Kingsley, because a hand flew up to hold in her scream. They were all watching as he was dragged from one of the piles, ears filled with dirt and hair painted with clay, and carried to the wall. Blake turned away as they hoisted him up by the neck, searching for Eda.
Where was she?
‘This is what comes from your tunnels,’ the king said. ‘Crushed and suffocated by your own deceitfulness.’
Blake turned to him, wishing she had a rock or something hard to throw.
‘From now on, leave construction to our architects,’ Prince Borin said. ‘Digging holes is not the answer.’
