The boy is running right for us, peltingstonesat us.
“Stop!” the woman shouts, her panic clear. “Ellmo—get back!”
Rocco turns with the crossbow in his hands, and in a flash I’m remembering a different moment, when I was by Wes’s side. I’m remembering a different young boy facing the night patrol. That night, I was almost too late.
This time, I’m too far away. Rocco’s finger is already on the trigger.
I’m going to be too late.
“No!” I cry as I try to close the distance anyway. “Rocco,please!”
“No!” The woman’s agonized cry mixes with mine to echo through the trees.
But Rocco hasn’t fired. The little boy sees his mother on the ground, roars in rage, and flies at the guardsman. Rocco lowers the weapon and grabs hold of his shirt, catching him like an errant kitten.
The boy thrashes against his hold, beating at his arms with hands filled with stones. “You hurt my mother!”
The woman scrambles off the ground. “Let him go!” she gasps. Her face has paled, and blood now soaks the outside of her arm. She looks from the dagger in my hand to the crossbow in Rocco’s, and a note of panic enters her voice. “You let himgo!”
“Wait,” I’m pleading. “Just—wait—” But my voice can barely compete with the boy’s enraged wailing now.
The boy throws one final handful of rocks, and they bounce off Rocco’s chest, then scatter wildly, rattling among the brush. The woman surges forward like she’s going to tackle the guardsman, but he whips the crossbow up just in time, putting the point right against the base of her throat, and she freezes.
“Hey!” Rocco barks. “We aren’t here to hurt you. So that’senough!”
His voice is so loud and so sharp that all three of us jump, and the sudden stunned silence is jolting. Even the little boy is staring with wide eyes, his breath shaking, lower lip trembling.
But Rocco glances my way. “Not you, Miss Tessa.”
Oh. Oh, of course. I have to shake myself. “I know what you thought,” I say to the woman. “But we aren’t with Oren Crane’s people.”
“I saw you on the water,” says the woman. Her eyes haven’t left her son.
I nod quickly, realizing this must be the person we saw onshore, the woman with the little boy who didn’t wave back. “We’ve been staying in a house half an hour’s walk back that way.” I gesture. “We came with Rian—” I have to break off and correct myself. “WithGalen. Galen Redstone. Your king. We came from Kandala. We were walking to his palace.”
She glances between me and her son, and she swallows tightly. “If you’re being honest, then let him go.”
I remember little Anya on the ship, the way she had scars from whatever Oren’s people had done to her. I glance at Rocco and nod. “Erik,” I say softly. “Let him go.”
Rocco is bleeding from where one of the rocks hit him in the face. He lowers the crossbow, then pulls the boy a little closer, leaning down to speak. His voice is stern, but not unkind. “If I let you go, you’re going to behave yourself, yeah?”
The boy swallows and nods, eyes still wide. Rocco’s fist uncurls from his shirt, and he takes a step back.
The boy darts forward to punch him right in the crotch. “That’s what youget!”
Rocco doubles overimmediately. He grabs for the boy, but he’s already scampered away.
“Ellmo!” the woman calls, but he’s disappeared into the trees.
Rocco is still half crouched, making unintelligible sounds. “I should have seen that coming,” he mutters.
“Are you all right?” I say.
“No. Yes. Ask me in five minutes.”
“You deserve it for grabbing him that way!” the woman snaps. “Who scares a little boy like that?”
“Someone getting shot at,” Rocco grunts. He heaves a breath and forces himself upright. “He’s lucky I just scared him.”
