“They are fine,” he assured her. “They are on their way back to the castle, remember? Look at me.”
She did. The noise died down again. He was the only steady point.
“I should have left,” she said. “I should have gone back when we heard the warning from the stallkeeper. I am making this worse by standing here.”
“Ye arenae the cause of this,” he said. “Ye were only a victim of circumstance. That is all.”
“That is nae better,” she huffed.
Alex did not argue, but he did not soften the edges of his words either. He shifted the parchment into his other hand, folded it once, then again, small as a coin.
“It is a message sent in a crowd, so the sender can feel large,” he said. “So he can think himself a shadow with teeth. He is a boy with a mask. He is nay more than that if we treat him right.”
“What if he isnae a boy?” she asked.
“Then he will learn how I handle men,” he said.
Erica did not move. He still had her arm. His palm was warm where it held her. It steadied her and reminded her of her situation in the same beat.
She hated that she needed it, but she was relieved that it was there. The two truths fought and neither won.
“Listen to me,” he said. “This isnae a square filled with folks who want to see ye fall. It is a square filled with folks who heard ye laugh, and saw ye buy bread, and watched ye talk to the twins. If it comes down to it, they will go to war for ye.”
“They have barely ken me for more than two weeks. I doubt that sentiment,” she said.
“Well, they kenme,” he said. “Ye daenae have to worry about any of this for now. For all we ken, this was just someone trying to scare ye.”
Her hand rose to his fingers and stopped. “What if this is about ye?” she said. “What if MacGee sent it? What if he wants folks to see me as the path to ye?”
“Then he will find the path lined with every kind of steel he can imagine,” he said. “Getting to me isnae easy, even with people I love.”
She closed her eyes and opened them again. “Aye.”
“Good.”
Alex released her arm and took her hand instead. He did it like a man checking a knot. He did it out in the open, where everyone could see.
“Ye walk with me,” he said. “Daenae worry about anything else. That isnae yer job, do ye understand me?”
“What about the portrait?” she asked. “We still need to collect it.”
“And we will,” he said, his voice light. “Then we will go home.”
She huffed a breath that might have been a laugh if the air were not so tight.
The parchment sat small in his fist. He slid it into his belt as if it were a thing he would keep for fire and nothing more.
Erica looked back once. The market kept moving. The stall of paintings held its light. The bread seller cut another loaf. Nothing pointed at her, yet the skin between her shoulders prickled like a mark had been set. Her throat felt raw.
“I am sorry,” she croaked.
“Daenae be,” he said. He tightened his grip a fraction. “Come with me.”
CHAPTER 20
The walkback to the castle felt endless. The road ran straight, then bent, then straight again, and every shift of hedge or stone looked like a place for a man to hide.
Alex kept turning, scanning behind them, then the ditch, then the bend near the outer wall. Each time he looked, Erica’s heart thudded hard against her ribs. She could not stop seeing a figure stepping out, a hand closing around her arm, the press of fingers that meant control.
