As we exited the square, voices sounded, and we ducked into an alley. Caylus peered cautiously around the edge before pulling back.
“Malkin’s guards,” he said softly. “I recognize them.”
“Great. Let’s say hi.” Kiva patted the sword she’d borrowed from one of the crew, Sinvarra still lost to Shearen, the Vykryn soldier who’d taken the black gold blade from her.
“Or—” Caylus’s voice caught. He gritted his teeth. “I could turn myself in.”
I gaped. “What? No.”
The voices grew louder, one saying something jeering to the other. They carried a torch with them, the light dancing along the far wall.
“They’ll take me to Malkin,” Caylus said. “It’s the fastest way to find out where he is.”
“And to get yourself killed,” Kiva said at the same time as Samra said, “It makes logical sense.”
They glowered at each other. I ignored them, reaching for Caylus to object, but he was already moving. He stepped into the road.
The voices cut off. The light stilled.
“Caylus?” asked a female voice. “What in Duren’s name are you doing here?”
“It doesn’t matter what he’s doing here,” said the other guard. “Malkin is going to be thrilled. Come here, boy.”
Caylus stepped reflexively back, and the firelight illuminated his face. Fear blazed behind his green eyes. Then hands closed around his wrists and arms, dragging him forward. I lurched after him, but Samra seized me, holding me back. I bit back a curse as the sounds of scuffle faded along with the light. Only then did she release me.
Res’s curiosity plucked along the bond, checking that all was okay. I sent back a reassuring pulse I didn’t truly feel.
We crept out after them, catching sight of the two guards towing Caylus around the corner ahead. Grateful for the descending cloak of night, we followed as far behind as we dared, taking turn after turn deeper into the heart of the town. Gradually, our surroundings grew more familiar. I recognized the sloping road they’d just turned onto ahead, the tightly knit buildings lining it a little taller than the rest. It led to a massive square outside the home of the town’s leader.
The shuffling of feet and murmur of voices rose ahead of us. As we neared the turn, Kiva threw back an arm to stop us.
“Illucian soldiers,” she whispered. “Two of them, guarding the back of the crowd.”
“Dammit.” We were going to lose Caylus to the crowd. I surveyed the area around us, then looked up toward the shop at our back. There’d been a festival in town the day we’d come, and people had thrown petals down from the rooftops, symbolizing falling feathers. Which meant—
“This way,” I said.
The shop door had been kicked open, revealing shelves of folded cloth and bolts hung up for display. I made for the stairs in the back, the others following me up two flights before emerging onto the roof.
A strange scene unfolded in the square. The townspeople had been herded into it, the four main roads in thick with people, soldiers at their backs. Some were Illucian, others Ambriellans dressed in clothing of kingfisher blue and pearl. Still, there was something strange about the crowd’s docility. Retired riders lived in this town. Soldiers. How had such a small force corralled them?
I searched the crowd for Caylus, spotting him only as their slow forward progress disturbed the tide of people.
At the front of the square sat a makeshift throne of aged driftwood. A man in his early thirties occupied it, a massive tapestry depicting the kingfisher symbol hanging at his back. A mix of Illucian soldiers and Ambriellan mercenaries surrounded him.
“Did he…make a throne?” Kiva asked.
“Malkin’s a theatrical son of a bitch,” Samra replied.
Malkin Drexel had silken copper hair that curled across his forehead above a black coral circlet, hung across his brow like a crown. Cool gray eyes stared down at something before him, alight with satisfaction.
A young Rhodairen man was on his knees before Malkin. He’d been stripped of his shirt, and his back gleamed savage red from the whip marks lining it.
I snarled, snatching my bow from my back and nocking an arrow before Samra stepped in front of me.
“We need a plan,” she said.
“I’m going to put an arrow in his eye,” I said. “That’s the plan.”
