We fell silent, sitting side by side, looking at the gardens around us.
I reached into my sleeve, pulled Everard’s den out of the pocket, and put it in his hand.
“Your lucky coin?”
“Please carry it with you tonight.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll give it back to you when it’s over.”
Kaiden came striding down the path. His eyes were red. He handed the empty canteen to Reynald and hugged me. He didn’t say anything. He just hugged me, quickly and quietly, and then we set off back to our home.
CHAPTER23
PLANTER25
Isat on the barrel of pan oil and stared through the crack between the slightly open window shutters. The crack let me see a narrow slice of the night-drenched plaza. Prata, the largest moon, was full, enormous in the night sky, and its pale light encased the statue of the Knight Vanquisher, turning it silver. The night was bright.
On the other side of the window, Reynald waited, dressed in a plain tunic and trousers, his lancer’s coif resting on his shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered with armor. He’d brought his sword and that was it.
I had traded my gown for some dark pants and a tunic, and Gort had given me a short sword “just in case.” I was also presented with a lancer’s coif and told to wear it. Generic clothes and covered faces for everyone. Reynald was taking no chances.
The statue was in the center of the plaza, and the pan oil warehouse, in which we were hiding, sat west and slightly north of it. If I leaned all the way to my right, I could see one of the northern streets. Lute was probably hiding somewhere in there. If Reynald leaned all the way to his left, he could probably glimpse the mouth of the southern street where Gort would be waiting. The only roof accessible to Shana was on the most southeastern building, so she was lying in wait somewhere not too far from her husband.
It took Kaiden about five seconds to pick the lock. Reynald sent him home after that, and he obeyed without complaining.
Reynald and I had slipped into this warehouse just before midnight. It had to be two or three in the morning now. The sun rose at six thirty or so, and the first workers would be on the street half an hour before that. The closer dawn crept, the higher his chances were of discovery. Our killer was overdue.
Reynald didn’t seem to care. Five minutes after we came in, he had straddled an oil barrel, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. He wasn’t asleep. If I stirred, he opened his eyes to check on me. He simply waited.
It wouldn’t be too long now.
Unless the killer got cold feet and decided to not show up. He should’ve been here by now.
A faint creaking squeaked through the night. I froze, sure I had misheard.
Creak, creak, creak . . .The axle of an old cart straining under a heavy load.
A lone man crossed the plaza from the north side, pushing a handcart. He wore an old cloak, and his hood was up.
My heart hammered a million beats per minute.
On the other side of the window, Reynald uncoiled soundlessly and moved to the door, pulling up the lancer coif over his face.
The man stopped and pulled back a corner of the tarp covering the top of the cart. He glanced at the statue, rubbed his chin, and took a rope with a pulley out of the cart.
It was him. It had to be him.
“No matter what happens, stay inside,” Reynald whispered. “Trust me.”
He opened the door and walked out.
The man turned to him.
Reynald kept heading toward him, his steps unhurried.
The man took a few slow steps back, glancing to both sides.
I couldn’t see shit. I got up and tiptoed to the doorway, staying in the shadows. I could see the southern street and the hulking shape of Gort blocking it. Will and Lute were probably blocking the other side. We had boxed him in.
