I’m about to thank her when I meet her eyes and see the wariness there, the dilemma I pose. As captain of the guard, who am I to her but an accomplice, complicit in the murder of a guard under her command, a friend? She can’t be sure, so opts for caution. Aftershe dumps me on my knees next to Will, she decides to draw her sword.
“We can explain,” Will says, water raining from his raised sleeves. The glint of Ava’s sword edges closer to his throat. Not the first time today, or even in the last hour, either of us have been threatened with a weapon. The novelty might wear off soon.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Please, Captain,” Will says, no trace of his teasing temperament, “put the sword away.”
Ava doesn’t trust him. It’s in her eyes. The last time she saw Will, he brought the roof down on her guards. The time before that, he carried me away covered in blood. There’s no reason for her to give us any leeway.
“Why were you falling?” Ava asks, a steady grip on the hilt.
I shiver in the puddle that almost drowned me, in soggy clothes that stick to my skin. The sword aimed at Will’s neck is a nerve-racking reminder of the one that ripped open my stomach, and from the jitter in Will’s raised hands, it’s on his mind too.
“Morgana tried to kill us,” I say.
Nettle’s mouth is a hard line as she picks up her knife and wipes the mud off. Ava’s eyes jump from Will to me. They’re having a hard time deciding what to do with us, and I don’t blame them.
“Please lower the sword,” Will cuts in. “At least let Fliss move out of reach. Threaten me all you want.”
I throw him a sharp glance. He can’t possibly think I’d leave him in harm’s way.
“The orders from above say I should be doing more than threatening you, Willoh,” Ava says with conviction. But this might be the first time Will’s ever tried to start with peace, attempted to begin with civility, and so her hand lowers ever so slightly. “You’re wanted dead or alive by the royals, and there are many of my guards who’d like to see justice done for what you did to Howell.”
Will’s expression cracks like a chip in a mirror, and I wonder if anyone but me could notice how much of a strain it is for him to keep the mask on. To keep himself from breaking like he did last night. Around these people, around possible threats, he’s not letting his guard down.
“Morgana possessed him. He didn’t want to,” I implore, increasingly frustrated that I’m having to work so hard to be convincing. It’s never been a problem before. “We never wanted Howell to get hurt. Can you just hear us out? Please, Ava.”
“Hear out a murderer?” Nettle bites. “As if. We’re taking you in.”
The knife in her hand spins. She flips it in the air and catches it, intending to intimidate us. She doesn’t realize how jumpy we both are around weapons.
Naturally, Will jumps.
From the first glint of sun against the sharp metal, he snaps his left hand in my direction and a glimmering golden shield appears before me, a wall of magic neutralizing a repeat of my brush with death, and as Will moves his hand, so does Ava.
“No magic!”
She grabs his shoulder and forces him back into the muddy grass, stepping forward so the point of her sword creases the fabric directly above his heart.
“No!” I yell.
I don’t even think about it. I throw myself sideways out of the safety of the golden shield and thrust the base of my palm againstthe flat of the sword. I shove it out of the way and fling myself onto Will’s soaked chest, curling myself over him. Protecting him. Shielding him.
“Don’t hurt him, please.”
Will’s heart hammers unsteadily.
I raise my head to Ava. “Please. If Howell hadn’t covered me last night, I’d be dead too. He saved my life. He believed me.”
Ava contemplates the scene before her. She studies the fading golden shield, Will’s supplication, the way he isn’t daring to move, my beseeching, desperate plea. She’s never seen either of us act like this before.
Her sword drops to her side.
“Go on,” she says, wary.
Nettle folds her arms, and insecurity creeps up my throat. I bumble out a condensed version of the truth—how the queen sent me to collect flowers for a spell that will cost Cardamine his life, and how in return, Bash will gain the use of magic. I tell them that Morgana is manipulating the queen and poisoning the king, how she possessed Will to attack the castle, and how if we don’t stop the ceremony, they’re more than likely going to blame whatever disaster happens on us.
“We wanted to talk with Bash alone and explain everything, but Morgana was waiting for us,” I say, and shudder at the vastness of the sky above. “I think she’s hoping we’re dead.”
