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Sefa provided records of the Omegas in four parishes who'd survived a lockdown because medicine and food reached them when the roads were closed.

Hild of Papplewick stood before the commissioners and announced that she was seventy-one years old, had survived the winter ice storm because the Ghost of Sherwood brought her food, and would gladly tell the King himself if he cared to ask.

I nearly smiled.

Then came Guy's reports.

Three years of official records, written in his own hand and filed with the Crown.

Every one documented the same thing.

The Ghost of Sherwood had never killed a man.

I'd wounded soldiers, disarmed them, and stolen their supplies, but I'd avoided killing whenever possible.

The garrison's own casualty records confirmed it.

I looked toward Guy. He stood beside Oswin, listening to the clerk read his reports aloud.

For three years, he'd been trying to catch me.

And without knowing it, he'd been collecting evidence that might one day save my life. All because he was an honest man who insisted on recording what actually happened.

Sir Reynald looked down at the final document.

"Robin of Locksley."

I straightened.

"You are hereby granted the King's pardon."

I stared at him. "All of it?"

The hall grew quiet and someone coughed. Oswin covered his face with one hand.

Beside me, Guy murmured, "Robin."

"What?" I whispered. "It's a reasonable question."

Sir Reynald cleared his throat. I could've sworn he was trying not to laugh.

"Subject to the conditions entered into the record, mistress."

"Right." I nodded. "Just checking."

The conditions were surprisingly fair. My pardon covered the offenses committed during Fitzwalter's administration of Nottinghamshire. In return, I was required to cease armed interference with lawful Crown officers.

Lawful.

I noticed that word immediately and so did Guy. The clerk had written it deliberately, and I could've kissed him for it. Similar pardons were offered to the members of my band, although each person's case would be reviewed separately.

Three of my people had older accusations that still needed to be addressed. Two of those cases were serious enough that I couldn't promise how they would end.

But Little John walked out of that hall a free man for the first time in nine years. He stood in the street afterward, watching ordinary people pass him. For several minutes, he didn't say a word.

I stood beside him until he was ready to move.

Guy waited until we were outside to tell me his news.