by Katie Roman
The frightened woman pointed to a pile next to her bed. Grace found the guard uniform she’d worn during the raid was ruined, coated in dried blood, but to her surprise, an intact black shirt and trousers lay under it, with a clean breast band and loin cloth on the bottom of the pile. With no shame, she slipped into the breast band and pulled the shirt over her head.
“What is that?” the priestess blurted out, breaking her vow of silence and immediately clapping a hand over her mouth.
Grace couldn't blame her outburst. In silver thread on the chest of the shirt, the winged star of Diggery was embroidered. Perhaps the goddess had a few more gifts yet.
“Find Ridley, please,” Grace said, speaking gently to the woman because she could see disbelief and fear in her eyes.
Once the priestess left, Grace put on the loincloth. As she tried to pull on the trousers, a piece of fabric fell out. She would have known it anywhere, and she remembered she'd asked Ridley to burn it when she left Glenbard for Arganis. It was her first Death Dealer hood. She pressed the fabric to her face. It smelled of the pine forest in Arganis, but also of the salty air in Glenbard. Tears pricked her eyes and she tucked the hood into the fabric of her trousers for the moment.
“Stop pushing me!” She heard Ridley's voice outside the door and straightened up, ready to greet her friend. “Glenda, make her stop! Doesn't she know we're in mourning?”
The door opened and Ridley stopped in her tracks. Behind her, Glenda put a shaky hand to her chest. The priestess disappeared from view quickly.
“By the Divine Twins and the Guardian of Lost Souls,” Ridley whispered. “I see a ghost standing before me.”
“Not a ghost,” Grace said. “But someone who wishes to free this city.”
Ridley rushed forward and hugged Grace with all her strength, not taking care to be gentle. Grace laughed softly and cried into Ridley's shoulder, barely noticing when Glenda left them alone.
Twenty-Eight
Jack prayed throughout the day. He prayed for a quick passing in the morning. He prayed for absolution of his soul. He prayed to meet Grace in the world beyond. He prayed that Kay survived and made a new life. When he wasn’t praying, he talked to Kay. She offered no false hope, but refused to talk on dark subjects. They shared stories and jokes and made their peace.
Their only visitor was a page boy who came into their tent to give them water and broth. Once, guards escorted them into the woods to relieve themselves, but otherwise no one bothered them.
“I suppose we could have been forced to make nice with your father,” Kay said. “But I much prefer this incessant waiting to any amount of words traded with that toad.”
Jack smiled and chuckled. The side of Kay's face had blossomed into a nasty, blue-green bruise since her scuffle with the duke, but since resigning to her fate, she was much more cheerful then she was the night before.
“You didn't have to grow up with him.”
“I am sure life as the Escion heir was a pleasant one. Rounds of torture in the morning, brute lessons after lunch, and a round of ‘beat the servant’ in the evening?”
“Sometimes we were even allowed to speak to him.”
Kay laughed with her whole body. A guard looked in with a questioning look and she stuck her tongue out.
“You are so much funnier than you used to be. It is a shame I missed out on this transformation,” she said.
Not wanting to fall into such a conversation, especially one that reminded him of Grace, Jack changed the topic. “So tell me, Kay, where is your treasure from your days on the Dawn buried?”
“As if I would tell a landlubber such as yourself. I plan to go back to it soon enough.”
They fell silent at the sound of hushed voices and hurrying feet. Jack strained his hearing, but could only make out vague noises. His father's voice cut through the night, blocking out whatever else was happening in the camp.
Robert pulled open the flap of the tent. His face was red and his eyes wide. “Out and on your feet.”
Jack crawled out first and Gillam pulled him to his feet. The king stood nearby with Robert, and three horses stood with their reins dragging in the dirt. Robert roughly yanked Kay to her feet when she exited the tent.
“We will bring the horses along so we can mount without being seen, Majesty,” Robert said. “If we gallop out of here we will draw far too much attention.”
Now Jack could make out the distant sounds of battle. Swords clashed, men cried out, and whistles were blown. The people of Glenbard must have attacked. Good for them, Jack thought as he was pushed into the darkness of the trees.
The group moved away from the torchlight of the camp and into the waiting forest. Gillam kept a firm hand on Jack's back, keeping him upright and on the right path. Ahead of them, his father was not as gentle with Kay. In one hand he held a lit torch, and with the other he pushed Kay forward. Each time she stumbled, he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back to her feet. The king walked steadily behind them, and last came several servants leading the horses.
“We have to make for the road,” Frederick said urgently. “We cannot mount the horses here. Kill them and let's be on our way.”
It would be easy to kill them, but Jack knew his father wouldn't. He had violated the white flag under Frederick's orders, but he wouldn't kill a prisoner, or at least not his own son. He wondered if Robert would change his mind and get rid of Kay.
“We need to get away from Drake's army before riding for Ursana,” Frederick said. “We can leave the woman dead out here and let the servants fend for themselves with Gillam and Jack as protection.”
Jack dared to look over his shoulder at Gillam and the two servants leading the horses. Even in the bad light, Jack saw Gillam tighten his jaw. The servants scowled and threw down the horses' reins, one daring to yell, “Long live Prince Drake,” as they fled into the dark trees.
Robert continued to press on, leaving the king to handle the reins of all the horses. Jack laughed at the spectacle, a mess of their own making. The sounds of battle faded slowly as Robert wound them deeper into the dark.
The wood around Glenbard wasn't large, but in the dark it was easy to get lost unless a person knew the way. Judging by Robert's erratic path, he had no idea. In the daylight they could easily find the right direction, but for now they would wander until they were too exhausted to go on.
Kay stumbled again, but this time Robert didn't bother to pick her up off the ground. Instead, he drew a dagger from his belt.
“Father, kill me instead. Just let her go. She's a pirate, a sellsword, a smuggler, not a threat to anyone as she is now. She has no allegiance to Drake any more than she has to Frederick.”
“Shut up, Jonathan.”
“Naughty, naughty old man,” a soft voice spoke from the murkiness of the surrounding trees.
Robert held the torch in front of him, illuminating as much as he could. “Who said that?”
“A silent follower.” The voice had shifted to a new spot.
“Who are you?” Frederick demanded.
“I am justice.” This time, Jack heard the soft rustle of clothing behind them. “I am vengeance.” Now it came from his right side. He turned and scanned the darkness. He thought he saw the glint of a sword in the pale starlight, but it was gone before he could blink.
“I demand to know who you are! As King of Cesernan, I demand your name!” Frederick yelled into the darkness.
“I am a blade in the dark.” The voice moved again, this time closer to Robert. “I am a rogue. I am a merchant. I am a guard. I am Glenbard.” The voice didn't move again. “Raise your blade, Sir Duke, and fight one who can fight back.”
Behind Jack, he felt Gillam's rough hands working at the binds around his wrists. “It'll be trouble for His Grace,” the giant whispered into Jack's ear, causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. “The gods don't like a man who ignores the rules of war, and they have two right here.”
Robert thrust the torch's handle into th
e ground, drew his sword, and stepped back from the flame. “Show yourself, coward.”
Jack thought Ridley had come out to play as the Dealer, or maybe even Thom. But his heart leapt into his throat when a diminutive hooded figure stepped into the small circle of light. She wore the black clothes and hood she always did, and held her sword up in the guard position.
His hands suddenly became free and he felt the coolness of a hilt in his hand. Gillam stealthily moved away, and then Jack cut his eyes to the side and watched as his father's manservant grabbed hold of the king.
“Let me go, brute!” Frederick yelled as he struggled against the man. Gillam bound his hands, made sure they were secure, and fled into the night. Frederick screamed obscenities into the dark after him.
Uninterested in the now-captive king, Jack moved to Kay's side, cutting her binds with his new dagger. Robert and Grace stared at each other and Robert moved to his own guard position. As Jack moved to help Grace, the king tripped him and Jack landed in the dirt with a thud.
Frederick kicked out at Kay, making contact with her knee. She sucked in a breath and he staggered into the dark with his hands bound.
“Come on – we have a rat to catch,” Kay said.
Jack looked at Grace and Robert, who circled each other like caged animals. He hesitated, knowing Frederick was getting further away from them.
“She has defied death once,” Kay said, touching his arm. “And right now I need your help securing that brute.”
Jack said a silent prayer for Grace and followed Kay into the dark after Frederick. All was lost if he got away.
~*~*~
Grace knew how to fight in the dark and how to fight in the woods. Her eyes flicked to Jack and Kay, who disappeared into the dark after the king. When she judged them to be a safe distance away, she flung herself at Robert.
He blocked her at first, but he didn’t anticipate the onslaught and only barely missed taking a blade to the chest. He swung sideways, then immediately downwards when Grace blocked it. She dodged his downward slice and sidestepped, putting herself away from the torchlight. Robert of Escion was still a force to be reckoned with. She knew from personal experience how sharp his blade was, and didn’t want to be struck with it a second time.
When Robert came at her, she moved behind a tree, feeling bits of bark hitting her arms and legs as his blade hit the trunk. As soon as she moved out from behind the tree and back into the light, Robert charged, ready to bring his sword down on her head in a killing blow. Grace caught his blade and used all her weight to push Robert back. Although he didn't fall, he stumbled away, surprised by her strength,
“You should be dead,” his voice shook. He was afraid.
“That? No, it was but a mere flesh wound. I've been stabbed by hardier folk than you and lived to tell the tale. Come now, Sir Duke, are you afraid of a little girl?”
As she hoped, it enraged the duke to hear that a woman had bested him and he charged again. Grace blocked his blow and sparks flew from the collision of their blades. He withdrew and circled her, keeping the torch between them.
Unlike when she fought Kara, Grace felt a calm surround her. Robert was a rotted limb that needed removing from Glenbard, and she would be the one to amputate it. The rage that drove her to kill Kara had been replaced with purpose. She watched him and saw that he was breathing heavily, his eyes narrowed into slits.
“You are a witch. Only by black magic could anyone have survived the wound I gave you.” He bent down and grabbed the torch. “You shall burn, witch.”
He came at Grace with torch and sword, swinging the torch wildly. Grace jumped back, feeling the heat pass by her. She stumbled, and in that moment she gave Robert an opening. He slashed at her, catching her right arm just above the elbow, and pain snaked up her arm. She blocked his next pass, but he swung wildly with the torch again and struck her hand. The fire seared her flesh and she had to use her free hand to knock the torch away. It fell to the forest floor, catching the leaves around it ablaze. The ground was damp, so Grace didn’t worry too much that the torch would engulf the whole wood. Grace put the burning leaves between them and sucked in a breath.
“You will die, witch,” Robert said. “You are a foolish, wicked girl who will be laid low by my blade.”
“You think you can punch down on everyone below you,” she said. She gave her wounded arm a slight swing. It stung, but she wasn’t blinded by pain. Robert had simply nicked her. “You think a title gives you the right to treat others like muck. Titles can be taken away, though, and when this is over, you will be no more important than a rat.”
Behind Robert, Grace saw Kay and Jack dragging Frederick back. Robert’s eyes quickly cut to the side, but he didn’t turn to look. The king had a rag in his mouth and his feet were tied. He could walk, but wouldn’t be able to run away again. Grace smiled grimly at the sight.
“You will die, witch!” Robert raged, charging Grace.
In one long stride, he stepped over the torch. His sword was raised for another attack and Grace could see murder in his eyes. She gritted her teeth and blocked his assault, bringing her hilt down on his sword hand and quickly grabbing a knife from her belt to nick his hand. Then she drove her hilt into his sternum, knocking all the wind from his lungs. Robert dropped to his knees, sucking in air, and Grace held her blade to his throat. She pricked his skin just enough to draw a little blood.
“Look at me, Sir Duke.”
When Robert turned his eyes up to her, she saw the torch’s flames reflected in them. His face was contorted with anger.
“Kill me then,” he commanded.
“No,” she said. “You will live. You will live to see your wickedness undone. You will live to face the children you kept hungry. You will live to face the families of those you let die in the riots. You will live to see Glenbard restored and Cesernan made a better place.”
“You are a naïve fool.”
“And you will be brought to justice,” Grace continued as if Robert had not spoken. She looked over at Kay and Jack, who were holding Frederick down. “Bind his hands, please.”
Kay moved first, using her own tattered binds to secure Robert's hands behind his back. Robert sucked in air through his teeth as Kay bound him, angry that he was being touched by the pirate. The king screamed foul through his gag, but his words were nothing but incoherent jabber. Robert glared up at her with hate in his eyes. Grace pulled a whistle from inside her jerkin and blew a long whistle that was soon answered.
“I can watch these brigands,” Kay said. “In case you want a moment of privacy. I imagine being near dead causes a lot of folk to ask themselves uncomfortable questions.” Kay jerked her head toward Jack. “I will handle things here.” She lifted Robert’s sword from the ground. “A fine blade, Sir Duke. I hope you don’t mind me taking it. Spoils of war and all that.” She laughed down at him.
Jack stepped into the trees, away from the meager torchlight, and Grace followed him. Once she was within his reach he grabbed her, pulling off her hood and kissing every inch of her face before touching his lips to hers.
When they finally came up for air, he grabbed her face and held it gently. “You are real,” he whispered. He touched his forehead to hers, kissing her again.
She wrapped her arms around him. “Marcus is dead. Henry is dead. Who knows who else died tonight?” she said.
“But you're alive,” he repeated, his lips grazing her forehead.
Her months had been occupied with survival and rebellion and the citizens of Glenbard. Now, she finally had a moment to think of herself and her own happiness. She grabbed a handful of Jack's shirt, holding him as closely as she could. She was alive. He was alive. Many had survived, and that was a good thought for the moment.
Jack moved his hands from her face to her back, pulling her closer yet. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her gently.
“We have friends coming this way,” Kay shouted to them. “There won't be much more privacy in a moment.”
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Suddenly people were swarming around them. Grace remained firmly in Jack's arms until she was physically pulled away by the prince, who wanted an account of what had happened.
Twenty-Nine
Grace took hold of a broken rocking chair that someone had used to help construct the barricade around Rogue’s Lane. She worked alone on the wall of oddments that were put up on the road leading from the Angel to the market area. The people were thankful the Queen of Thieves lived, but they feared her as well. Goddess or no, it was odd to have one so near death walking among them.
The rocking chair was splintered and left slivers of wood in her palms as she worked. She tossed the chair to the side, where it landed in a pile of refuse she’d pulled free of the barricade. It was hot work even in the mild spring weather, and it left her tunic soaked in sweat. Grace wiped her forehead with her sleeve.
“Water?” Grace turned over her shoulder to see Thom with a waterskin.
“I have already drained mine,” she said, pointing to her leather waterskin. “This is thirsty work.”
Thom walked to her side and handed her the water. She drank deeply, enjoying the cool liquid as it rushed down her throat.
“All across the city, the barricades are coming down. The people are cheering for Drake and his ‘Bloodless Revolution.’” Thom grabbed a broken stool and threw it on the refuse pile.
“Bloodless,” Grace snorted. “Over fifty men from both sides died in the woods that night. Not to mention Uncle George, Marcus, Henry, and all who died the night of the riot. It was hardly a bloodless affair.”
Thom rubbed his forehead. “Civil wars are costly, violent things. I’d say Cesernan has been lucky to avoid such a conflict.” He paused, staring up at the sky.
Grace followed his gaze. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A salty breeze blew in off the water, giving the air a fresh feel.
“There will be a large funeral in honor of all the lives lost,” Thom continued, turning to Grace. “It has been rumored that the Queen of Thieves used her own reward money and earnings to fund it.”