Page 56 of Veiled Fate
“Dad, she’s right,” Gare said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Standing up to one’s parents was never easy. Especially not like that. “Trying to help is the right thing to do.”
“No,” Tave said. “I forbid it. You will not help her.”
“Yes,” Gare said softly, almost apologetically. “I will.”
Tave seemed to wilt into the bed, looking fully the part of an old man.
“I’m sorry,” Gare said, then lifted his head to meet my eyes, flecks of gold hardening within his iris. “Come with me. I’ll lead you to the others.”
I followed him from the room. A part of me wanted to look back, to somehow assure Tave that I wouldn’t throw his son’s life away carelessly. That we would do our best to ensure we did this the smart way so that everyone came home. Perhaps it was because I knew I couldn’t say anything that would help. Perhaps it was cowardice on my end.
Whatever it was, I didn’t look back, even when I heard the low groan of failure that filled the room as we left and exited the house under the stony glare of Gare’s mom. The look of a mother who hated the danger she saw ahead for her son but also proud of the man he’d become.
And I hated myself for being the one to put her in such a situation.
Over the next two hours, we sped through the city, speaking to as many people as possible. Some agreed to help. Others did not. Most said they would think about it and either meet us at the rendezvous or not.
“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Gare asked quietly from where we sat on some crates in the middle of a merchant’s storehouse, hidden from the outside world.
“I hope so,” I said. “If enough show up.”
The appointed hour drew closer, and shifters began to trickle into the warehouse. Mostly men, but a few women as well. They all exchanged nods and found places to sit, lean, or in a few cases, lie down while they waited.
“I think this is it,” I said as the appointed time came and went.
There were twenty-six shifters in all who’d come. It wasn’t as many as I’d hoped for, but more than I’d expected. Nearly thirty of us, including Gare and myself. Thirty against an army.
“Thank you all for coming,” I said, raising my voice just loud enough to be heard by all.
The shifters came forward, circling up. I could see that some still harbored doubts. Some didn’t seem to care one way or another, while a few were outright terrified but still there anyway.
“It won’t be easy, but if we do it right, then we can not only rob Lycaonus of some of his troops but also steal the prisoners right out from under him.”
“Attacking them in the square is suicide,” one of the women said, speaking up. “I prowled around some, including a few rooftops. He’s got men hidden up there. Ready to surround anyone who makes a run for the square.”
“I know,” I said. “But thank you for the confirmation.”
“So, how do we do this, then?”
I nodded at the speaker, a tall, gangly-limbed youth who couldn’t even be of Fate Night age yet. “Good question. I’m going to outline my plan. Then, we’ll tear it apart and put it back together into a better one.”
Leaning forward, I told them what I was thinking.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“They’re moving,” I whispered.
“Finally,” Gare replied, shuffling away from the rooftop to spread the word.
I couldn’t agree more. After we’d put the plan together to minimize our risks as much as possible, I got into position high above Grand Square, watching the stocks and waiting for the guards to gather the prisoners for the long walk back to the palace.
Lycaonus had maintained some semblance of sanity in the aftermath of Arcadus’ death. Although he’d publicly announced the prisoners and the fact they would face execution for their actions, hehadn’tdecided to make those executions a public spectacle. The prisoners would be taken out of sight for that.
Until then, however, the Alpha was proudly displaying them like some sort of merchant with his wares, keeping them locked in the stocks and helpless before the crowd. Most people kept their distance, watching with curiosity and confusion. But not all. Many of those who refused even to contemplatewhysomeone might resist had come closer. The prisoners had been peppered with all manner of debris, from garbage to rotting fruit to chunks of stone.
I had been forced to lay silent and watch it all happen. My heart ached for Clive, held immobile by the wooden restraints, bent at the waist, his head and arms locked in the holes while he suffered at the hands of the ignorant.
What will it take for them to wake up?
