Page 138 of Royal Rebel

Grayson’s gut clenched. The captain was preparing a demonstration. One that wouldn’t end well for anyone in the village, but especially not for Jon and his family. He knew this, because he’d been a part of these demonstrations before.

Guilt soured his stomach. Memories flashed, haunting him. But it was the realization that something horrific was about to happen again—to Jon and his family, including the young, talkative Keegan—that stiffened his resolve.

In the past, he’d been trapped. Unable to do anything.

He wasn’t trapped now.

Mia gripped his hand. “We can’t let them be hurt.”

Grayson was already shrugging off his pack and reaching for the Syalla-coated blades inside. “Stay here,” he said quietly, belting on the long daggers.

Indecision hovered in her eyes, and for a moment he thought she’d insist on helping. Instead, she pursed her lips and nodded. Trust lined her voice even as she said, “Be careful.”

He picked up his longsword, which was still in its scabbard. On impulse, he leaned in and touched his mouth to hers. “I’ll be right back.”

It was a promise he fully intended to keep.

He felt Mia’s eyes on him as he rose and ghosted through the trees, heading into the inn’s back yard. As he went, his fingertips brushed over the throwing daggers on his belt.Four.

There were nine soldiers in the street, so he would need to make those four blades count.

He paused at the front corner of the inn and peered around the worn wooden planks.

The entire village was being forced into the street. Grayson recognized nearly every face from the inn last night. Izac, without his flute. Lyda the storyteller, clutching her hands in front of her. The blacksmith and his family; the wife held their smallest daughter, who hiccupped on a tired cry. Many in the village still wore their sleep-clothes, obviously forced from their beds.

They would all play witness to whatever the captain had planned. Grayson didn’t know if the man intended to actually execute the innkeeper’s family, when he no doubt knew Henri was gathering soldiers, but whatever happened, it wouldn’t be good.

Grayson’s fingers tightened around his sheathed longsword, then he eased back a few steps, glancing at the sky. The light was coming faster now.

He slung the sword over his shoulder so the blade crossed his back, and he hurried to secure the buckle against his chest. It was rudimentary, but it would do. Using the nearest window ledge, he began to scale the side of the inn.

He heard the murmurs of the crowd, and the soldiers barking orders for silence.

When Grayson reached the roof of the two-floor building, the captain’s voice rose. “King Henri is searching for the Black Hand, who vanished from the castle the same night Prince Carter was murdered.”

Gasps punctuated the air.

Grayson didn’t let himself feel anything except the hum of a coming fight. But he did wonder why his father hadn’t just blamed him for Carter’s death; unless it was a way for Henri to protect himself. He needed Grayson found, but he didn’t want everyone to know his enforcer was that out of control.

Grayson kept low on the roof as he crept to the front of the inn, moving as silently as possible.

“The Black Hand is wanted by the king,” the captain continued. “He abducted a young Mortisian woman from the king’s court. Her name is Mia, and I have been informed that both of them have been staying in this inn for days.”

“I reported them as soon as I realized who they were,” Tobin burst out, his voice a little higher than usual and pinched with panic. “The small villages never get news quickly, but when I went to—”

Guttural choking replaced his words, and a woman cried out.

Grayson reached the edge of the roof just in time to see Tobin collapse, his hands wrapped around a bleeding throat. As the physician toppled forward, the captain twisted to face Jon, a bloody dagger in his hand.

Jon tensed, but didn’t draw back as the captain took a step toward him. “The king doesn’t tolerate failure,” the captain said, his strong voice projecting down the street. “Nor does he tolerate excuses.” He glanced at Jon, taking in the man’s clenched fists and thick arms. “You’re a strong man. You’ll make a decent soldier.” He glanced around the gathered crowd. “In fact, most of you will. And the king needs women to cook and care for the army, so this entire village will be marched to Northland Barracks.” The captain looked back to Jon. “If you resist, I’ll kill your youngest. He’d make a rather pathetic soldier, anyway.”

Keegan was pale as he clung to Garrett. Timothy stood near them, vibrating with fury or fear—maybe both.

Jon’s eyes narrowed on the captain. “If you think the king will forgiveyourfailure by offering us to him instead of the ones he actually wants, I think you’ll be disappointed.”

The captain glared. “I haven’t lost them yet. My men will find their trail.”

Jon scoffed. “Do you think six men stand a chance against the Black Hand?”

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