Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Jarek’s eyes flip to the blacksmith. “Is that so?”
The blacksmith swallows. “I do not need to prove my claim to some easterner or her guards.”
“Maybe not, but I would think you need to prove it to Lord Rengard,” I retort.
A rush of approaching hooves draws attention to the left. From a side street, guards on horseback emerge, charging this way.
“Oh, perfect timing! I’m sure they’ll take you right to him.” I hop off the wall and edge in closer to Jarek and Elisaf, swarmed by both relief and trepidation. “Maybe we should leave.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have been here in the first place, Lady Diana of Cornwall,” Elisaf chastises. “It’s too late now. That is Lord Rengard himself, and he is already here.”
Sure enough, the riders have closed the distance in an instant. A regal-looking man with a trimmed goatee and a single stripe of gray through his otherwise black hair leads the pack when they reach us.
Next to him are Zander and Abarrane.
Shit.
Zander’s dark gaze finds us almost immediately.
Jarek’s smirk is grim. “After Abarrane is done whipping me, remind me to define ‘inconspicuous’ to you.”
Thankfully, Lord Rengard is focused on the blacksmith. “What is the meaning of this, Oswald?”
“My lord.” The blacksmith—Oswald—releases Pan’s collar and bows.
That Zander and Abarrane are free and seemingly well is no small joy, but I don’t know what story they fed Rengard about me. I shift behind Jarek as covertly as possible, thankful for his size. I can just barely see over his shoulder.
“Why are you making a spectacle of your servant in the town square?” Rengard asks smoothly. “And why do you have a weapon drawn in the presence of nobility?”
“Oh yes, my lord. I mean, I’m sorry, my lord.” Oswald’s bravado is gone. He sheathes his dagger. “I believe Pan has ingested some of that poison.”
“Really. And why do you believe that?” Rengard’s tone is flat, revealing nothing. “Do you have proof? Has someone fed on him and died?”
“Well, no—”
“Where is the vial you found on his person?”
“I didn’t, but I saw him throw something—”
“You have no legitimate reason to suspect this, then, do you, Oswald?”
I like this nobleman.
There’s a long pause, and then, “No, my lord.”
Rengard shifts his focus to Pan. “Are you eighteen yet, boy?”
“Just turned, my lord. A week ago,” Pan says.
“So you will be included in the next Presenting Day.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And are you the only servant in Oswald’s household?”
“Yes, my lord. My ma passed the day before my birthday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rengard maneuvers off his horse, his boots hitting the cobblestone. “I’ll tell you what I think, Oswald.” He approaches slowly.
I edge in closer to Jarek’s back.
He peers over his shoulder and whispers, “Subtle,” but at least he doesn’t shoo me away.
“I think you are without extra coin and down to one servant—a gangly boy who you feel might not fetch much for you come auction time—to live off until next spring. Our law states that should any upstanding keeper find themselves without a tributary due to untimely death, they can plead for compassion in my great hall and be awarded a new one outside of Presenting Day at a fraction of the cost. You, Oswald, saw an opportunity.”
“My lord, I did not—”
“Did you honestly think my court clerk wouldn’t tell me when someone has been lurking around his office, asking about available female tributaries of childbearing age available in the case of special recompense?”
“Yes, my lord. I mean, no, I did not think he would tell you, my lord,” Oswald stammers.
With a heavy sigh, Rengard climbs up beside Pan on the wall, turning to address the crowd.
I shrink farther behind Jarek, until my face is practically buried within his back.
“Seeing as I have half of Bellcross here now, and I know most of you have heard about the poison that travels in evil hands through Islor, let me be very clear. The king of Islor has declared any mortal found with the poison on their person or who has ingested said poison and caused death shall face swift and severe punishment.” He pauses. “I support this mandate. What I will not support, under any circumstances, are keepers taking matters into their own hands without legitimate proof of said crimes. Boy … what is your name?”
“Pan, my lord.”
“Pan, have you ingested poison to kill your keeper?”
“No, my lord.” He punctuates that with a head shake.
“And you would allow me to take your vein to prove your keeper wrong?”
“You, my lord?”
“I would not sacrifice another of my people if you are lying.”
There’s a pause. “Of course, my lord. If that’s what you’d like to do, I mean, I can’t stop ya.” He’s fumbling over his words, his nervousness increasing tenfold. “It’s like I told Lady Diana, who was trying to stop Oswald from killin’ me, I was only throwing a coin in the river for my ma’s memory.”