“Lady Diana from Cornwall, my lord. She’s right over there. Behind that guard.”
Jarek’s body stiffens as Rengard’s eyes land on me.
Shit.
“Come forward, please, my lady.” Rengard beckons with a hand.
I ease out from behind my barrier.
Rengard’s eyes widen before darting to Zander. He takes a few seconds to gather his composure. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Diana.”
I give him an esteemed noblewoman’s nod—Corrin trained me well. “And you, my lord.”
“You’ll have to forgive me. You look so much like someone else I know.”
“I’ve heard that, once or twice.”
“I’m sure you have.” He opens his mouth to say more but decides against it, shifting his attention back to the mortal. “Well, Pan? Should we get on with this?”
Pan’s scrawny throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Right here? In front of everyone?”
“What better way to prove your innocence?”
“My lord.” Zander urges his horse forward, its hooves clicking against the stone. “I have other means for ascertaining the answer to your question, and my gut tells me it would bode well to use them in this situation. Do not risk yourself needlessly.”
He means Gesine, which says he is suspicious of this shaking human. Then again, Zander has always been suspicious of everyone.
Rengard considers his veiled warning. “I have always trusted your gut, my friend. Very well. I will leave Pan in your care and expect that you handle the situation accordingly.”
“If he is infected, I will swiftly deliver his judgment.”
“And if he’s innocent, he is free to find a new keeper. Oswald will have no use for him in the dungeon while he pays out his penance.”
The blacksmith’s face pales. “But my lord—”
“Everyone, go home! The excitement is over,” Rengard commands, hopping off the wall.
The guards move in, collect the burly blacksmith at sword point, and whisk him away. Pan’s eyes dart around the dispersing crowd. I’d be looking for an escape route in the shuffle if I were him.
Unfortunately for him, Abarrane is already off her horse and closing in. She flashes a toothy grin. “I have eyes on the back of my head, boy. If you try to run, I will sink an arrow into your arse, and I will not let you remove it. For weeks.” With that threat delivered, she spins to face us. “You were given a direct order to guard her with your life and keep attention off her, yet there she was, standing on this very wall, flaunting herself in front of everyone. Are you incompetent or a fool?” she hisses at Jarek.
A muscle in his jaw ticks. Abarrane is probably the only person who can get away with speaking to him like this.
“How did you let that happen?” she presses.
Something tells me admitting he ducked into a blood brothel will only make things worse, and that the whipping comment was not frivolous. As much as I don’t like Jarek, I can’t have him punished because of me. I step in between them. “I pulled rank on him.”
“Rank?” Abarrane’s face twists. “You have no rank!”
Before she can argue further, Zander joins us, Rengard beside him. “Where are Gesine and Zorya?” No mention of Ianca, I note. A secret from his dear friend, perhaps?
“They left, through the gate,” Elisaf explains. “We agreed to meet after the first bridge.”
Zander blinks, as if trying to process what possible reason we may have for going against his orders. “It is time for us to leave now, too.”
“All of you. I doubt anyone in the crowd would recognize you”—Rengard’s eyes are on me—“but someone will know the king’s face. What that means for me once Atticus hears …” He shakes his head. “I will provide you with two more horses. Go through the gate. None will question you.”
“And the supplies?”