Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(126)

And I was ready for a fight, ready to do whatever it took to protect my friends. Whether it was Warren Doyle’s machinations or an invading army, I would face it. As I returned toward the door, I noticed a small leather bag with a long strap. I snatched it up too and hung it over me, across my chest. It gave me a place to store the precious papers while leaving my hands free for the crossbow.

Out in the street, a few others had rallied and taken up arms to face the Icori. I joined a small group and charged forward, determination obliterating all traces of my sleepless night. But when the courthouse finally came into view, that fierce resolve faltered, and I staggered to a halt. Those beside me did too.

The scene before us looked more like some elaborate theatrical production than real life. The gallows sat atop a high platform that allowed for a good view, except the audience was no longer made of Denham residents. They’d fled. Instead, a mass of riders filled the space. Icori riders.

I’d never actually seen Icori before, outside of sketches in Osfridian books. They all wore cloaks and wraps of brightly patterned plaid and stripes, a custom they’d maintained long after being driven out of Osfrid and over the sea two hundred years ago. All that color made it difficult to gauge numbers, as did the fact that most of them had blond and red hair. Maybe forty or fifty? From where I was standing, I couldn’t get an accurate view.

But I could see their weapons clearly and sense the tension crackling through them and the danger they presented, even though they made no threatening moves. No one attacked them either, but really, who could? Part of Cape Triumph’s regiment had recently been called to the outer borders, and the fort held only a skeleton regiment. The present militia were outnumbered, and a few looked ready to bolt.

Only one thing could draw my attention from this strange spectacle. Cedric, Adelaide, and a lawyer they knew stood at the end of the gallows platform. Warren Doyle did as well, and he had a gun pointed at my friends. Governor Doyle stood farther down from them and seemed to be in conversation with the Icori. He either didn’t notice or care about his son’s actions just then. Maybe he thought he had bigger problems.

He probably did, but my sights were on Adelaide, Cedric, and that gun. Warren had a desperate, almost crazed look on his face, and I wanted to run right up there and do something, anything, to stop him. Too many people blocked my way, and I didn’t know what Warren would do if he suddenly felt threatened.

“You’ve had no wrongs done to you,” the governor was saying. “We’ve all agreed to the treaties. We’ve all obeyed them. You have your land, we have ours.”

A deep male voice responded from the Icori, somewhere near the front. His Osfridian was good, even with the heavy brogue that still lingered in the far reaches of Osfrid. “Soldiers are moving into our land and attacking our villages—soldiers from the place you call Lorandy,” he said. “And your own people are aiding them and letting them cross your territories.”

“Impossible!” the governor exclaimed. “Lorandians moving into your lands means they would flank ours. No man among us would allow such a thing.”

“Your own son would.”

For one moment, my world froze. That response came from a woman. And I would’ve recognized her voice anywhere.

I pushed forward through a wall of petrified bystanders and tried to get a better vantage. It was Tamsin, it had to be, but she was too obscured for me to see. A handful of militiamen had hunkered down behind an overturned wagon, and I scrambled to its top, ignoring their protest.

“Your son and other traitors are working with the Lorandians to stir up discord and draw Osfrid’s army out of the central colonies—so that Hadisen and others can rebel against the crown,” Tamsin continued.

Tamsin. Alive and well. With the Icori.

“It’s a lie, Father!” Warren turned to the governor, moving the gun away from my friends. “There’s no telling what they’ve brainwashed this girl into believing. What proof does she have for this absurdity?”

“The proof of being thrown off a boat in the middle of a storm when I discovered your plans,” Tamsin shot back.

“Lies! This girl is delusional!” Warren swung the gun uncertainly toward the audience and then back toward Adelaide and Cedric.

I knew that kind of panic could make a man rash and unpredictable. I stood up and prepped a bolt in the crossbow, uncertain if I could make the shot. Even though I was in range, Warren made a small target from this distance and wasn’t standing still. My hands shook. I’d only had half a dozen lessons with Aiana.

Suddenly, a man jumped onto the platform’s stairs and made his way to the gallows. He came to a stop by Adelaide and Cedric, but his focus was on Governor Doyle. I could feel those piercing eyes even from this far away.

Grant.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said. He wasn’t the wry Grant or the tender Grant, not even the eager Grant chasing clues. This was Grant at his fiercest, hard-edged and unwavering in a volatile situation. “There are stacks of correspondence. Witnesses who’ll testify.”

Warren stared at Grant with wide eyes. “Elliott? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I think you know.” Grant’s attention shifted to Warren. “About Courtemanche. About the heretic couriers.”

Warren also knew his situation was deteriorating. It was written in his face and body language. After a quick threat assessment, he turned the gun on Grant. I aimed the crossbow but wasn’t fast enough. Adelaide hurled herself at Grant just as Warren fired. Her save knocked her and Grant out of the bullet’s path, but Warren’s gun was one that held two shots. He immediately aimed at her.