A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(54)

They want to know why I think I have any right to be here.

I can’t answer any of their questions like this—and it wouldn’t matter anyway. They’re too loud, too angry. Dustan and the other guards have formed a barrier between me and the people, but I only brought eight guards for this visit. Our horses are stabled in the livery, so we can’t flee.

I do not understand how fate can consistently deliver such conflicting results all at once. I’m at odds with Harper again—but I have a dagger at my waist that could stop Lilith. I finally have insight into Syhl Shallow’s movements—but I have an angry crowd at my feet.

Dustan has a hand on his sword, but he hasn’t drawn it yet. Neither have the others. Right now, the people are just angry, but a weapon has the potential to turn anger into a death sentence. I’ve heard Dustan’s reports about their attempt to take Grey when he was in Blind Hollow, how the townspeople turned on the guards and soldiers and drove them out of the city.

Rebellion is contagious, my father used to say. All it takes is one unchecked rebel and you’ll have a dozen more in a matter of days.

This is more than a dozen. I wore armor as a symbol of strength, but now I’m wondering if it’s going to be a necessity. My earlier frustration with Harper has vanished, replaced with a biting panic that she’s somewhere in the marketplace, mostly unguarded.

I can’t even send a guard to find her, because they’d have to fight their way through this crowd first.

Anscom Perry, the Grand Marshal, is on the steps with me, standing to my left, but he looks a bit smug. His own guards surround the courtyard, but they’re taking no action. At this point, I’m not even sure whose side they’d be on if a fight erupted.

Chesleigh is off to my right, and she looks grim. She’s got a hand on her own weapon. She brings me stories of unity and progress in Syhl Shallow, of preparation, and here I can’t even meet with a man about aligning his private army with my own.

I felt like a failure for the entire duration of the curse.

Now I feel like a failure for an entirely different reason.

I look at Marshal Perry and keep my voice low. “You will ask them to disband.”

“Why?” he says, unimpressed. “Do you not always ask your people to speak true?”

“Not like this and you know it.”

A man shouts from the crowd, “You lied about forces from Disi!”

“You aren’t the rightful heir!” shouts a woman.

Another man rushes forward and shoves one of my guardsmen, but he’s quickly knocked to the ground. A child nearby screams. The guard begins to pull a sword.

“Hold!” I snap, and the guard hesitates. “I will hear your complaints, but I will not—”

“Liar!” shouts a man. “Liar!”

Quickly, others bring up the same chant. That man shoves my guardsman again, and I can feel the guard’s frustration when he’s been ordered not to draw a weapon. When the shove is unchecked, the crowd begins shoving at my other guardsmen. Someone spits in Dustan’s face. He sets his jaw and holds his stance.

Chesleigh pulls closer to me. “Sometimes making an example of one gets the attention of many.”

“If we draw blood first, this will end in a massacre. Possibly of my own men.”

“I’m not talking about the crowd.” She looks at Marshal Perry. “I’m talking about making an example of him.”

“The courtyard is surrounded by my own guards,” he says with a laugh. “Go ahead and try.”

Months ago, when I traveled to Hutchins Forge with Grey, we were ambushed, but it was nothing like this. The Grand Marshal and his Seneschal had plotted to manipulate me out of silver, and when they failed, I was forced to make an example of the Seneschal. I ordered Grey to kill him—the first time I’d ever given an order to end someone’s life. I’d caused a lot of destruction as a monster, but it was the first time I’d been responsible as a man. It was horrible then.

It would be horrible now.

My heart is pounding like someone has drawn a weapon on me. This is like the moment Grey refused to reveal the name of the heir. Emberfall is in danger, and my hand is being forced.

Every time I need to take an action like this, I hate it.

I hate it. But I see no other way out.

“You will tell them to stand down,” I say tightly.

“I will do no such thing,” he snaps.

“This is treason.”

“It’s not treason if you’re not the rightful heir.”

“Commander,” I say, and my voice is rough.

He turns to look at me, and my guardsmen are well trained. Another guard shifts to take his place. Dustan’s hand is still on his sword. Spit is still wet on his cheek.

I don’t want to do this. Grey always made it seem as though it was easy to take action, to accomplish these horrible things. I always thought it would get easier every time I have to put lives at risk, but it doesn’t. It gets harder.

Marshal Perry must realize that I’m serious, because he takes a step back. His guards have begun to shift forward. “You think you can hold your people together this way?” he shouts. He spits at me. “You’re no better than Karis Luran.”

My pulse is a roar in my ears. I inhale to give an order. His blood will be on the stones, and there will be no way to undo it. I can’t undo what I did to Grey, either, but there was no other choice.