“Where is the governor?” His Osfridian was still clear.
Governor Doyle hesitantly stepped forward. “I’m the governor. You have no business here. Get out before my army beats yours to the ground.” It was a bluff, seeing as the militia had thirty at most by now. I think several had fled.
“We do have business,” the Icori man said. “We’ve come seeking justice—your help in righting a wrong done to us.” His eyes flicked toward Warren. “I was told we’d need more than two people to have our demands heard. So here we are.”
“You’ve had no wrongs done to you,” said Governor Doyle. “We’ve all agreed to the treaties. We’ve all obeyed them. You have your land, we have ours.”
“Soldiers are moving into our land and attacking our villages—soldiers from the place you call Lorandy.” The Icori man met the governor’s gaze unblinkingly. “And your own people are aiding them and letting them cross your territories.”
This caused a nervous stir among our colonists, but Governor Doyle only grew angrier. “Impossible! Lorandians moving into your lands means they would flank ours. No man among us would allow such a thing.”
“Your own son would.”
A new speaker emerged from the Icori, bringing her horse beside the man.
And I knew her.
I hadn’t picked Tamsin out right away. Her red hair had blended into theirs, and she was dressed like them too, in a knee-length green dress edged in that plaid. Her hair hung in two long, loose braids intertwined with copper pendants. I’d been stunned when I saw her with the Grashond residents. But this . . . this was enough to make me think I was imagining things.
Her entire presence was calm and composed, very different from the wildly emotional demeanor I associated with her. “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.”
Warren lowered the gun and came to life beside us. “It’s a lie, Father! There’s no telling what these savages have 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,” she replied.
“Lies,” said Warren. He took a few steps back, panic filling his face. “This girl is delusional!”
A man suddenly climbed up the stairs. Warren spun around to face this newcomer. It was Grant Elliott, looking particularly bedraggled today, and he didn’t seem fazed by any of this. He strolled over beside me and looked as though a halted hanging, an Icori army, and potential traitors were part of an ordinary day for him.
“She’s telling the truth,” he said, locking his hard gaze on Governor Doyle and not Warren. The gruff Grant I remembered from the storm was back. “There are stacks of correspondence. Witnesses who’ll testify.”
“Elliott?” Warren gaped. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Grant’s heavy gaze fell on Warren. “I think you know. About Courtemanche. About the ‘heretic couriers.’”
I saw the shift in Warren’s eyes, the moment when he was truly pushed over the edge by whatever those enigmatic words meant. And I knew, before he raised the gun at Grant, what was going to happen. “Look out!” I cried, throwing myself into Grant. I didn’t quite knock him over but pushed him out of the way enough to just barely evade the bullet that fired from Warren’s gun. That put me directly in front of him for the gun’s second bullet. And I could tell from his frantic expression that it didn’t really matter who he shot at this point.
Suddenly, I heard a thwack sound, and something moved in my periphery. The next thing I knew, Warren was lying on the ground, clutching his leg and screaming in agony. Something that looked like an arrow was sticking out of his knee. It was the same leg I’d stabbed him in. Grant knelt down to restrain Warren, but that seemed unnecessary given the wails of pain.
I, like many others, tried to figure out where the shot had come from. The Icori and the feeble militia looked equally baffled. At last, I found what I’d been searching for.
And I couldn’t tell in that moment which was more incredible, that Tamsin was among the Icori warriors . . .
. . . or that Mira was standing on an overturned wagon, wielding a crossbow.
Chapter 31
My second wedding was bigger than my first one. And a lot cleaner.
I would certainly still argue that I didn’t need ceremony or pomp to declare my love for Cedric. A bath and nice clothes didn’t change how I felt. But there was no way I’d turn them down.