5. Amateur Outlaws

Chapter 5

Amateur Outlaws

E rran noted it right away. It wasn’t merely the energy at the brightly accoutred breakfast table on the lower veranda, subdued and solemn, because that wasn’t unusual. The mood of all who lived the Spires followed the mood of the steward, and Rylahn Rutland was often a quiet and intense man when not at sea, favoring his own company to that of others.

It was more the furtive glances passed between Erran’s parents, who often conducted their most important conversations in the subtext of charged silences, but rarely in a way that left Erran feeling squarely on the outside of whatever was happening.

It was just the four of them that morning—he, Mariel, and his parents—as Sessaly was engaged in one of her many pre-wedding appointments. It was just as well. She wouldn’t have resisted the urge to call out how strange their parents were acting, and that never went well.

Erran waved a hand over his plate to indicate to the maid passing by that he needed no more pork. Whether he could eat any of it at all would depend on the first words spoken, and as he watched his mother and father pull sips from their morning tea or stab the contents of their plates, he wagered who would go first.

It turned out to be the last person he expected.

“I wanted to... ah... thank you both for such a lovely evening,” Mariel said.

From the startled looks they shared, his parents were just as surprised, like they’d been stirred from a long sleep.

“It’s so good to have Erran back home, where we can focus on...” A stretch pulled her jaw taut, but it was so quick, he could have just as easily missed it. “Starting a family of our own.”

“Aye.” Rylahn wiped his face on his napkin and tossed it beside his plate. His coiffed hair shimmered on the balmy, plummy breeze passing through the portico. “You have a full season before he returns to sea, and I’m encouraged to hear you intend to make use of it.”

Hestia casually watched the conversation, despite her obvious interest.

Erran went from concerned to suspicious.

“We do. We very much do.” Mariel reached for her tea, her hand briefly forming a soft fist before wrapping around the goblet. “In fact, we’ve already started.”

Erran choked on his tea, waving a hand when his mother shifted her attention to him.

“I trust if you require anything, you’ll let my wife know,” Rylahn said, without looking up from his plate. His gaze swung briefly aside, fork paused midair, but his thoughts seemed to be anywhere but the bedroom activities of his son and Mariel.

“The stewardess has been generous with her kindness and advice, and I will not hesitate to speak up should there be needs I cannot meet.”

Erran wrinkled his brows until they ached, but neither of his parents seemed overly suspicious at Mariel’s turn of mood. Her acting was damned near convincing. If either of them had seen how she spoke to him in private though, they wouldn’t have bought a word of it.

Rylahn’s cutlery clattered to his plate. Everyone startled. “Mariel, I regret I have unfortunate news, but I’ll ask that you receive this information as gracefully as you can manage.”

Mariel’s plastered smile froze. “And what news would that be, sir?”

His broad shoulders rolled back in a gesture Erran recognized well. His father was clearly annoyed, but it wasn’t the general kind, easily resolved. Whatever troubled him had created an unnecessary and unforgiveable distraction. “It seems your brother has been taken in by the law in the wee hours of the morning. He’s presently locked away in a regional jail north of Whitecliffe.”

Mariel shoved her hands under the table, her chest swelling. “For...” She cleared her throat. “For what was he arrested?”

“Ludicrous, really,” Hestia said with a tight, jittery laugh. “He wouldn’t be the first to falsely claim to be the Flame, but certainly the most preposterous.”

A blank stare was all Mariel could muster, but it gave Erran the push to say something. “When are we riding to free him?” he asked.

Mariel whipped her gaze his way. Confusion flared in her irises.

“Not today or anytime soon.” Rylahn snapped his fingers, and his plate was swiftly cleared. He offered a curt nod in gratitude. “I’m expected in Sandymount by midafternoon.”

“We’re not going to leave him there?” Erran asked, stunned. He couldn’t blame his father for not wanting to parade the drunken imbecile in front of their friends and acquaintances at a party, but abandoning a family member to rot in jail was not the Rutland way. It wasn’t the way of any gentleman. “If you have business in Sandymount, then I’ll go to the jail.”

Mariel remained silent, staring through the columns and into the sea. There was almost no color left in her face.

“You will not.” When Rylahn stood, so did Hestia and Erran, but Mariel didn’t move. No one reproached her, which was good, because Erran might have lost his mind. No matter how he felt about her, there was wrong and there was right, and his father was wrong. “We cannot be seen to be relying on nepotism when there is so much attention on this Obsidian Sky gang these days. He’ll be questioned and no doubt released when they determine him incompetent of what he claims.”

“But that could take days!” Erran was astonished. “Can this business in Sandymount not wait until this crisis has passed?”

“I am afraid not.” Rylahn refastened his waistcoat with a gentle cough. “The unfortunate theft of Baroness Alden’s golden egg last night has ignited a sense of irrational fear in some of the other barons, and they’ve demanded we move the auction up. Tomorrow, it seems. I’m going to meet with Banner, the broker, to inspect the gold, which should arrive this afternoon if the weather holds.” He garbled a sigh. “I’ll be glad when this unfortunate auction business is behind us, for it’s been far more trouble than any of it is worth. If you’ll excuse me.”

A flurry of attendants followed him, his limping bootfalls echoing across the marble and then fading into the background din of the bustling keep.

Erran looked at his mother. “We’re really doing nothing?”

“You heard your father.” Hestia’s mouth puckered. He saw the truth in her eyes, that she was not aligned with her husband, but she always fell in line no matter her feelings. “This will blow over.”

Mariel seemed to be completely focused on breathing. Her mouth moved, but she didn’t speak.

“Mariel?” Erran whispered.

She looked up in a flash, forging a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t be either.”

“You are only feeding her anxiety, Erran,” Hestia chided. “Her brother is clearly no thief or criminal, and the officials will suss that out quick enough. Now finish your meal before it grows cold.”

Mariel pushed back from the table. “If you’ll pardon me, I need to... tell my poor aunt before she hears it from someone else,” she said, fleeing before anyone could respond.

Erran dithered between following her and heeding his mother’s command for unity. “If he’s not free tomorrow,” he said, searching for the right words, “then I will free him myself, Mother.”

“I do not recommend crossing your father right now, Errandil. You know what’s at stake. Her brother placed himself in this situation, quite unnecessarily. Is a man like that worth causing further divide between yourself and the admiralty?”

“The two should have no intersection. Destin is family. ”

“Alas,” she muttered.

“Mother!”

“Perhaps you’re right. If anyone must be on Mariel’s side in this, it’s her husband.” She wiped her face with a fluttery look upward. Her eyes lingered on the vibrant mural of the Golden Coast, commissioned by Erran’s ancestor, Drummond Rutland. “I’ve lost my appetite. Do nothing unless I say to, Erran. I mean it. No one has a better read on your father than I, and you must trust I have the interests of this entire family in mind when I advise you to calm the storm in your heart and let time and reason do what it must.”

Erran nodded to defuse the tension, but he had no intention of listening to his mother.

Mariel’s claim of visiting her aunt might have sounded reasonable, but he knew precisely where she was actually going, because it was exactly where he’d go if Sessaly was in Destin’s predicament.

For all of their sakes, he needed to be at the jail before it happened.

Mariel was almost to the central hall when an exuberant Sessaly came bounding toward her.

“Oh, Mariel! Do forgive my absence at morning meal. I was with my charms tutor—” Her smile froze. “Is something wrong?”

Patience on reserve and nerves frayed beyond repair, Mariel nonetheless tried to seem pleased to see her sister-in-law, who was nothing like any of the young women she’d been raised around. Sessaly’s only concerns in life were being the first to secure new gossip and not missing the monthly textile bazaar, where she’d pick out her dress patterns for the next season.

And what the bloody hell was a charms tutor?

“I’ve been called to see my aunt.”

“Oh, dear.” When Sessaly frowned, it was a perfect inversion of her smile. “Is she...”

“I’ll know the situation better when I can see her.” Mariel’s focus was still pointed ahead, where she needed to be, not proffering reassurances to someone who could not care half as much as she pretended to. Mariel had to speak with Remy and Augustine immediately. There was a way to fix this, but they had to act fast.

“Can I do anything to help?”

Mariel’s attention briefly returned to her. The girl’s expression was earnest, which could have been a result of practice, though it didn’t seem inauthentic. But she had no time to tease out her true intentions. As with Hestia, there seemed to be two sides to Sessaly’s motivations, and neither woman was to be entirely trusted. “I think a visit will lift her spirits. Will you excuse me?”

“Oh, of course!” Sessaly called after her. “But I am here if you need me, sister!”

She waited until she was clear of the outer gates of Goldsea Spires and then shifted to a jog, lifting her pace every few yards until she was running so fast, the years melted away and she was again the little girl who had raced her siblings around the lake until they were all delirious. She was usually the victor, enough to take the wind out of Destin’s sails, so she started letting him win to lift his spirits, which were so easily defeated, even then.

Mariel stopped at the town stables to rent a horse. Even though Hestia knew she was going to see her “aunt,” the Spires stable boy would no doubt report her comings and goings, and she had no idea when she might return.

Remy lived above a forge in town, his rent paid by doing odd jobs for the blacksmith. It was a small, cramped apartment, one she’d spent many days and nights in herself before her marriage, and it was the closest thing she had to having a place she still thought of as home.

Augustine was already there, as was Alessia. Magnur was working his shift as a guard for a local marine merchant.

Mariel bent over her knees to catch her breath. Remy passed her a cider in silence when she stood, which she shook her head at and blurted, “I know how we can get him out.”

Alessia laughed from where she sat atop a crossbeam that cut through the center of the pitched room, her feet dangling. “We’re many things, Mar, but jail breakers aren’t one of them.”

Remy guided Mariel to the table, where Augustine sat in silence, watching them approach. “We won’t just abandon him. Of course we won’t.” He rubbed her back while she got settled. “What’s your idea then?”

Mariel expected resistance. They’d be right to offer it. There would be no time to plan, to account for contingencies. It was all risk with only a hopeful reward, and if they failed, Destin could rot away in a cell forever, which would be convenient for her in-laws. But while she did not exactly believe in fate, she did believe in providence. The Guardians were fickle, but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t provide to those willing to receive. “First, tell me what happened last night after I left.”

“None of us knows,” Augustine said softly. Her red braids were wound in a messy knot atop her head, like she’d slept crudely in them and hadn’t yet met a mirror. “He left not long after you, and then the rest of us dispersed. Alessia and I came here with Remy because I had the night off, and we were both too sozzled to do much else. A few hours later, Magnur showed up in his guard’s uniform and told us Destin had been jailed for declaring loudly in a tavern that he was the Flame.”

“No one believed him, of course,” Alessia said. “But the lawmen are under order to take all claims of banditry seriously, so unless someone presents evidence on his behalf, he’ll wait to stand trial, where they’ll either see clearly he couldnae possibly be the Flame, or...”

“Or he’ll crumble under the pressure is what you mean to say,” Mariel snapped. “Which is why... why we cannot let him spend even another night there. You all know that, right? Even if you don’t care about my brother?—”

“Mariel.” Remy folded a hand onto her forearm. “We love Destin, same as you. You’re speaking from fear.”

She bowed her head, wringing her hands. An unsteady drip from Remy’s broken sink thrummed between her ears. An idea was forming in her mind, and even to her it sounded hazardous. Preposterous. But if it worked.. . “They moved the auction up because they’re getting nervous. Last night spooked them. It’s tomorrow, in Sandymount. The steward is headed there now to speak with a broker, Banner, who is the one in charge of the whole thing.”

“Really?” Augustine’s mouth dropped open. “Tomorrow?”

“The auction is tomorrow, aye.” Mariel clenched for the next words. “Our best chance is today.”

“Well, that’s just too soon, innit?” Alessia crossed her arms. “We’d need weeks to plan. Even in the best circumstances, five, six days at a minimum? It was a nice dream, Mariel, but it was always a longshot.”

“Would we though?” They were all staring at her, waiting to make their oppositions. Even Remy. She had always found the right words before, but they had become harder, because as she was the Flame, her passion burned brighter than her own personal aims. She could separate Mariel from the equation and truly become her other persona, the arbiter of justice for those who most deserved it. Never had her heart been so exposed and raw. “If we can just get to Banner?—”

“How will this help Destin?” Alessia asked, pressing. “Everyone knows Obsidian Sky isnae just one person. They’ll assume his friends went ahead without him.”

“Nay,” Mariel replied. “They won’t. Because how could Destin possibly know the auction had been moved up if he was in jail when the decision was made?”

“And the rest of us?” Augustine asked. “We’re nay locked away. Nothing stopping us from learning about the change.”

“Mariel is right,” Remy said. He dragged his knuckles along the knotted wood of his rickety table, the uneven legs knocking against the ground. “The Flame is the leader of Obsidian Sky. Everyone knows it. They’d never assume we would move forward on such a big heist without our leader.”

“That doesnae make it a good idea,” Alessia said. “We donnae even ken who this man, Banner, is. Where in Sandymount the gold is being held. We know nothing except a name and a date, and...” She groaned, pulling her hands down her tired face. “I want to help him too, Mar. I do. And I want to stick my dagger straight through the eyeballs of every last feckin’ man participating in this bloody farce. But I have to think of my ailing mother, who would die without my aid. I cannae get sent away. I’m out.” She leaped down and gave Mariel’s shoulder a squeeze, dipping low to kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

Mariel flinched when the door closed. She wanted badly to cry, mostly from frustration, but tears had a way of manipulating those around her. If Remy and Augustine agreed, they would do it because they believed it was right, not because she’d struck at their hearts. “I don’t expect the two of you to risk your necks for Destin or for me. But I’m going. And you can come or you can stay, but if something happens to me...” She choked down another surge of emotion. Only in decisive action was there purpose or absolution waiting. “Please don’t give up on him. Promise me?”

Remy sighed, shaking his head at the table. “And what are you going to do when you meet this Banner, Mar? Say? He’ll be well guarded.”

“Not if he’s at his own home, he won’t. I just need to catch him at the right time.”

“And when you do? You still have to convince him to take you to the gold. You still have to get the gold, which will be under guard.”

Mariel appreciated their routines and traditions, but she’d always been keener on improvisation. If she was too reliant on the effectiveness of a plan, she wasn’t thinking about the dozens of other outcomes, which meant she’d be ready for none. “I’ll know what to say when I get there. He is the one who will have to get creative, for I’ll make sure he knows what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“You don’t even have your mask. Give Auggie an hour to stitch one?—”

“I can’t wait an hour, Remy. I’ll borrow one of yours.”

“Not mine. I’m nay letting you walk into this mess alone.” Augustine tightened the wad of braids on her head and stood. “Give me a moment to change into some of Remy’s shabby clothes, and we’ll leave straightaway.”

She disappeared into the back room, leaving Mariel and Remy alone.

“I know the plan is weak,” she said, sighing. “I’ll shore it up on the ride. There’s no other way.”

“We’ll stop and see Magnur on our way out of town. He doesn’t have to come, but he needs to know where we’ve gone, in case things go sideways,” he said. “So he has time to run, same as Alessia.”

Mariel brightened in surprise. “You’re coming?”

“Am I coming? Really?” He smiled wryly. “It was you and I who conceived of this whole thing, Mar. Auggie, Des, they went along with it for us, but you and me... This is our show. The Flame and the Tactician. So it was then, so it is now.” He pushed back. “If this is to be the end, then it should be us. To the bitter or not-so-bitter finale.”

Erran watched Mariel enter a blacksmith shop along the main stretch of Whitecliffe proper, just west of the grand fountain. She’d been in there nearly a half tick of the sun while he waited in an alleyway, trying to keep the horse he’d borrowed from the workers’ stables, Vesper, from reacting to every person who passed. If he’d taken his own mare, others might suspect he’d gone to free Destin. That she rented a horse herself was further evidence of her intention.

He hadn’t. Not yet at least. First he wanted to see if she would try.

But the North Farthing jail was... north, and Mariel had gone into the village. Stopping at the banker’s first would make sense, for bonds on incarcerated brigands had become exorbitant, but he couldn’t guess what urgent business she might have with a blacksmith.

Certainly she didn’t intend to storm the jail, sword swinging.

Did she?

The idea was preposterous. But then, so was following her. She’d made it clear she had a right to her own life, and he had no quarrel with that in theory, but his gut was telling him—no, screaming at him—that she was headed toward danger. Erran had learned when he was a boy to listen to his instincts. He couldn’t recall a time when they’d ever been wrong. While no one had outright called his special “knack” magic, he suspected he had some in him. But as he had no intention of being shipped off to the Sepulchre for years of formal instruction under the magi, he kept his suspicion to himself.

As much as he trusted his intuition, he needed someone else’s to either give credence or discourage him from something that might make their tenuous marriage even worse.

The inn where Samuel and his father were staying for their visit was just around the corner. They were still in town for another week, but Samuel’s father would likely already be on his way to Sandymount for the auction.

His friend’s wisdom was exactly what Erran needed, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the blacksmith shop, so he flagged down a young boy selling apples.

“There’s fifty coins in it for you if watch this shop and come get me at Farthingale Inn if anyone steps out of those doors, particularly a young woman with long, dark hair.” Thinking further about it, he also said, “Another fifty if you can subtly find out what she’s doing in there without her the wiser.”

“Aye, and will it get me in trouble?” the boy asked, and Erran could see it was going to cost him more than a hundred coin, that the boy had taken one look at his silver-threaded jacket and bespoke boots and clocked him for someone who could do much better than that.

“Two hundred, but if you tell a single soul, I’ll find you and gut you like a fish.” Erran would do no such thing, but he hoped his menacing scowl was enough to settle the matter.

The boy’s eyes lit up. He abandoned his apple crate and held out his hand.

“Half now, half when I get back,” Erran said, depositing the coin. “And keep an eye on my horse, will you? Tether her to a post before you head inside.”

He cast one last glance at the blacksmith shop and headed for the inn. Fortunately, Samuel was alone, and after listening to the situation, he simply grabbed his waistcoat and followed Erran.

“I don’t wish to alert her or frighten her, aye? I just want to keep her out of trouble,” he said as they rounded the corner. He spotted the boy dipping out of the shop and jogging across the road to where Vesper was tethered. They headed toward him.

“You really think she’ll try to bond him?” Samuel asked.

“There’s no bond for him until someone speaks on his behalf or he goes to trial, so all she’ll do is cause a stir.” He dug the remaining coin from his pocket and regarded the boy. “What did you find for me?”

“Donnae ken anything they were talking about, truth be told.” The boy scratched his head with a frown.

“They?”

“Saw ’em through the crack in the door of the apartment upstairs. Man and two women. One was the woman you asked about, I ken.” He held out his hand. “Dark hair and the lot.”

“And?” Erran pressed, sharing a glance with Samuel. He closed the coin in his fist, the boy’s eyes following the movement.

“Told ye, I donnae ken. Something about Sandymount and a man they need to see. Makes flags or some such. Was all nonsense to me. One of ’em said it was too dangerous.” He flashed his hand again. “That’s all I heard. Swear.”

Erran reluctantly paid the boy and watched him retrieve his apple crate and scamper off.

“What business does she have in Sandymount?” Samuel asked.

“Couldn’t say,” Erran muttered, but a startling thought crept into the back of his mind, followed by a recollection of what he’d seen the night before, when he’d intercepted Mariel on the road at what had clearly been the crime scene for the stolen golden egg. “But I intend to find?—”

He froze when three individuals emerged from the blacksmith shop: Mariel, followed by the same man who had visited her in Mistgrave, and... his mother’s seamstress?

“I’ve seen that woman before.” Samuel squinted.

“Go get your horse.” Erran tucked back into the alley, following the movements of Mariel and her cohorts.

Samuel shook his head. “We’re going to Sandymount, aren’t we?”

Erran swung onto his saddle. “Aye, and you might just need to catch up to me because I’m not letting them out of my sight.”

Mariel knew the way to Sandymount because the nearest village, Devon, was where her ship was anchored. It was close enough to Whitecliffe that she could reach it if she needed to but far enough away that the Rutlands never had to know their daughter-in-law even had a ship, let alone that she’d won it off a grizzled buccaneer one sweltering night in a game of billiards.

Even had she needed direction, the line of decorated caravans, transport for the wealthy, would have been easy enough to discern. Her belly turned at the thought of them all lining up to bid on land they had no right to. Mariel wasn’t na?ve enough to believe stopping the auction would stanch the gluttony, but Obsidian Sky had always been about slowing the bleed. Even if they were successful in stealing and redistributing all that wealth, the men in those positions would never relinquish their power.

“How will we even find this man, Banner?” Augustine asked as they passed under the village gates, riding between two caravans.

“Leave it to me,” Remy said. They’d ridden the two hours mostly in silence. “He’s a broker, so he’ll have banking connections.”

Mariel snorted, annoyed but not with him. A banker wouldn’t even speak to a woman unless she had her own private account, and there was a sub-zero chance a banker would ever reveal information about the whereabouts of a colleague to one. “Auggie and I can ask around in the taverns. Sandymount is mostly a dry village, but there are two pubs here, so that makes it simple enough.”

“Do that, and we’ll meet up in an hour just there,” he said, pointing at a giant tree in the middle of a square that served as the intersection of the four main roads. “I don’t have to tell you both to choose your words carefully. The stewards are already spooked, and the last thing we need is word getting to any of them that people are asking around.”

“Well, I don’t even have to lie when I say I have a husband in need of a property broker,” Mariel said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure Auggie and I can smile and look pretty long enough to quell suspicion.”

“You’re both beautiful,” Remy said, his tone earnest. “I’d be properly cross if the next time I saw either of you was in a jail cell I had no power or authority to spring you from.”

“Who are you talking to?” Mariel laughed and leaned across her horse to nudge him. Her mirth faded. “It wasn’t personal before, Remy, but it is now, aye? I don’t trust the steward to do a damn thing to help my brother, so it’s on us. This is for Destin.”

“For Destin,” the Perevil siblings replied in concert.

“They’ve split up,” Samuel said.

“Aye.” Erran squinted as Mariel took the seamstress’s hand in hers and stepped into a tavern near the crossroads. What Mariel was even doing with the girl was confounding, but it was only one piece in the convoluted puzzle his wife had crafted behind his back.

They’d given the group enough of a lead to blend in with the other travelers coming to Sandymount for the auction, which should have had two more weeks of planning. Playing into fear was not a good strategy. Unlike his father, Erran didn’t think the event was at risk. Obsidian Sky was a thorn in the side of all Rutlands—and all barons who answered to them—but it was full of amateur outlaws. Petty theft was one thing; pirating a hoard of gold that had to be more protected than the king himself was another.

But there were still those trifling thoughts stewing in the back of his mind, about Mariel, Sandymount... all of it.

“Erran, I have to ask. What do you think she’s up to?”

It was obvious she was no longer headed to the jail, but it was far too premature to voice his new suspicion, which was ostensibly ridiculous. “I prefer not to speculate.”

“Should we then?” Samuel asked. “I take the man. You take the women?”

“Nay,” Erran said distantly, his stare locked on the tavern. “We wait, together. Whatever they’re up to, it starts and ends with my wife.”

Remy was already waiting for them near the tree when Mariel and Augustine arrived.

He wiped a band of sweat from his brow. The sun was blistering; a midseason gift, some called it. “His office is south of here, near the fork that splits you between Leecaster Bay or Devon. Three Points.”

“I know it,” Mariel said. She remembered seeing a business at Three Points, but it wasn’t a broker’s office.

“He shares the building with his wife, a dressmaker. The sign outside is for her business, so that’s what we’ll watch for. They warned me he has important business today and might not be in.” Remy laughed and scratched his cheek. “Took all my reserve not to tell them aye, I’m familiar with it .”

“All right, so what next then, Tactician?” Augustine asked, quiet enough only for the three of them.

“This is Mariel’s show,” he said.

“I’ve been thinking about it the whole ride,” Mariel answered carefully. She did have a plan, but it was nowhere near as solid as the others were used to. It was haphazard at best, and its success depended very much on certain particulars falling conveniently into place—another reason she preferred taking each moment as it came. “It’s good for us if Banner is at his own office. He won’t be foolish enough to have stored the gold there, so his place shouldn’t be teeming with guards. We just have to find the right pressure point to sway him. If it’s the gold itself, so be it. We’ll give him a share, and it won’t even scratch the surface.” She frowned. “But if it was gold, he’d never be trusted with an event like this. It must be something else. I’ll know what it is when we get there.”

“What are you thinking, Mar?” Remy asked.

“Does he have children... Is he in love with his wife... We’ll know when we see where he spends his time, won’t we? And we use that, to get him to call off the dogs wherever the gold is stored and get us in. Out. He’ll most likely have a wagon we can use, but we’ll have to be quick because wherever we go, the law will not be far behind.”

“You want to kidnap his wife and child?” Augustine leveled a dubious look at her.

Mariel clawed at her neck, itching from sweat. It wasn’t the heat though. She’d never felt so unsteady about a heist, but those were the last words they needed from her. “He only needs to believe we would.” She grimaced. “We only have two masks. I may need to reveal myself, but it will be all right. These men are scared of Obsidian Sky, even if they’d never admit it. This is our best chance, and we won’t get another.”

“Reveal yourself?” Remy scoffed, his lip curling. “You don’t mean that.”

“They don’t know any of us . Our faces mean nothing, not really.”

“Auggie and I maybe, but you’re married to a Rutland!”

“And I’m a nobody in their eyes,” Mariel retorted. “It’s the whole reason they chose me for their precious son. Even if Banner or his cronies were at our party last night, a hundred coin says not one of them could pick me out of a crowd, because they don’t care about me. They were there to preen before his father and Lord Warwick.” She shook her head. “Even if someone did recognize me , would it be so bad? We’d have the gold. I wouldn’t need to stay in this sham marriage and pretend to like the princeling and his vapid family. We could...” The next part was hard to say, but it was what they wanted to hear—what they’d been waiting for. “Retire. Keep just enough gold to exist on. Distribute the rest.” She pointed south, in the direction of the sea. “The Mistwitch is anchored just off Devon. We could go anywhere, after we collect Destin and Alessia and Magnur.”

“You’ll take my mask,” Remy stated, reaching into his pocket.

Mariel laid a steadying hand on his arm. “I won’t argue this point. The two of you get the masks. I’ll figure something out. It will be fine. If anything goes awry, you ride hard. You run.”

“No one would believe him,” Augustine said, her eyes clouding in thought. “Banner. If he told people he was assaulted by two women and a man, they’d think he was telling tales to excuse his negligence. Wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe,” Remy said, but he didn’t sound convinced. His hand was still fixed to his mask pocket, his eyes studying Mariel. “But this isn’t just our lives we’re risking. Everyone we help... the miners, the grocers, the dock workers...”

Mariel nodded, tilting her head toward the sky and the scorching sun. “I’ll go in alone. If something happens to me, it won’t stop you from continuing the work.”

“Not a fucking chance am I letting you walk in there without me,” Remy said gruffly. “This is really the best way? You believe that? And not just because you’re desperate to help Destin but because you truly believe it?”

“I’ve believed since I first heard of the auction. I knew... I knew it was what we’d been waiting for, working toward. Aye, it’s a longshot now, without more time to plan, with mere hours to sort things, but what... Remy, Auggie, what if we win ? What if we actually succeed? Is it not at least worth trying? We may never get another chance like this.”

“You are truly insane, Mariel,” Augustine said, shaking her head. “But that’s the girl I love, and it’s the one I’ve followed for ten years. I go where you go.”

“Aye,” Remy agreed, sighing. “It’s not much of a plan, but we’ve learned to improvise over the years. We’ll think of something when we get there.”

Mariel exhaled her heavy relief, wondering if they would still follow her if they knew that, should it come down to it, she planned to sacrifice herself to save them.

Erran and Samuel followed the group for nearly an hour before arriving at the crossroads that split travelers between the small port of Devon and the larger Leecaster Bay.

Mariel and her cohorts dismounted and tethered their horses to a post outside of a two-story building, which appeared to be both residence and business. The flagging sign, hanging from an archway that served as the entrance to the path leading to the door, read Banner Threads and Weaves.

His blood chilled.

Banner.

I’m going to meet with Banner, the broker, to inspect the gold, which will arrive just ahead of me, if the weather holds.

He builds flags or some such.

“I’m beginning to understand your suspicions, mate,” Samuel said. “If she’s traveling with a seamstress, why would she need to come all the way out here for one? Perhaps the woman is purchasing materials? Though it’s a long way to come when you have plenty of your own shops in Whitecliffe.”

But Erran couldn’t speak with the clog so thoroughly occupying his throat.

He prayed his father was meeting the man anywhere but there.

The short, portly woman who answered the door to Banner Threads and Weaves wore a beaming smile as she invited her guests in, a gesture that flagged slightly when they explained they were actually there to see Mr. Banner about managing the sale of their family estate, not to commission gowns.

When they’d seen her approaching through the window, Remy and Augustine had quickly pocketed their masks. She’d never let them in looking like bandits, and they needed to at least get a location on her husband.

“Ah. He so rarely receives visitors outside of his village office,” Mrs. Banner said with a distant, thoughtful look.

“We asked in the village, and they sent us this way,” Mariel explained. “But if we’ve been misinformed, we’re happy to ride back.”

“Nonsense. Nonsense. We’ll... Come, come.” She ushered them in. “Who made your cloak, dear?” she asked Augustine with a favorable appraisal.

“I did.” Augustine cleared her throat with a glance at Mariel. “That is... I picked out the, ah, fabric and showed it to my seamstress.”

“Compliments to whoever she is, for she should be sewing for royalty.”

Augustine beamed until Remy flicked his eyes her way.

“Thread and yarn work is an art, no matter what anyone says about it,” the woman said, continuing as she led them down a short hall, toward a light-filled room at the back of the house. “Men, of course, just think their vests and trousers magically appear in their bureaus, like little elves delivered them.”

Augustine laughed along with her. She stumbled a bit when her mask slipped from her pocket, and she had to bend in a rush to grab it.

Mariel felt like throwing up. For the first time in a long time, a tingle of regret made itself known in her thoughts.

“I could not agree more, Madam Banner,” Augustine said. “A quite underappreciated art, even by the women.”

“My mother was a madam. I prefer Nora,” the woman said, leading them into a broad solarium. “And how right you are, Miss...”

“Evelyn,” Augustine replied without missing a beat. “And these are my siblings, Delia and Marcus.”

“Hmm. My own sister and I haven’t spoken in years.” She dusted her hands against her apron with another broad grin. “Right. You’ll be wanting tea.”

“That’s not necessary. We can just wait for Mr. Banner,” Mariel said quickly.

“Nonsense. You’re here for my husband, and he’ll nay be chiding me for not affording proper care to his guests.” Her lips peeled back, revealing teeth that were half gold, half rotted. “Willnae be but a moment.”

“Is he here?” Mariel prodded.

“Oh, aye, donnae you fuss yourselves. Sit tight.”

“I don’t like this,” Remy murmured through a tight gap in his pressed lips. “Something is off.”

Mariel sensed it too, but they were so close... one conversation away from what they’d waited months and months— years —for, and she refused to let fear be what stood in their way. “Patience,” she whispered. “We’ve come this far.”

“There’s a word for this... this idea that after investing so much time in something, you believe you can’t walk away,” Remy answered. He stared intently at the door Nora had exited through. “But it’s folly. It leads to folly. And this...”

“Mar, I agree. I have a bad feeling.” Augustine leaned in until her breath swept Mariel’s neck. “If Des were here, he’d feel it.”

“But he’s not, is he? And he won’t be until we come through for him.” Mariel rolled her neck, cracking it. She squeezed out a pursed breath. Sweat beaded between her breasts and along her collarbones. “She said her husband was here?—”

“Did she?” Augustine replied. “I don’t ken she answered your question directly at all, and why is that?”

“You’re being ridiculous, Auggie. This woman has no reason to distrust us or our intentions. We have, as far as she knows, legitimate business with her husband.”

“Maybe because they’re on high alert after last night,” Remy said. His head kept shaking. “I just think?—”

They whipped their heads toward the door at the sound of boots clanging on stone. Not one pair, but several. Heavy, full of intent. A storm of swords slapping buckles.

Mariel’s mouth parted, but all she could do was nod at them both and then the door they’d come in through.

The three of them slowly stood. Remy drew a dagger, but she shook her head at him and mouthed, Run!

Augustine was first, launching into a dead sprint toward the entrance. No sooner than she started did the guards rush in.

“Go, go!” Mariel cried, shoving Remy from behind as they reached the door. “Masks on! Split up!”

“No!” Augustine yelled back. “We stick together!”

“As your leader, I am commanding you to go the opposite way I go!”

“Just do as she says,” Remy barked, practically throwing his sister up onto her horse. He rushed to mount his as Mariel pulled herself astride her own. “Our meeting spot, as soon as it’s safe. You better be there.”

“Stop them!” a man screeched. “Head them off!”

“I’ll see you soon,” Mariel promised, but as she charged south, she knew better. She waited just long enough to see her friends ride east before turning her horse toward the encroaching guards and crying out, “You want the Flame so badly, lads? Here’s your chance!”

Charged with adrenaline, Mariel urged her horse toward Devon and the port that would take her to the Mistwitch .

“ Fuck ,” Samuel whispered, the first time Erran had ever heard him use a proper curse. “What do you suppose... doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. I’ll go after?—”

“Follow the others. I’ve got Mariel,” Erran commanded and raced down the hill and through the dust of the three guards pursuing her.

Devon had never felt so far away, but the time passed in a deafening blur of fear and hooves, and before long, Mariel was barreling down the long hill that led into the small fishing village, where she would either steal a rowboat and race for the Mistwitch or die trying.

The plan seemed less and less viable as the guards tailing her closed in. Their horses were built for speed and distance, and her rented one was not. They were purposely wearing her out so they could gain on her when she exhausted her mare.

Mariel pushed the poor beast harder and harder, promising they were almost there.

She prayed in bleak desperation that Remy and Augustine had outrun their own pursuers. If something befell them, it would be entirely her fault. They’d never used the word, but if they had, she’d have deserved it. Reckless. That was how she’d been acting all day, no more than when she’d realized what she planned to do. What she should have done was leave Banner’s home after the first moment she’d felt something terrible was coming, but instead, she’d let a dozen more moments like that one pass in her single-minded stubbornness to be right.

She shouldn’t have gone to Sandymount at all. Her mind, split between the chase and a cataloging of her remorse, pulled no punches assessing her motive. For the first time in Obsidian Sky’s history, she’d ignored her instincts and trudged forward in spite of them. It was the one thing she hadn’t compromised on, their safety.

Mariel approached her last chance to turn south into the village, toward the docks, but she knew she wouldn’t make it. She’d already decided what to do instead, she only needed to dig deep for the courage.

Her horse reared as she slid to a near stop and forced a hard turn to the east, heading down a path parallel to the sea. She gritted down and leaned in for the final push, praying her landmark, the tall, half-leaning stone pine, was still there.

“What’s the bitch doing?” one of the men said amid their flutter of course correction.

Her borrowed horse struggled up a small embankment. “Come on, just a little farther. We’re almost there,” she urged, her forehead tickling his mane. Her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest, and she wondered if that was something that could actually happen to a person.

To find out, she’d need to die, and she refused to go down without one hell of a fight.

Erran had held a safe distance for most of the ride, but when he saw the Devon coastline appear under the midday sun, he knew they were nearing the end of the chase.

He spurred Vesper, knowing full well doing so would reveal his presence to the men chasing Mariel. Why they were chasing her and why she was visiting Banner, those were questions for another time, though he wondered if he’d ever get the answers.

There’d been no time to strategize with Samuel about what should happen if he caught up to the other two, but he had to trust his friend would know what to do.

Erran’s mind and heart were a labyrinth of confusion, but he was certain of one thing.

He couldn’t let those men catch up to Mariel, no matter what she’d done.

Just ahead, Mariel kicked up a whirl of dust as she made a sharp turn onto a path, which led up into the milky sea cliffs that stretched to a peak above the sea.

Other than a couple of mines scattered along the coastline, there was nothing up there but land, for miles.

“What are you doing, Mariel?” he murmured. Warm wind battered his face as he closed the gap with the guards. Her horse wasn’t built for such a hard ride and was struggling up the hill. The men would catch up, and soon. He had to stop them—or slow them. But how?

A diversion would do nothing. They’d followed her for almost a full half hour from Sandycove at breakneck speed to catch her. He didn’t think he could outrun them either, even though he got closer, the best he could do was match their pace. He couldn’t push Vesper much harder without harming her.

Erran nearly laughed as a preposterous idea leaped into his thoughts. He hadn’t traveled to Sandymount with much in his tack bag, but he had brought apples, for the horse. When they were boys, Khallum used to challenge them all to feats of strength, and one had been to see who could hurl something the farthest into the sea. Erran won almost every time, at throwing and nearly everything else they did. He might be known as the “prettiest” of the bunch, and his accent might not be as leathered as Khallum’s or Hamish’s, but he’d always been the most adept at any sport they engaged in.

He’d never thrown anything while riding a horse to the brink of her limits, but it was the only idea he had.

Erran wrapped his left hand tight in the reins to stabilize himself as he fumbled the other, searching for the clasp on his bag. He couldn’t get it unbuckled with all the jostling, so he tugged hard, grunting through his teeth as he ripped the buckle clear off. A couple of apples spilled out and disappeared on the road behind him.

He made a fist over an apple. Killing either of the men was the last thing he intended, so he couldn’t aim for their heads. But no matter where he aimed, it would land where it landed. The ride was too unsteady to guarantee accuracy.

It’s them or her.

Erran had no damn reason to show her any loyalty when she’d offered him only misery, but still he cocked his arm back and held it in place a moment to count the space between Vesper’s hooves striking earth, as he’d heard the great Riders of the Rush did when battling on horseback. If he timed it right... No, there wasn’t time. That was the problem.

He whispered a silent prayer to the Guardian of the Unpromised Future and launched the apple. It struck one of the men right between the shoulders, and the shock of it sent him toppling off his horse, which rode on without him.

The other guard pulled to a stop, clearly confused about what had just happened, but it was enough hesitation for Erran to break away and surpass them. He rode by, pushing the horse one last time as they climbed another embankment.

When he crested the hill, he spotted Mariel ahead, but she was no longer mounted. She kissed the horse’s snout and gave her a pat, releasing her. When she turned back toward the sea, her eyes locked on Erran, widening. Her expression froze that way as she butted up to the cliff’s edge.

“No!” Erran cried, dismounting before he’d commanded Vesper to stop. He landed in a painful roll before springing back to his feet and running the rest of the way. “Mariel, no!”

“What are...” Her face, pale from the shock, whipped between him and the sea. “Why are you here? How did you—” She held out her arms. “Doesn’t matter. I...” Breathless, she bounded away from the precipice, then launched into a sprint that sent her hurtling over the cliff’s edge, her legs scissoring the air as she disappeared into the abyss of sea and sky.

Erran’s heart stopped beating altogether for a moment. He raced to the cliff to confirm his fear, that she’d thrown herself to her death on the rocks below, but she popped up from the water and swam against the tide, headed out to sea. In the distance he spotted a ship, anchored in place, and a fresh fear emerged as he wondered if she was planning to go for it, if she was even a strong enough swimmer to make it that far. Lake rats weren’t used to the rough and capricious sea like coastal dwellers were.

The guard he hadn’t pegged with the apple came up and over the hill, red-faced and screaming unintelligible curses and warnings.

All it would take was to explain to them who he was. The son of the most revered steward in the Southerlands. The best mate of the lord of the Northerlands. The heir to the largest admiralty in the realm.

But revealing himself would ensure the events of the day made it straight to his father’s ears. There was no story that would justify him chasing Mariel across the Reach, of her visiting Banner, of him knocking a guard senseless to protect whatever she’d done. The admiralty, everything he’d ever worked for or cared about, would be taken away, and he’d be left with nothing but his shame.

Erran looked once more at the approaching guard, swallowing an enormous lump of dread.

There wasn’t time to think of an alternative.

He had two choices, both terrible.

For the admiralty.

Erran held his breath, reared back to gain speed, and dived in after her.