imes lay ahead. His voice was assured, the timbre promising, his expression genuine, a small crease of concern deepening between his brows, and then with a motion of his hand, he deferred to me, inviting me to step forward.
Banques indicated that I should go out onto the skywalk where the citizens could get a better view of me. The wood planks creaked beneath my feet. When I got to the center, I turned and pushed back my hood so they could see me. A low murmur rippled through the crowd. That soldier. The one who took the Patrei. Maybe the last time they saw me I was juggling oranges outside the mercantile, or I was kissing the Patrei in front of the apothecary. Or maybe they saw me slugging him at the arena. I was a mystery to them.
The wind whipped at my hair, and the air fogged with my breath. This was hardly the same city it had been just months ago when it had been full of color, and noise, and light, and warmth. Now it was a dreary sea of long woolen cloaks. Scarves covered noses and mouths, and only bare slivers of eyes looked up at me. Was it because of the harsh weather, or did they want to hide their identities? I wondered how many loyalists stood among them, still waiting for the Patrei to return. I saw the tired slump of their shoulders, and the gloom in their downcast faces. The paper the king had given me shook in my hands. How could I do this? Tell lies about Jase? Tell them in front of Lydia and Nash?
I gave the king one last pleading look. Don’t do this to them. His head angled slightly to the side, unrelenting. He placed a hand on Nash’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Was it a gesture to comfort Nash, or was it a warning to me?
I looked back at the crowd. I read the words. “Citizens of Hell’s Mouth, I bring you news of Jase Ballenger.” Each word floated in the air, unreal, untrue, impossible, and yet they came from my mouth. Jase, I need you. This couldn’t be happening, but it was. “The former Patrei of your city will not be returning,” I went on. “He was arrested and delivered to the Queen of Venda and a tribunal court of law to be tried for crimes against the Alliance of Kingdoms. He was found guilty by that court and sentenced to hang by a rope until dead. I witnessed his confession, his prayers to the gods for forgiveness for his crimes, and his subsequent execution. Jase Ballenger is dead.”
A low, muffled moan, impossible to pinpoint, rolled upward, and then a cry and someone fell to their knees. Soldiers on skywalks and roofs lifted the launchers, ready. Soldiers on the ground moved in closer.
Banques motioned for me to continue.
I spoke louder, trying to rise above the murmur. “The rightful and true ruler of Hell’s Mouth, King Montegue, is restoring order and working to make Hell’s Mouth greater than it ever was. The Alliance and I both urge you to help him keep your city safe by turning in traitors. As you can see, innocents do not suffer under his rule.”
I paused and looked over at Nash and Lydia, and the armed guards standing so close to them. The king nodded for me to go on. “Only the guilty who have put you all at risk will suffer a penalty,” I said. “If you know of any other Ballengers or sympathizers in hiding, you are called to turn them in or risk being charged with crimes against the kingdoms yourself. It is time for Hell’s Mouth to move forward and embrace a promising new future.”
There was a noticeable lull, a stillness settling over the plaza, and then a voice screamed out, “Murderer!”
Almost at the same time, something struck me and my head exploded with pain. I fell back, catching myself on the rail. A rock tumbled over the planks.
There were more shouts and then a resounding hush as the crowd shifted, absorbing whoever had called out. Soldiers moved in, trying to find the perpetrators, but in a fluid sea of gray, they were lost as the crowd dispersed.
I reached up and felt my head, and when I pulled my hand away, there was blood on my fingers. I looked back at Lydia and Nash. Their faces were blank. Any emotion about the news I had delivered was buried deep beneath some new hardened armor they had never worn before. The king lifted Nash again and pulled Lydia close, saying it was time to go. Nash nestled his head on the king’s shoulder, but his gaze turned toward me. The intense hunger in his eyes carved a hole in my gut. Was it hunger for revenge that I saw? The fire in them made him look just like Jase. I watched them all depart down the stairs in a tight knot. Lydia never looked my way, but I knew she missed nothing. She heard what I had said about her brother.
Banques handed me a handkerchief for my head. “Well done. Believe it or not, it went surprisingly well. There might be a place in this kingdom for you, after all. The Patrei and his whole lawbreaking family will soon be forgotten.”
I stared at him as I pressed the cloth to my temple and imagined how I would kill him. There were slow ways. Eben had described them to us on dark nights around a campfire. Ways the Rahtan were no longer authorized to use. Ways he had learned from the Komizar that were far slower than a pickle fork. Ways I had never dreamed of using before, thinking them depraved. They didn’t seem so anymore.
I stare at the spears. We have pulled apart bed frames and sharpened the ends. I threw one today, past the gate at a screaming scavenger. I felt strong and powerful. I missed him and he picked it up and ran away. Now he has a spear to use against me. I think his aim is better than mine.
—Greyson, 15
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JASE
I sat on the edge of my pallet, ready to stand for the first time. It was a milestone.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Kerry scolded. “Stop grimacing. You want to get up and pee on your own, or not?”
I did. I forced the grimace from my face. “That better?”
He grunted. Kerry had become my nursemaid, sitting with me, washing me, feeding me—and regularly berating me. He showed me no mercy. Sometimes I wondered if it was his revenge for the post holes I had made him dig. Four days ago, he started giving me weights to lift so I would regain my strength. The sacks of potatoes he handed me couldn’t have weighed more than five pounds each, but the strain of lifting them burned all the way down to my thigh, where one of the arrows had struck. My arms shook as I lifted them. You’re turning to flab, he had chided as he squeezed my upper arm. If Caemus was within earshot, he would counter, Leave him be. He’s doing just fine, much more sympathetic than my warden. But I was frustrated with my progress, and in some ways, I appreciated my relentless taskmaster. I had to get out of here and find Kazi. If they were holding her—
It was something I couldn’t allow myself to think about for too long, but there was still no word. Caemus had finally taken a chance and gone into town—maybe just to keep me from crawling there myself. With soldiers on every corner, he had to keep the hood of his cloak up, his head down, and his words few, but there was still no word or sign of her. Or of my family. I asked him what he did see, and he said nothing but grim-faced soldiers, and as far as news went, it seemed that everyone was tight-lipped and afraid to talk. The town had gone unusually quiet. He was afraid to pry for fear of drawing attention, but he did overhear a shopkeeper grumbling that Paxton and Truko were running the arena now.
It was like being hit with another arrow. I shouldn’t have been surprised. We knew someone was challenging us, and I had always suspected one of the leagues was behind the fires and raids. But now they had names. I never seriously thought they could pull something like this off—or even that they would try. Yes, they grumbled. We grumbled. But we all made money and we had fallen into a comfortable—if rocky—routine in our dealings, until they began working with Beaufort. The Ballengers themselves had financed this takeover. Zane must have been their go-between. How long had they been planning this? I would kill both Paxton and Truko if they had harmed Kazi. And I wouldn’t make it quick. I didn’t need a powerful weapon to—
Caemus’s description stopped me. I remembered him saying one shot brought down the nave of the temple. Was he mistaken? One? The launcher I tested was powerful. It could take down a man with accuracy at two hundred yards, probably three men if they were standing close together, but one shot couldn’t take down a temple. I remem
bered the destruction in Sentinel Valley and Beaufort’s boasting about dominion over the kingdoms. Was Hell’s Mouth the starting point for his campaign? The Ballenger histories described in detail the rubble the town had been made from. Centuries of rebuilding transformed the wreckage into the wonder it was today, but now someone like Beaufort and his conspirators could hold it hostage and return it to the rubble it had once been? And there was an army to carry out his plans. That part still didn’t add up.
“Ready?” Kerry asked, handing me a crutch he had fashioned for me.
It had taken me over a week just to get to the point of sitting up. I had no shirt on, but had bandages wrapped around half of my upper body. Paxton and his crew had been determined to kill me.
“Hold your breath, and I’ll help you to your feet.” I used the crutch as leverage, and Kerry tucked his fingers beneath a bandage and pulled. The pressure felt like a bull sitting on my chest. I clenched my teeth.