“A convenient excuse.” He addresses the crowd as he continues, “I can only assume she knows my fears are well founded.”
Clever bugger. I try a different strategy. “Why would Pan want to poison you? Unless you haven’t been a good keeper—”
“I’m an excellent keeper!” the blacksmith boasts as Pan shakes his head furtively.
I can’t help but snort.
“You shut up, boy.” He releases Pan’s collar long enough to slap the back of his head, making him wince.
I struggle to control my flare of anger, my ring hot against my hand, my power thrumming, waiting for release. “Yes, I can see your exemplary behavior.”
The blacksmith’s nostrils flare. Tony’s used to do that, too, right before he threatened me. I’ve likely pushed my luck as far as I can with this one, but he’s still holding Pan in one hand and the dagger in the other.
Startled sounds pull my attention to where the crowd parts, people jumping out of the way to make room for Jarek as he charges in. The glare he gives Elisaf has me stifling a curse, but the storm brewing in those gray eyes when he peers up at me has me genuinely worried about whether he’ll help.
“Oh, look! There’s another one of my guards. As Lady Diana of Cornwall”—I emphasize for Jarek’s benefit—“I always travel with several.”
Where the blacksmith gave Elisaf a glance, he stalls on Jarek’s stony face, then sizes up the weapons strapped to his hip. Anyone with half a brain would be wary.
“My lady was just questioning this keeper’s claims that the mortal has ingested poison.” Elisaf gestures at Pan.
One … two … three beats pass before Jarek says in a wooden voice, “My lady, is there some way that I can provide you with aid?”
“Maybe?” While Jarek might punish me later for this, he’s sworn to protect me now. “I was just pointing out the obvious—that this keeper is ready to kill a mortal without any proof to back up his claims.”
Jarek’s eyes flip to the blacksmith. “Is that so?”
The blacksmith swallows. “I do not need to prove my claim to some easterner or her guards.”
“Maybe not, but I would think you need to prove it to Lord Rengard,” I retort.
A rush of approaching hooves draws attention to the left. From a side street, guards on horseback emerge, charging this way.
“Oh, perfect timing! I’m sure they’ll take you right to him.” I hop off the wall and edge in closer to Jarek and Elisaf, swarmed by both relief and trepidation. “Maybe we should leave.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have been here in the first place, Lady Diana of Cornwall,” Elisaf chastises. “It’s too late now. That is Lord Rengard himself, and he is already here.”
Sure enough, the riders have closed the distance in an instant. A regal-looking man with a trimmed goatee and a single stripe of gray through his otherwise black hair leads the pack when they reach us.
Next to him are Zander and Abarrane.
Shit.
Zander’s dark gaze finds us almost immediately.
Jarek’s smirk is grim. “After Abarrane is done whipping me, remind me to define ‘inconspicuous’ to you.”
Thankfully, Lord Rengard is focused on the blacksmith. “What is the meaning of this, Oswald?”
“My lord.” The blacksmith—Oswald—releases Pan’s collar and bows.
That Zander and Abarrane are free and seemingly well is no small joy, but I don’t know what story they fed Rengard about me. I shift behind Jarek as covertly as possible, thankful for his size. I can just barely see over his shoulder.
“Why are you making a spectacle of your servant in the town square?” Rengard asks smoothly. “And why do you have a weapon drawn in the presence of nobility?”
“Oh yes, my lord. I mean, I’m sorry, my lord.” Oswald’s bravado is gone. He sheathes his dagger. “I believe Pan has ingested some of that poison.”
“Really. And why do you believe that?” Rengard’s tone is flat, revealing nothing. “Do you have proof? Has someone fed on him and died?”