into his sister’s service,” Finnal said. He came into view below, the top of his head visible in a wash of curls. “Remember that I am her husband, and that the lands I now own include… hmm, where did you say your family was from?”
The threat was there below the surface, and all of it just added to Erin’s anger. This man was cruel the moment he had power, a snake in a pretty covering. More than that, he was trying to steal from her dead brother now, as well as threatening her sister. Erin couldn’t let any of this stand.
“Perhaps if I went to talk to the master of stables,” the groom Finnal was talking to said.
“That seems like an excellent idea,” Finnal said. “I will be right here.”
The groom clearly hadn’t meant to do it then, but with Finnal waiting, he had no choice. There was only one advantage to it: it meant that Finnal was alone in the stables save for the horses, right in Erin’s line of sight. Erin took the sheath from her spear’s head, feeling her heart hammering in her chest. She could do this, she had to do this, for her sister.
The angle wasn’t quite right, so Erin shifted position on the roof, or tried to. She felt her foot give as it went through part of the roof’s thatch, and she had to fight to keep from gasping as she nearly fell. Only by digging her spear into the thatch was she able to keep her balance and prevent herself from tumbling through.
Erin crouched there out of sight for several seconds. She could hear footsteps up above on the wall, but she knew the guards wouldn’t be able to see her from there. She was more concerned about the possibility that she might have startled Finnal. Even so, when she finally dared to look back through the gap in the roof into the stables, he was still there, still looking over the horses as if trying to work out which of them he would claim next.
Erin hefted her spear, adjusting her grip, ready to throw. The spear was short, but from here, she had no doubt that she would be able to propel it right through Finnal’s heart. Erin took a breath, steadying her hand, feeling the tension there and—
And a hand closed over the haft of the spear, stopping her from flinging it.
“Killing him in broad daylight?” Odd whispered, with a disapproving shake of his head.
Erin spun to him. The former knight still wore the monk’s habit he had gained on the Isle of Leveros, his sword strapped across his back. She hadn’t expected him to move so quietly.
“He has to die,” Erin hissed back, but even as she glanced down through the gap, she saw that Finnal was moving out of her line of sight.
“And when you kill him, what then?” Odd asked. He still hadn’t let go of her weapon. “First, your spear would be sticking out of his chest. Princess or not, you can’t just kill the son of a duke with impunity. They’d hang you!”
“Even Vars wouldn’t have me hanged,” Erin said. “And to protect Lenore—”
“To protect your sister, you have to be there!” Odd snapped back. He shoved Erin away from him. “Not find yourself rotting in a dungeon, and not start a civil war that will kill all of us.”
“Killing that… that will end things, not start them,” Erin insisted.
“Not when half the nobles support him and his father,” Odd said. “It would show the kingdom the monarchy is trying to rule without advice or restraint. Do the sensible thing, Erin.”
“Because you know so much about that?” Erin snapped back. She looked from Odd to where the knights stood. “Do you think I don’t know who you are, and who you were? They didn’t call you Sir Oderick the Sensible!”
“No, they called me mad,” he said. In an instant, his sword had cleared its sheath. It flashed out, and Erin barely parried it in time with her spear. “They said I was a crazed thing. They said I was a monster.”
He struck again and again, forcing Erin back, one step, then another.
“You think your anger is everything there is? Well, I know about anger,” he said. He struck again, and now Erin was annoyed enough to lash out in return. She set her feet, and…
…except there was no “and,” because it turned out that Erin had run out of roof. She tumbled down, her spear spinning from her hand. For a moment, she was sure she would break bones on the cobbles below. Except that it seemed that Odd had not just steered her toward the edge of the roof, he’d pushed her off the one spot with a water butt below. Erin struck it with a splash, briefly submerging and coming up spluttering.
Odd was already down there, holding her spear out to her.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“I feel like I should stab you as well as him,” Erin said. She felt the weight of his gaze on her. “But… not yet. You’re right. I can’t just kill him, can I?”
Odd shook his head and tossed her spear to her. “We will have to find another way. For now, your sister is in a dangerous marriage, and she has fewer friends than she thought.”
“She has me,” Erin said, hauling herself out of the water.
“Us,” Odd corrected her.
Erin didn’t question that; she was simply grateful that a warrior this skilled was willing to help. Finnal had resources on his side, and position, and even Vars’s friendship. Set against that, all Erin had to help her keep her sister safe was one possibly mad ex-knight. Still, she would keep Lenore safe, even if it cost Erin her life.
CHAPTER SIX
Devin stood in Master Grey’s quarters, among the oddments that only a magus could collect, staring at a map of the kingdom while Master Grey pointed at spots on it.
“My research has identified places where fragments of the Unfinished Sword will sit,” he said. “A family tomb in the foothills of the far north, a shrine outside a village in the kingdom’s heartlands.” He pointed to another half dozen spots, one by one.
Devin tried to take it all in. “Why would anyone spread the fragments of a sword like this?”
“Because it is a weapon of power,” the sorcerer replied. “One too dangerous to be left in the hands of men in times of peace.”
“Have there been any times of peace recently?” Sir Twell the Planner asked from across the room. Sir Halfin the Swift stood beside him, the two knights of the Spur wearing half plate and chain, covered by cloaks, their shields plain rather than showing the insignia that would mark them out. Sir Twell had a bandaged wound from the battle, but still seemed to be moving well. Sir Halfin kept shifting his weight, as if eager to just move.
“The wars of men are not what I’m worried about,” Master Grey said.
“Then what are you worried about?” Devin asked. Not that he expected an answer. He didn’t get one.
“It is vital that you collect the fragments of the sword,” Master Grey said. “Many are hidden in plain sight, some in more… dangerous places. You proved with the blade you made for the wedding that you can forge star metal.”
“Wonderful,” Sir Halfin said. “Traveling together to collect that stuff. It will be just like our trip to Clearwater Deep.”
“Except
