Shadowguard

"Get used to it," Corden said. "Until we can sort the situation with—"

A sudden chorus of voices rose from the taproom, stopping him short. Above the commotion, Everna heard her father — she hadn't seen him when they entered. Then she heard Windmore.

"I know she's here, Ronan," Windmore said. "The Guard saw her enter the town with your son."

The sound of his voice elicited a whirlwind of emotions, many of which she kept at bay over the last month and a half. A new form of anxiety lodged itself in her gut, but with it came a violent surge of irritation that quickly grew into an inferno of barely restrained outrage. She gritted her teeth and released a slow, deliberate breath.

Now was not the time, she reminded herself. Her father could handle Windmore. He'd love nothing more.

"Even if she was, which she isn't, it'd be none of your damn business," her father snarled. "You don't call the shots around here, regardless of what you think."

The ferocity of his voice startled even Corden, whose eyes widened with both amusement and shock. It was the same look he had whenever their parents argued — as if he wasn't sure whether to laugh or hightail it into the next room before the daggers started flying. Everna returned the look with one of her own.

She could count on one hand the times she'd heard such genuine animosity in his voice.

Against her better judgement, however, she squeezed past Wil and Lisette and crept back down the stairs. At the edge of the alcove, she stopped to observe the scene unfolding in the middle of the taproom. Windmore had not come alone; at least twenty of the Guard accompanied him, and half had their weapons drawn. Her father stood across from them, not the least bit daunted, his battleaxe in hand.

A frown tugged at her lips. He must've known Corden went to fetch her and that Windmore would jump at the opportunity to apprehend her. Had Corden intended for that? Or had Shroud attacked her mother to lure her out of hiding?

It had to be the former. Her father may not be as young as he once was, and the injuries he sustained in his duel with the dragon may have severely limited his physical capabilities, but his reputation preceded him. He could still take Windmore down, and Windmore's goons knew that. She saw the fear in their eyes, the hesitation with which they held their swords.

"It's entirely my business. I have direct orders from the steward himself," Windmore said, his chin hefted. He reached into the front of his chain shirt and produced a wooden scroll case, which bore the royal crest. From inside the case, he retrieved a rolled-up sheet of parchment. "By order of the Steward, and bearing the approval of the High Court, Everna Kinslayer is guilty of two accounts of treason against the Crown: the assassination of Arden Ashburn, Mayor of Pendel, and the assassination of Calwell Swiftbrook, a Knight of Inverness, as well as one account of breaking-and-entering, one account of interfering with an ongoing investigation, and one account of fleeing and eluding the Guard. For her crimes, the High Court has declared she is to hang by the neck until dead."

Everna turned to Corden, a brow raised in question. The case and the charges seemed legitimate, but a quick shake of Corden's head confirmed her suspicions that the accompanying order was not. If the Steward or the High Court indeed issued her arrest, Corden, or another High Knight, would be the one to announce the warrant.

Windmore was, once again, trying to ruin her life, and she'd had enough of it.

"How ironic that the Steward would have a snake deliver his orders considering you're guilty of both treason and conspiracy," she said as she stepped fully into the taproom. "Perhaps we should throw in impersonating a High Knight as well, because the gods know you don't have the authority to issue that warrant, regardless of how legitimate it seems."

A wicked grin split Windmore's face. "Ah, there she is. Arrest her."

More than half moved to carry out Windmore's order. The other hesitated, looking between themselves, then to Corden. Everna narrowed her eyes. Not all of them were Windmore's personal entourage.

Or they were more daunted by Corden than the potential ramifications of disobeying their superior.

Her father readied his axe. "You touch my daughter, and death won't come quickly enough for you."

"Stand down!" Corden ordered.

That brought the guards — all of them — to pause. Windmore, however, didn't yield. Her father's threat only encouraged him. Wicked satisfaction shone in his eyes as his grin widened further. It was the same look he'd given her in the Guard post.

"I believe that's a direct threat towards the Crown's Guard," he tutted. "That is an act of treason. Arrest him too, while you're at it."

"Windmore, I said stand down!" Corden repeated with no small amount of restraint.

Everna pursed her lips. Windmore defied a direct order; Corden had every authority to arrest him for it, and the Corden she knew wouldn't hesitate to do so.

What was he waiting for?

"No, Sir Shadefell," Windmore spat, "I will not stand down. In fact, I have to question your motives. You're clearly protecting these treasonous rats and, in doing so, committing treason yourself."

Everna couldn't help the laugh that pulled from her lips. "Knowing of a treasonous conspiracy and remaining silent, as well as killing one of the Knights of Inverness, is treason, but that didn't stop you, did it?”

The look in Windmore's eyes turned sinister. "You have no proof of those accusations. I have both your shoes and your hair, which were found in the post shortly after the incident."

She opened her mouth, only to snap it shut. She didn't have irrefutable evidence of that, merely his word against hers. While Windmore was a habitual liar, he had the benefit of his position on his side. Wil's word didn't carry as much weight, either. The Courts' refusal to exonerate her proved as much.

Corden was her only hope, and it would be another matter of words against tangible evidence.

Or perhaps not.

One guard, the young redhead who'd questioned her the night of Mayor Ashburn's assassination, drew his sword. Rather than point it at her, he turned it on Windmore.

"Actually, Captain, I saw the blood on your uniform before Everna entered the post," the guard, whom she assumed was Gillan, snarled. "I was standing right behind you when you admitted you killed him and planned to lure her there to incriminate her."

"I'm the one who found the good Sir. Of course there was blood on my uniform! I had to investigate the crime!" Windmore hissed, turning to face Gillan. "I suspected you were in on it after I found those tampered reports. It seems my assumptions were correct."

The anger that took hold of her at that moment was not as potent as the raging fury she'd experienced in Windhollow, but it trod close to that realm. With every word that left Windmore's mouth, her blood boiled. She'd had it.

She'd had it with Windmore, with Shroud — with the entire ordeal.

"You're not getting out of it this time," Everna seethed, pulling her blade free of its sheath. "You ruined my life. Mayor Ashburn and Sir Swiftbrook are dead because of you. My mother and Pala are on death's door because of your associates in Shroud, and you have the fucking gall to stand here and claim you're the innocent one?"

"What are you going to do? Kill me?" Windmore mocked, eying the sword in her hand.

Again, Everna laughed. Her hand shook as she tightened her grip on her sword. "You know what? Maybe I will. It's not like I have anything left to lose. You made certain of that."

"If you think you'll fare better than your last disastrous attempt to kill me, be my guest. The Steward has ordered your execution and there is nothing you can do about it. Whether you hang or die by my sword makes no difference to him."

Before she could do anything, Corden pushed past her, unsheathing his own sword. "The Steward ordered no such thing."

Windmore laughed. "Did you truly think the Courts would trust you to act without bias in this matter? They sent you here to test your loyalty and you—"

"The Courts have no power over the High Knights," Wil said, startling her. She'd forgotten he and Lisette were still waiting at the top of the steps.

As Wil descended the stairs, his steps silent against the old planks, something about him seemed different. He removed his hood, his face bared for all the tavern to see. He stood straighter, almost imperious, his shoulders squared and his chin high. The way he stared down his nose at Windmore reminded her of the way the nobles gazed upon the lower class — as if they were nothing but swine.

When he reached the bottom, Corden stepped aside, his head lowered with deference.

"But while the Courts have no power over them, I do," Wil said. There was a practiced ease to his words, each one enunciated with the utmost perfection. "You're wrong to assume it's Everna's word against yours; it's mine you should fear, and like the bumbling fool that you are, you confessed to your treachery. While the Courts have elected to overlook that fact, I have not."

With every word that left his lips, the color drained from Windmore's face. Gone was the demented glee that lit his eyes like wicked flames. Now, only terror remained.

"Corden, I have no further use for him," Wil said, and the frigidity of his tone sent a shiver down Everna's spine. "Arrest him."

A sardonic smile spread her brother's lips. "As you wish, Your Highness."