Riley continues to backpedal. Men get out of his way as if he’s diseased. One of the enforcers has a sword drawn.

“I know no magic!” he cries. “I am a blacksmith!”

The lead man gives a signal to the others, and the men move through the tables as if to cut off escape.

“Hawk,” whispers Tycho. “Hawk—we have to—”

I silence him with a look, but his eyes still plead. I don’t know if he wants me to intervene or surrender myself or something I can’t fathom, but I can do nothing. I cannot draw attention to myself. Not now.

The one-eyed man seizes Riley’s forearm. “You are to come with us.”

Riley jerks back. His face is red, from shame or fury or both. “I have done nothing wrong! You can’t seize peaceful citizens—”

“We have our orders.” Another enforcer grabs his other arm.

Riley looks around desperately, but the other patrons have cleared a wide path. “Will no one speak for me?”

With a ruffle of skirts and defiance, Jodi sweeps past me. She’s inhaling to protest.

I catch her arm and tug her back against me. We’re far enough in the corner that we haven’t drawn attention away from Riley, but if she keeps struggling, we will. “Jodi,” I whisper against her hair. “Let them take him peacefully.”

She strains against my arm, but she has the good sense to keep her voice down. “He’s a good man.”

“Then they’ll question him and let him go. He’ll lose a day of wages and earn a good story to tell over the next round of ale.”

Across the table, Tycho’s eyes are wide. I must sound sure, because Jodi relaxes.

Riley is struggling against the enforcers. He’s strong, and he gets an arm free.

The one-eyed man drives a fist into his belly. Riley doubles over with a grunt and nearly falls to a knee. They get a grip on him again and half drag him to the doorway.

“You can’t do this,” he wheezes. “I heard about the tailor in Lackey’s Keep. You can’t accuse good people.”

The enforcers ignore Riley, yanking him forward impassively. When they reach the door, one of the men releases his arm to grab the handle.

Riley whirls and grabs one of their weapons. I don’t know his motive, whether he thinks he’ll be able to fight his way free or defend himself or buy more time, but I’ll never get the chance to ask him. One of the other enforcers puts a sword through his chest. A choked sound breaks from Riley’s lips, and he goes down.

A collective gasp goes through the tavern.

Jodi slips free of my hold. “You monster!” she cries. She throws herself at the enforcer who stabbed Riley, shoving him away. “How could you?”

He catches her arm and gives her a little shake. The one-eyed man lifts his sword.

Without thought, I shove my way in front of her. His sword point finds my chest, a weight of steel against my shirtfront.

“Enough,” I say. His one eye narrows.

Jodi is shaking against me.

I think of my last words to her. They’ll question him and let him go.

I should have known better. I did know better.

Glances are exchanged throughout the tavern. People shift nervously. Chairs scrape against the wood floor. Shaking breath comes from all directions.

A man’s voice speaks up uncertainly from near the front. “I always thought there was something unnatural about the way he could unlame a horse.”

“His forge always seemed to run hotter than the others,” another man agrees.

“Did you see that nag brought down from Hutchins Forge?” says a woman. “Riley said he had something special that would make its gait straight—and sure enough, he did.”

That sword is still sitting against my chest. “She attacked an enforcer,” says the one-eyed man.

“She’s upset. She didn’t mean any harm.” I thrust a hand into my pocket and withdraw a handful of coppers. I hold it out to him. “Buy your men a drink on me.”

He regards me coolly. Tension rides a knife’s edge. The other patrons wait to see if another man is going to die.

I jingle the coins in my hand. “Worwick will be upset if I don’t show up to open the tourney.”

He grunts and withdraws his sword. “You tell her to mind her own business next time.”

“Yes, sir.” I turn and press the coins into Jodi’s hand. Her eyes are full of tears, and her fingers tremble hard enough to make the coins rattle. “Buy them a drink,” I say quietly.

“He was a good man,” she whispers. “He was a good man, wasn’t he, Hawk?”

I close her fingers around the coins to silence them. “You need to set the tavern to rights, Jodi. Don’t give them a reason to start something else.”

Maybe she hears the urgency in my voice, because she sucks back the tears and straightens her skirts. She nods quickly.

I look to Tycho, who’s been watching with wide eyes. “Worwick will expect crowds after this. We need to get back.”

Late-evening sun streaks through the city when we emerge from the tavern. Tycho keeps his mouth shut and stays close to my side as we weave through the gathering crowds outside the tavern.

Gossip travels fast.

When we’re in the deserted back alleys, Tycho ventures a question. “Do you think he was a magesmith?”

I give him a look.

He swallows. “They killed him, Hawk.”

They’ll likely receive a reward, too. “I told you what they’d do.”

“But—how did they know if he was guilty?”

“That doesn’t matter. This isn’t about guilt. This is about scaring the people into believing a magesmith can be caught and killed easily. This is about proving there is no threat to the Crown.” A bitter taste lingers in my mouth. A man died because of me.

I cannot outrun this. There is nowhere to go.

Tycho’s voice jerks me out of my reverie. “Is that why so many people were suspicious?”

“It’s easier to believe someone is guilty than to consider that an innocent man could be eating oysters one minute and bleeding on the floorboards the next.”

That shocks him into silence. We walk quickly. I rub at the back of my neck, dragging sweat away. We’ve made good distance from the tavern, and gossip hasn’t reached this far yet. A girl is driving sheep through the narrow alley, and Tycho and I pull into a doorway to let them pass.

His eyes are on me, but I can’t meet his gaze. “Would you have done it?”

I watch the shorn backs of the sheep as they bleat their way past. “Done what?”

“Would you have killed him?” He swallows. “When you were a guardsman?”

I think back to my service to King Broderick, before the curse. I consider my near-eternity with Prince Rhen, when we were trapped in the halls of Ironrose. I would like to think he’d never give orders that would lead to this kind of action.

I know better. It would have cost him something, but Rhen would do it if he believed it was the only way to protect his people.

I look at Tycho. “I would have followed orders, Tycho. Whatever that meant.”

He stares up at me. I can read nothing in his gaze.

The last sheep passes, and I step out of the doorway without waiting to see if he follows.