Page 153 of The Sun King's Noon

“What?” Flint demanded. “What’s so bloody funny?”

Richard shrugged. He peered at the bandit, trying to convey the words he wished he could speak.

I am sorry.

Flint sneered, but it was marred with a shadow of uncertainty. “Stuck-up little shit. Laugh yourself sick for all I care. The rats’ll be at your toes soon enough. I’ll think of it warmly, I will. It’ll keep me right through winter.”

He turned on his heel, boots clacking against the planks.

Richard watched him go. The leader of the Raven’s Guild. The bandit. The traitor.

The only person to tell him that love and bedding were not the same road.

They’d meet again, Richard was sure.

Another thought struck him, and he groaned into the gag.

Yes, they’d meet again. He needed that siren’s heart back.

* * *

The soldiers marchedRichard off the gangway and up the docks with his hands bound. They moved in a brisk knot—captain at the front, two soldiers flanking Richard, two behind, occasionally tugging the leash around Richard’s neck. The cobbles evened as they passed beneath an archway into the lower markets. It was a bustle of people sweltering in the noonday heat. A woman haggling over eels. A man advertising his lobsters. A shoemaker arguing with a customer.

It was, Richard mused, the perfect place for an escape. He could shoulder the guard on his left, grab a spear and run. Insuch a crowd, if he ran fast—perhaps overturn the fish barrels to trip the guards and duck under the vegetable cart—he might make it.

Do not be a fool.Richard sighed. Those spears were likely quick enough to spill his guts. And the aftermath of Flint’s sleeping potion shrouded him still, slowing his steps and hazing his mind.

As they turned a corner past a grimy fountain, the captain spoke to the soldier on Richard’s left.

“Old Bartos was tearing his beard out last night. Said the king wants the bowman by week’s end or there’ll be three new heads on the gate. His among them.”

“Aye, well, Captain.” The soldier sniggered. “Bartos shouldn’t have lost the trail then.”

Richard’s brows rose. They still hunted for Kaelen?

“The instant we catch him, it’s a burning.” The captain gnashed his teeth. “The king wants an example made, he does. No surprise there—can’t be having people shooting down the prisoners before they finish screaming. Ruins half the fun!”

Richard grunted against the gag and widened his eyes at the captain.Let me speak.

The captain’s gaze turned shrewd. “Got some information, do you?”

Richard nodded frantically, and the captain halted the procession.

“Open his mouth.”

Hands fumbled at the knot behind Richard’s head, and the gag was wrenched free with a spill of saliva. Richard worked his jaw and ran a tongue over his split lip.

“Well?” The captain fondled the hilt of his spear. “This better be good.”

“It was me.”

The captain spluttered. “What?”

“The bowman,” Richard said. “On the inn’s sixth floor, third balcony from the left, three days ago at midday. I was chased into a dead end with ivy and managed to scale the wall.”

“Captain,” the soldier on his left stammered, “he—he knows about the dead end. They never put that on the poster, did they?”

“No, Mikel, they didn’t.” The captain raked his eyes over Richard’s face. “You’re telling me thatyouput an arrow through Pedron Holm.”