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As he watched Grace, he saw Elizabeth from the corner of his eye. She sighed in frustration and charged toward her friend.

His hands clenched.Please don’t let Elizabeth lure you back today, Grace.

If Grace abandoned her family’s quiet show of defiance…

The tentacles of despondency began to suffocate him just thinking of it.

He shouldn’t worry. On the odd occasion when Grace had given in to Elizabeth’s stubborn insistence, she’d returned to her seat before the toasts.

And yet, each time Grace capitulated, he’d felt the future rebellion slip farther away.

Giving in to little, seemingly harmless things frayed the sinews of defiance. He should know.

What if, one day, Grace decided to stand during the toasts, and the next time, she nodded? Soon, she might not only raise her glass but also give a toast of her own!?

It was a dismal possibility he hoped was as unlikely as it had been two years ago.

“Bullheaded cretins. I can’t wait to put them out to pasture.”

Cold dread slid like tree sap down his neck, collecting in a thick, nauseous pit in his gut. He glanced at Mayor Nautin, who stood a foot away, talking to Sheriff Clairmont. The venom in the man’s expression inspired a shiver.

Put them out to pasture?

Surely, the mayor couldn’t do anything drastic to the Robbinses. Not when the town relied on the large crop they brought in each year. The reduction in taxes collected should the family be driven out, or—his chest constricted—worse, wouldn’t come close to satisfying the mayor. Their contributions to the community had kept them safe year after year. Other, less contributory families who had even seemed to suggest disapproval of Mayor Nautin had been taxed, and punished until they either died or fled.

The town was barely holding on. A loss this great before the new arrivals could establish some method of earning a sizable income would begin an irreversible collapse Fidara couldn’t recover from. That hadn’t changed, and so surely even Mayor Nautin knew he couldn’t employ his usual tactics on the Robbinses. How much power or wealth did the leader of a dead town have?

And yet, the very reason the Robbins family was safe also put them in danger.

He brushed a finger against a crinkled white cloth draped along the wall. The pitiful extravagance was effectively paid for by the Robbins Family, and the mayor hated them for it. Hated that he needed them. Hated that everyone knew, without the words ever being spoken, that their refusal to shower the mayor with praise at these parties made it clear that the Robbinses knew it wasn’t he who deserved lauding.

Had the mayor tired of the embarrassment enough to act rashly?

He listened carefully as the conversation between the leaders continued.

“Harvest is almost here,” Sheriff Clairmont assured the mayor. “It won’t be much longer.”

He sucked in a breath, fighting to keep his reaction unnoticed. What had the sheriff just said? Harvest time. And what came with harvest?

His pulse ratcheted high enough to scramble logical thought processes. What did he know about the harvest? He’d never participated in it, but knew it would start sometime this month. And with it came the annual gathering of district and national taxes. In fact, the next thirty days would see the year’s largest depletion of the citizens’ earnings.

But that predictable pain, deep and wide-reaching as it was, couldn’t be what the sheriff and mayor were talking about.

No. This was about the Robbins family.

He cast his eyes toward Grace, willing her to look his way and see the danger that had escalated to critical levels within the last couple of minutes.

She didn’t see him. He cursed silently. He needed her to see him.

The rebellion couldn’t wait a day longer.

She was in trouble; the town was in trouble. He needed to warn her.

But how?

Even if he could risk speaking of the Rogue here or in the town square—the only places he ever saw Grace—a single word about her secret plans would demolish any chance of the rebellion.

“Never tell Grace that you know,” Jonathan had said. “If she even suspects you know our secrets, the plan will fall apart.She’ll think it too risky. No words will convince her that you have noble intentions.”