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“Ever more, I see the necessity of this day. The Rogue has left my people terrorized to the point of desolation, but fear not! He will not wreak havoc much longer.” The mayor descended into laughter worthy of nightmares. “Until then, I thoughtthismight raise morale!” With a dramatic sweep of his left arm, the mayor produced from his belt a sack laden with something that clinked. “For the best all-around performance. Gold coins!”

Just as Grace’s face registered shock, murmurs broke out in the crowd.

“Gold. He’s offering gold?”

“Can’t be. He’d never.”

“Might have to actually try…”

Grace didn’t say what she was thinking. She looked to her parents and saw on their faces the same suspicion that swept through her. The mayor would never give up gold once it was in his possession. What was the catch?

The mayor shouted above the commotion. “First, sword-work demonstrations.”

People began shuffling toward the Stantons’ home. Grace was already quite near to the sparring dummy, so she watched the mayor and the crowd.

Her mind raced. The mayor must have something nefarious planned, but what?

She scanned the square to see what other events would follow. There were hay targets with a bow and a quiver beside them, clearly meant to be an archery range. Beyond lay the running track. A flag flew from atop a de-branched tree trunk that had been placed in a hole dug into the grass in the square, then secured with heavy iron stakes.

Swordcraft, archery, speed, climbing….

Something about these challenges felt suspicious. But what?

As the crowd shifted, Grace caught sight of James—it was actually James this time—standing tall and sober, neither joy nor anger altering the prim line of his mouth. Grace looked away, tired of the same old questions.

Garrick Clairmont extricated himself from a cluster of people shuffling closer to the dummy and made his way toward Grace. Most everyone had formed a ring of spectators a few feet away by the time he reached her, giving Grace the sensation of being alone with him. Her cheeks flamed.

He noticed and grinned.

A dust devil swirled in her chest. Sun above, his happy smile emphasized the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw and lifted his round, pale hazel-brown eyes. She gripped the cloth of her dress, trying to calm the racing. This was no time to lose her head.

“Good morning, Grace,” Garrick said.

“Good, is it?” she muttered.

“Well, I get to see you.” His words, bold in concept, came out a bit muted.

For the first time, Grace noticed a hint of red on his cheeks. It was hard to see, faint as it was. Was he embarrassed?

Grace reached up and poked his cheek. “You know, I am intensely jealous of your nearly invisible blush.”

The rosy hue deepened, and Grace smiled. “Much better.”

Garrick laughed. “You certainly don’t make life easy for a man.”

So much for not losing her head. What had she been thinking, touching his cheek?

She tried to brush it off with a shrug. “Predictable isn’t fascinating.” She strolled a bit closer to the crowd, and Garrick followed.

They found a window in the scattered spectators. One of the mayor’s loyal supporters had just finished a string of strikes against the practice dummy and was bowing to the half-heartedclapping from a handful of citizens scattered throughout the crowd.

There was a small lull as nervous eyes watched each other, wondering who would rise to the challenge. Garrick inhaled sharply, and for a moment, Grace thought he would enter the ring of spectators.

Instead, he turned to her. “I wonder if you’d pass on my thanks to your father. For retrieving my uncle to help Willa.”

Grace looked up at Garrick. “My father alerted Mr. Leroux?”

Garrick nodded.