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Well, Mother was right after all. Grace had assumed the Lerouxs had acted on their own, with none of the help from Father that her mother had promised.

“Good thing he did,” Grace said. “I was about to march out there and make the same demands myself.”

Garrick chuckled. “I’d have liked to see that. But I’d have been too close behind you to enjoy the spectacle.”

Grace raised her eyebrows. “You would?”

His smile vanished. “Some risks are worth taking.” He ducked his head again, retreating into himself.

There was that annoying flutter again, and her pulse picked up speed too.

Risks. That was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it?

She couldn’t become the Rogue because of the risk to the forest fortress, its secrets, and the people of Fidara. She couldn’t trust James because of the risk that he was more menace than hero.

And she couldn’t keep finding herself drawn to the man beside her because… Why, again? Oh, yes. He was a Clairmont. Her eyes drifted to the mayor’s pedestal, where the crazed leader watched another of his supporters, Lizzy’s uncle, trying to outdo the last. Standing just below the mayor, back against theplatform, was Garrick’s father. His grin held notes of malice, his hand playing with the hilt of a sword on his hip.

Even masters slip and nick a pretty neck now and then.Grace hated the shiver that jolted from her neck through her whole body.

Yes, Clairmonts were dangerous.

Except, Garrick didn’t feel dangerous, mad as that was. Ever since he’d helped her secure the Zerudorn gold, he’d seemed… fun, and sweet. Grace hadn’t even paused to consider the idea that Garrick might be shy until Willa had called him that. Those words returned to her now, as she studied the nervous chagrin on his face.

Garrick. Shy. Hmm…

She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Come on, now. This day is supposed to ‘raise your morale,’ not set you pouting.” She added a heavy dose of mockery to her words, which earned her a small exhale of humor.

“What was that?” Grace exclaimed. “A seed-sized laugh? We’re looking for full-on merriment here.”

Garrick’s smile reappeared. “Grace, stop,” he chuckled.

But she was enjoying this teasing far more than the slow parade of swordsmen and women.

“It really helps if you embody humor.” She brought her hands to her stomach, pinched her eyes in, and mimed an emphatic guffaw.

Though he shook his head, Garrick couldn’t restrain the grin poking through.

Just then, Grace noticed the mayor up on his pedestal, glowering down at them in all his frazzled anger.

A snort slipped out.

When Garrick saw where she was looking, he went pale. “If you don’t stop, the mayor is going to order us to take the place of the dummy.”

But his words only made her laugh more.

The town blacksmith finished an admirable display of swordcraft and rejoined the crowd.

When no others stepped forward, the crowd began to murmur. The mayor waved a hand over the crowd, calling out, “Who’s next?”

Silence.

“Well? Is the reward not enticing enough? What if I double it? Two bags of gold!”

Gone was the joviality of the moment before. Had she heard the mayor correctly? “He’s giving more?” It had to be a lie. There was no way Mayor Nautin was parting with that much gold.

Garrick echoed Grace’s thoughts. “He’s lying.”

But as Grace scanned the faces of the people, she saw in them desperation enough to believe it.