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The rest of the day, Grace tried to move through the wheat harvest with speed, but she often found her mind wandering.

As the hint of orange hit the sky, Grace felt her anticipation build almost to breaking.

“Whatever will happen will happen soon,” she said to herself.

A couple of the sheriff’s patrolmen acted as guards for the audience in the town hall. The sheriff ushered Cyrus and his advocates into a small room off the assembly hall used for the soirées. Grace, her parents, her brother, the four Stantons, one Dahl, and six Durrs scuttled in. When the guards entered and shut the door behind them, the attendees were packed tighter than a bale of hay.

Grace was surprised the Durrs had come.

The sheriff shoved Cyrus forward. “Prove he is not the Rogue.” That was all the ceremony they were offered. The boy looked terrified, shivering and hunched. His hair was matted, and clear tear stains marred his cheeks.

Mrs. Stanton began to cry. Though here in the courthouse she tried to subdue the sobs, they were clearly wracking her whole being.

“Silence!”

Cries turned into whimpers.

Russell slithered his way through the people to the front of the cluster.

“Cyrus was at home with his parents the night of the harvest festival, and he was with his cousins three days ago, when the Rogue shot an arrow at my sister.” He gestured toward the Durrs.

Mr. Durr stood, unmoving, arms crossed, until Mrs. Durr nudged him forward. He glanced between Sheriff Clairmont and his wife, finally offering, “He was playing in the square in front of our house, with my boys.”

“Yeah,” one of his sons, a small boy of about ten, yelled. “You were there. The mayor came out, all scary, and yelled at you.” He pointed to the sheriff.

Grace started. Mr. Stanton hadn’t told her that. But then, judging by the astonished expressions on all of the Stanton faces, none of them had known either. This was a better defense than she had expected.

The sheriff’s face went red, and he narrowed his eyes. “Anyone in the square could have heard that,” he spat. “It doesn’t prove the boy was there.”

“The mayor yelled at you and told you to do your job.” All eyes snapped to Cyrus. He was still hunched, but he’d spoken clearly.“You threw a scrap of flag on the ground and stomped on it after he left.”

The sheriff glared at him. “You were too far away to see that was a flag!” Almost immediately, the sheriff realized his mistake. Eyes wide, he shouted, “If…you were one of the brats out in the square.”

When the sheriff’s voice boomed, Cyrus scuttled back, dropping his head.

Indignation burned inside Grace. The snake! Heknew.He knew Cyrus was innocent. Had seen the boy himself.

What was the point of this trial? Did he relish fear and pain so much that he wouldn’t have told Mayor Nautin? She wouldn’t put it past him. Or maybe, as Cyrus’s recounting of the interaction between the sheriff and the mayor showed, even with proof, he too was powerless to the will of the mayor. That man wasn’t well. Logic had no place in his mind.

How could they fight against this?

Mr. Stanton stepped forward. “On the morning of the break-in at the Leroux Manor, my son and I were working with Sawyer Dahl.”

Mr. Dahl called out corroboration.

“I still don’t see how this is sufficient proof,” the sheriff said.

Grace narrowed her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she called. “Not only is there sufficient evidence, butyouare one of the witnesses that Cyrus has been elsewhere when the Rogue made an appearance.”

A wicked grin spread on the sheriff’s face, and the bravado of a moment ago turned sour in Grace’s stomach.

“Is that so, Miss Robbins? I suppose you think you, a high and mighty Robbins, might be better as sheriff.”

She heard a slow, sharp clink of metal, and began to shake. The sheriff had pulled his sword a few inches out of its sheath, not fully drawn, but a clear message.

Grace’s father stepped in front of her, but Grace pushed past him, then kept going until she’d shimmied her way to the front of the group. The man might be terrifying, but a Protector didn’t leave an innocent boy to die because she was a little afraid.

She raised her nose, drawing herself up to her stiffest, fullest height, and with a voice of confidence declared, “It’s not that I think I’d be better, it’s just that I think you’re terrible.”