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But the game was up. In the absence of a cloak, mask, and face cloth, Grace saw short, pokey blond tufts of hair and the puffy red face.

Mayor Nautin was the gilded Rogue. Grace didn’t even think she was surprised. The clues were there. Zerudorn gold in the mayor’s copse, an attempt to frame the Rogue as a vandal, a character not only capable of destruction, but one that relished it.

“You’ll hang with us, mayor,” Grace said. “Though, as I see it, I was just trying to catch the Rogue, a task which none of the sheriff’s patrolmen have managed.”

Mayor Nautin balled the Rogue’s face cloth and threw it on the ground. Then he pulled at the neck of his green shirt with his left arm, itching at red patches of skin. Grace saw the necklace she’d seen him wear at the Day of Morale. Only, as she looked closer, she realized it wasn’t a necklace. The grey was etched into the man’s skin rather than sitting atop it.

“What is that?” Grace asked.

The mayor roared in discomfort or anger, probably both, as he tore more forcefully at his shirt, itching his shoulder and his arm. Grace saw more of the iron grey—not ink, but something more dusty and solid that spiraled around his shoulder in a vaguely vine-like manner.

Grace inhaled sharply. The tarnished gold, just like the version of the metal that killed the butterfly. The man was marked for death. But, not necessarily a fast one. He might be able to doom uncountable Fidarans with the still shiny gold in the copse long before the dusty grey strangled the life from him.

The mayor gave up scratching the irritated skin around the infection. “You have no power here. No say, and no one will ever believe you,” he spat.

“She isn’t the only one who saw you.” Her Rogue—it must be him who’d spoken, though he’d obscured his voice with a garbled gruffness.

The mayor laughed. “Yes, please. Join her to accuse me. I’d love to know who to hang.”

Grace looked at her Rogue. He still covered his jaw with his arm.

Would it work? Could they stand together? Could they convince people the mayor was the Rogue? That he was the one breaking into the homes?

Aside from the fact that it might not work and death would be the consequence, Grace glanced at the warped trees. No one came here for fear of the mayor’s wrath. Even the patrols likely hadn’t been allowed in this private space, or the gold would be spattered throughout Fidara.

But if the mayor was jailed or hanged, would people wander this way? Could she and her parents contain the gold before it etched the entire town with gilding and iron? They might be able to keep people back initially, but how could they explain it? Greed made men determined, savage even. Eventually, the gold would be taken and spread.

Grace held her head high. She could bluff her way through this. “Odd magic, that gold on those trees. It looks familiar. I saw that on the door handle of Willa’s manor. Hard to explain how it got there through anyone but you. No one else comes into this copse, after all.”

He glowered. “No one is supposed to, but I see a Robbins and a masked criminal in my copse right now. I think I’ll alert the sheriff.”

“Yes, do that,” the Rogue said.

Grace tried not to look panicked.

“I think he ought to take a look at these trees so we can bring concerns to district and national leaders in Vathra,” he continued. “Our national land is clearly sick, and so close to national waters that reach into all of Arellon.”

The mayor’s eyes flashed.

Grace smiled. Well done. Her Rogue had found a point of weakness. She only hoped he too was bluffing. She couldn’t afford a national investigation.

“It seems we are at an impasse,” the mayor said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “Or perhaps not. The way I see it, Grace Robbins chased two villainous Rogues into the forest and risked her safety to protect my copse. I saw her fighting for her life andcame to her aid. The Rogues got away, sadly. But Grace Robbins showed great bravery, and the town owes her their gratitude.”

Grace’s face and stomach soured with every word he spoke. “You expect me to go along with your lies.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t be a Robbins if you didn’t put your nose up in my presence, but neither would you be a Robbins if you spoke out against me publicly.”

His words were a slap in the face.

“And you, Rogue. If I go down, I’ll drag you with me. I’ll tell them you’re my accomplice. Look at yourself. No one will question my teary, regretful admission. Maybe the nation will send inspectors to examine the trees, but the sheriff will make sure you both are hanged before then. But my exhaustion has me in a merciful mood. I might just find it in my heart to delay the next trial. You’ll die eventually, but I’m giving you the gift of a few more days of peace for your beloved citizens and the chance to save your lady love. ”

Grace’s heart constricted.

“I won’t ask for your agreement. If you come forward with your accusations, I’ll know what you chose.”

He turned with a dramatic spin and tried to saunter through the copse toward the town hall and his personal quarters on the third floor.

And like a Robbins, Grace watched.