Page 3

So close.

A slight squeezing of Leif’s hand on Wren’s arm was all that stopped her from running off. Arrik was too close.

Kray’s Village was right on the doorstop of a rebellion hideout. How the devil did he keep finding them?

“Oh my, it seems we’re out of wine,” Leif crooned, a sorrowful expression on his face. “We mustn’t have that. Sparrow, can you help me?”

The name was a play on Wren’s real name of course, a joke between the two of them. Wordlessly Wren nodded, bowing slightly for the duke and Bellnai, then retreated for the kitchen as swiftly as she dared, the back of her neck tingling from Bellnai’s stare.

They caught sight of Bram on the way, trapped in an intense conversation with a drunk highborn lad who didn’t look old enough to be inside a gentleman’s club. With a mere look from Leif he disengaged from the youth, stalking out the main entrance while Wren and Leif made their exit through the servants’ door.

Only once they were outside and wrapped in their cloaks once more—though the Verlanti early autumn air was just as hot and balmy as high summer—did Leif and Wren make their way around to the front of the building to reconvene with Bram. Between them and the other spy, however, was a guard shaking a small girl by her collar. Wren glanced toward the market street wrapping up for the night, then to where the well-kept cobblestone streets of the port town began to disintegrate into the dirt roads of the poorer district, and came to the conclusion the child had probably stolen something.

Despite the wealth of the kingdom, the highborn had taxed the lowborn into poverty. Anyone without a title was suffering or starving.

“Come on, Sparrow,” Leif said, sticking to her code name as he tugged insistently on her hand. They both still had their disguises on; it would be easy for Wren to intervene on the child’s behalf.

The guard shook the girl again and lifted his hand as if to strike the wee one.

Not on my watch.

One warning glare from Bram standing behind the guard was all Wren needed to know that helping the child was not in any way, shape, or form, something she should do.

Wren stepped forward to help the child anyway.

No one hurt the lowly in her presence.

2

WREN

If Wren couldn’t help a starving child in need, then she had no right to call herself a Dragon Princess. She strode forward, bristling with anger.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, surprising the guard. He lowered his hand and then shook the little girl. Wren’s eyes narrowed as the elven brute yanked the food out of the wee one’s jacket and tossed it on the ground—half a loaf of day-end bread, well on its way toward becoming inevitable food for the pigeons come daybreak.

“This is none of your concern,” the guard snapped. “She’s a thief.”

“Don’t cause a scene,” Leif whispered in her ear, grabbing at Wren’s sleeve to steer her around the guard and over to a seething Bram. But Wren merely pulled out of Leif’s grasp to address the guard who’d lifted the little girl off her feet as if to give her one more good shake.

“I can pay for that on the child’s behalf,” Wren said evenly, making to remove her coin bag from her cloak. The guard merely scoffed at her.

“Does no good to help these street rats,” he growled, shaking the child as he spoke. “They deserve a good walloping.”

The young girl hung in the guard’s grip, covered in soot and dirt but with big blue eyes that pleaded with Wren for help.Barely younger than Britta. Wren’s chest constricted painfully at the mere thought of her sister.

“I insist,” Wren said, her voice flinty. “I’ll pay double what the bread is worth. Let the girl go.”

The elf’s lip curled as he stared her down, but he tossed the child to the cobblestones. Wren flinched at the noise, and glanced over the girl to make sure she didn’t have any major injuries before turning her attention once again to the guard. She held out the coins as he closed the distance between them. Wren stiffened when he deftly knocked away the gold to the ground and closed his meaty hand around her throat.

Stay calm. Don’t cause a fight unless you need to.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” he spat, grip tightening with every syllable.

Her fight-or-flight response kicked in, dulling her surprise.

No choice but to move.

With practiced ease, she clapped both of her hands over the guard’s ears. He yelped and let Wren go, clutching at his head. Her eyes watered and she wheezed out one cough before kicking the guard down to the ground before he could recover.