“How do you know all this?” I was not completely sure if I should trust him blindly, though Rafe seemed to. “And why should I believe you?”
“A short while ago, while I was out on a mission in Sanria, inside the Red Citadel, I overheard a conversation between Redgrave and Gabriel Silverthorne.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. “My granduncle?”
Marcus nodded. “I heard Silverthorne call Redgrave by his real name. They mentioned you.”
“What were they saying about me?”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know. I only had a moment before I had to leave or risk getting caught.”
I stared down at my plate. I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. Uncle Gabriel had kept so many secrets from me, revealing only what he thought necessary. I knew he only wanted to help, and I was grateful, but it made it more difficult to believe what he said. It did sound like Marcus was telling the truth though. What would he gain by making it up?
“A word of advice, if I may?” Marcus leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You must proceed with caution, Princess. The Dagger of Dragath is an ancient and dangerous weapon, and I don’t know how Morgana got her hands on it. But going near the Dagger without the proper knowledge is like going into battle with a needle instead of a sword. Go to Brandor and meet the mastermage before you go after the Dagger. He will have the information you need. Only then will you have any chance of finding the Dagger of Dragath, let alone breaking the curse.”
Kalen suddenly appeared and sat down beside me, his face instantly giving away his distress.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”
Kalen’s eyes were wide. “It’s the town guards. I was rubbing down the horses at the stables and I heard them talking about a fugitive who was supposed to be staying at the inn.”
Rafe pushed his food away and grabbed my hand, pulling me up with him. “We have to leave now.” He moved toward the door and gestured for Kalen to follow us.
Marcus had already put up the hood of his cloak and was heading out the door when it opened. Five armed guards with their swords ready strode into the crowded tavern, blocking our only escape route.
Briarwood Castle
A hush fell over the usually rowdy room, and no one moved.
The tavern was too crowded for us to use magic and fight our way out—somebody might get hurt, and Rafe knew that. It was just my luck I would get caught and dragged back to the Summer Palace before I got halfway to Illiador.
But it wasn’t me they had come for. They didn’t seem to know who we were.
The guards moved forward and surrounded Marcus, pulling back his hood and holding swords to his throat. Marcus didn’t move, but his shrewd, dark eyes darted back and forth between them.
The captain of the town guards walked into the crowded room. A chill wind followed as he slammed the tavern door.
“Is this him, Captain?” the guard holding Marcus asked his superior. His uniform was a dull blue, and mud stains speckled the front of his tunic.
“I believe it is,” said the captain, a sly grin spreading across his pockmarked face. He strode over to Marcus, a plain sword held loosely in his beefy hand. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Marcus Gold, Brandor’s most infamous black market trader.” His voice boomed across the hushed room as he pushed his straggly brown hair out of his face. He eyed Marcus warily, a cat playing with his prey. “You and your dirty magical items don’t belong in my town. You should be more careful of the people you work with. Looks like your last customer didn’t mind squealing your whereabouts in the torture chamber.”
I winced at the word torture, but Marcus’s expression remained unclear as to what he was thinking. The tavern customers shuffled backward, huddling against the walls and trying to stay out of harm’s way. Many of them moved toward the door, but the guards did not let them leave.
Marcus looked the captain straight in the eye. “You have the wrong man.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” The captain’s eyes gleamed almost manically. “There have been bodies turning up dead all over town, and you were seen leaving one of the murder scenes.”
My heart beat so loudly I was afraid everyone would hear it.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Marcus calmly.
“Should we take him to the dungeons, sir?” asked one guard.
The captain nodded, his face hard. “Take him, I will deal with him personally.”
As the guards started pulling Marcus toward the door, a gaunt man, who had been sitting at the table next to us, came and stood in front of the captain. He wrung his hands and shifted from side to side as he spoke.
“I saw them, my lord,” he said, pointing at us and addressing the captain in a simpering voice. “They were all whispering together in a corner.”
“Were they?” said the captain. His muddy boots clomped on the wooden floor as he walked toward us.
I tensed, and my magic flared to life.
Rafe moved slightly, pulling me up to his side and putting his arm around my waist. “Not yet,” he whispered. He knew me too well.
I had learned to control my powers to a certain degree—it was a struggle to restrain myself, but I managed to push my magic back down.
The captain came to stand before us as he eyed me suspiciously. His rancid breath made me feel like gagging. His informant scurried behind him.
“What is your connection to the Brandorian spy?” the captain asked Rafe. It was obvious he didn’t recognize the crown prince with his hood drawn over his head.
Rafe spoke calmly. “I have never seen him before. We just met him, he wanted directions.”
“Liar!” spat the little informant.
