“Rise and hail,” Prince Escaraine called out. “Welcome these good and true men, and praise be the name of Maradaine the Eighteenth, may his reign be long and grand!”
“Hail!” the crowd called as everyone got to their feet. “Hail Maradaine the Eighteenth, King of Druthal!”
“Never!” a voice shouted from the back. “The True Line lives!”
With a piercing thwang, a crossbow bolt flew toward the stage, toward the king. Marshals—unobtrusively on the stage all this time—acted in a snap, grabbing the king and the prince and pulling them off the platform before anyone was hit by the shot.
Jerinne looked around, trying to spot the shooter. Not that she could do much: no shield or sword on her at the moment.
That didn’t stop Dayne. She saw him charging across the lawn, running ahead of the swarm of marshals toward the would-be assassin.
Dayne was well aware that the crossbow was aimed right at his heart.
“Friend,” he said, holding his hands out and open. “There’s no need to do this.”
Dayne had been able to get to the young man who had just taken a shot at the king before he could load another quarrel in his crossbow, but only just before.
“The True Line . . .” the young man said, his hand shaking. He didn’t look like an assassin at all. If anything, he looked like he barely knew how to hold the weapon. He looked more terrified than anyone.
“You’ve never taken a life,” Dayne said. “I can see that. I can see you believe in your cause, but it doesn’t have to make you a killer.”
“But the kingdom needs—”
“It needs you to put the crossbow down. No one needs to die today. No one needs to kill today.”
Dayne noticed the marshals out of the corner of his eye. All of them had their crossbows trained on the boy. “No one needs to, hear?”
“Get out of the way, Tarian!” one of the marshals said.
“We need a strong hand, a pure throne!” the young man shouted.
“This won’t do that,” Dayne said. “It will taint the throne with blood. It will taint you with blood.”
“No!” the young man said, though now his hand lowered a little with the trembling. “I don’t have a choice. I have to.”
“Why?” Dayne asked.
“I . . .” His voice cracked, like he was fighting to get the word out. “I . . . have . . . to.”
“You can’t,” Dayne said. “You fire, you won’t kill the king. Marshals have already pulled him away.” Dayne hadn’t seen that, but he assumed that would have been the first thing they did. “All you’ll do is hurt me. I don’t want you to do that. I don’t think you want to do that.”
“Please,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I have to. They said that . . . the True Line . . .”
Dayne took a step closer. “That doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is—”
That step panicked the young man, and the crossbow went back up at Dayne. But as soon as it did, no fewer than nine bolts fired into his body. Dayne tried to grab him, grab the crossbow away, but he dropped like a sack.
“Get a Yellowshield!” Dayne called out, looking to the marshals behind him, all of their crossbows expended.
The young man still held up his crossbow as he died, wheezing out one last “The True Line . . .” before he passed.
“Dayne.” A hand touched his shoulder. “The rest of you, back away, give him space.”
Dayne looked up to see Chief Donavan Samsell. “That didn’t need to happen.”
“I’m sorry, Dayne,” he said. “But it did as soon as he raised his weapon.” He guided Dayne away from the scene.
“We could have taken him alive,” Dayne said.
“I know. I would have liked to know how he got on the grounds, with the crossbow. There’s no reason he should have gotten close enough to take a shot.”
Dayne glanced around at the crowd, still watching the scene in shock. Over on the platform, the king and the prince were being taken inside, while the newly sworn members of Parliament came down, marshals standing watch over each of them.
“I meant we don’t sentence people to death in this country. And we don’t do that if we can help it.”
“I know this was unpleasant,” Donavan said. He shook his head and sighed. The other marshals were cleaning up the scene, removing the body with quiet efficiency. Dayne was more than a little disturbed by how easy it was for them. How eager the nobility and power players seemed to be to get back to their festivities. He turned back to Donavan.
“Why are you here? I thought you were at the Parliament.”
“I should be,” Donavan said. “But the High Lord Marshal thought I was needed here, so here I am.”
Dayne let a smile come to his lips. Despite the differences between them, he knew Donavan Samsell was a good man who tried to do his job well, miles away from the likes of Chiefs Toscan and Quoyell. “And I think the marshals need you.”
“And I’ll be needing you,” Donavan said. “In just a moment, over there.”
Over there, meaning where the members of the press were gathered.
“This role, still?”
Donavan shrugged. “They do like you, and you’re good at it.” Holding a hand out to keep Dayne from commenting, he added, “We all have so much to do. There is a lot of work ahead right now.”
“Good,” Dayne said. “Frankly, with Quoyell at the Parliament, I was largely without purpose.”
“I won’t have it that way,” Donavan said with a clap on Dayne’s shoulder. “Others want your attention. I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”
He walked away as Jerinne approached. “You always find the excitement.”
“I was just in the right place,” he said. “I’m glad you were invited.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I’d rather be training. Why are they honoring us this time? We didn’t capture Quoyell or the other people behind the
