Page 143 of The Turncoat King
“Theyaretrying to shoot him in the back,” the guard to her left whispered. “And they’re just bouncing off.”
“You all right, princess?” Luc asked, and she raised her eyebrows at the title.
“I’m all right, Commander.” He was close enough now she could see he had been fighting. There was blood on his cloak and his hands. “You?”
He shot her a grin at that. “All good.” He tipped his head at Herron. “That’s the Queen’s Herald?”
“Yes.”
How were they going to get out of this situation?
The street behind Luc was heaving with people. They could be overrun at any moment, except the queen would surely die.
Someone lunged from the crowd with a sword, but Oscar moved, almost fast enough to seem a blur, and the man retreated, screaming in agony.
“Anyone else?” Oscar called into the crowd.
Most likely, if more of the military were here, they would be in serious trouble, but Ava hadn’t seen many soldiers, not even in the barracks where she’d been held in the heart of the city.
They were either prisoners in Bartolo or they’d died on the plains under General Ru’s sword.
The sound of voices behind her made her turn, and she saw people beginning to spill from side streets to surround them, as if the ones at the back of the group following Luc had spread out and down toward the palace for a better view.
Everyone wanted a front row seat.
“Why aren’t you doing something, Herron?” Her aunt’s voice shook with anger. “Deal with this!”
“I wouldn’t help you even if it meant my personal fortunes doubled,” Herron told her, and there was a sudden hush in the crowd.
“Why would you say something like that to our aunt?” Ava asked.
“Because she won’t die!” Herron’s scream cut off every sound. He stopped, staring in horror at his own revelation. He looked down at his jacket, at the black embroidery on it, and then at Ava. He ripped the jacket off, kicking it away from him in panic. “That bitch did something to it. She worked something in.”
“Who’s she?” Ava asked. “Don’t be so cryptic, not everyone knows what you’re talking about.”
“Your mother.” Herron shouted the words. “She did something to it, made it so I would have to answer you.”
“It seems you’re still answering her,” the queen said. “So it can’t be the jacket. Now do something to get me free.”
Herron shook his head as if dealing with an irritating fly. “I’ve waited patiently for my turn on the throne, but whatever makes you look like you’re about to fall down dead isn’t killing you fast enough.” He stopped talking, looked at Ava in shock. “How are you still making me talk?”
“Making you tell the truth, you mean?” Ava shrugged. “Maybe you just need to get it off your chest?”
“Maybe.” Herron gave a slow nod. He lunged suddenly, grabbing the queen in a hug, and Luc lifted his sword from her throat when Herron tugged her out of his hold.
For a moment, Herron and the queen stood in each other’s arms, and then Herron stepped back, raising his arms at his sides. He held a long knife in his right hand, and it dripped blood.
The queen’s hands went to her chest, and she looked down. “I’m protected.” She looked around wildly. “I’m protected. My chemise is spelled to protect me.”
“Those protections don’t last forever,” Herron told her. “How long have you had it?”
“Nearly thirty years. It made me sick, but it protected me. I survived two assassination attempts thanks to it.”
“Thirty years is a long time.” Herron shrugged. “I should have known you had some protection.”
The queen fell to the ground and Ava crouched beside her.
“If it doesn’t work anymore, how was it still making me sick?” the queen whispered.
