“I understand. But before you go, I want to see Cornelius apologize to you.” Rupert’s features hardened as he glared at his son.

   Cornelius seemed to shrink in upon himself. “I-I’m very sorry for all the pressure I’ve put on you recently.”

   His father gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s the best you can do? Well, nonetheless, I’m sorry too, my dear.”

   Despite my impatience, curiosity held me a moment. “For . . . what?”

   “For you getting caught up in this scheme of his and Lavinia’s. They’ve been burning through my money to support her ridiculous lifestyle and wanted to send me off with a distracting new bride so that they’d be able to manage the assets here. Since I still legally control everything, I’ve put an end to this, and Cornelius is being very accommodating about returning some of their garish nonsense. Mostly because he’s afraid I’ll cut him out of the will.” Rupert sighed again. “Most of it can’t be returned because he bought it on the black market, so now we have to sell it. The wretches he bought it from don’t want it back. They’re only dealing in gold.”

   “Well, there’s been no harm done, so . . .” My words trailed off as I saw the cloth slip off from Cornelius’s burden. Silvery black stone shone in the early sunlight. “That’s a Balanquan sculpture.”

   Cornelius turned hopeful. “You want to buy it off us?”

   “No. Where’d you get it?” But of course I already knew.

   “I don’t know exactly where it comes from. I mean, it’s the same person I buy from, but I always deal with his go-between. He’s always turning up rare and beautiful things. Those of us in the know are always ready to jump at anything he gets. His goods are pricey—but almost impossible to get anywhere else.”

   “Don’t talk about him like he’s an art connoisseur,” scolded Rupert. “He’s just some common thief.”

   It was another unexpected twist in the weird world that was my life lately. But it was a twist to be marveled at some other day. “I wish you the best of luck in rectifying everything, but I have to go.” I began backing away, hoping the message was clear.

   “Oh, we’ll fix it all,” said Rupert. “And I’m not broke yet. Which is why, when you do have time, we’ll talk about paying off your contract. Not for marriage. We’ve always known I’m too old for you. It’s just something I’d like to do as a gift and an apology—”

   I stopped walking again, but not because of those extraordinary, impossible words. It was a series of shouts and screams that froze me up. People were running toward us, the opposite direction they’d headed earlier for the hanging. It’s over, I thought frantically. I should’ve run to Silas’s. I should’ve ignored Rupert’s greeting. The execution is over. Cedric is dead.

   But no. This wasn’t an enthusiastic crowd. They weren’t high off the drama of watching a heretic die. These people were afraid. They were fleeing for their lives.

   “There’s an Icori army coming! They’re invading the city!”

CHAPTER 33

   THE ICORI?

   That wasn’t possible. Not in Denham. The Icori still shared uneasy borders with the outer colonies, but they’d been pushed out of this region for some time. The treaties created with Denham and its neighboring colonies had held peacefully. And anyway, how could an Icori army have made it all the way to Cape Triumph without anyone noticing until now?

   Improbable or not, the panic ramping up around us was very real. Without another word to the Chambers men, I took off at a run, moving against the flow of the frantic crowd. It gave me an eerie flashback to Sirminica, when I’d seen the same kind of hysteria seize mobs who became obsessed only with their own self-preservation. I fought my way through the crush of bodies, often getting shoved and bumped. At one point, I stumbled into a man who helped keep me from falling. He and a few others were running in the same direction as I was. “Where are the Icori?” I called, keeping pace with them.

   One glanced over at me. “Over by the northwest highway.”

   The northwest highway. After the entrance by the fort, that highway was the next most common way into the city. It was also near the courthouse. Near my friends.

   I took note of my companions’ guns and knives. “Do you have an extra weapon?”

   “Don’t be foolish, girl,” one barked back.

   I split off from them when we reached Aiana’s block and nearly tripped over my skirts while sprinting up the stairs to her loft. Inside, I grabbed the crossbow from its spot on the wall and wavered on whether to burn time searching for weapons I felt more comfortable with. No. Better to go into a fight with this than to miss the fight altogether.

   And I was ready for a fight, ready to do whatever it took to protect my friends. Whether it was Warren Doyle’s machinations or an invading army, I would face it. As I returned toward the door, I noticed a small leather bag with a long strap. I snatched it up too and hung it over me, across my chest. It gave me a place to store the precious papers while leaving my hands free for the crossbow.

   Out in the street, a few others had rallied and taken up arms to face the Icori. I joined a small group and charged forward, determination obliterating all traces of my sleepless night. But when the courthouse finally came into view, that fierce resolve faltered, and I staggered to a halt. Those beside me did too.

   The scene before us looked more like some elaborate theatrical production than real life. The gallows sat atop a high platform that allowed for a good view, except the audience was no longer made of Denham residents. They’d fled. Instead, a mass of riders filled the space. Icori riders.

   I’d never actually seen Icori before, outside of sketches in Osfridian books. They all wore cloaks and wraps of brightly patterned plaid and stripes, a custom they’d maintained long after being driven out of Osfrid and over the sea two hundred years ago. All that color made it difficult to gauge numbers, as did the fact that most of them had blond and red hair. Maybe forty or fifty? From where I was standing, I couldn’t get an accurate view.