Of all the ways Conor had imagined this day would go, this had not been one of them.
Rollan said, “Keep your shirt on, old man. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
Stunned, Conor stammered, “Please. I’m not a stranger. I used to be Devin Trunswick’s servant. I — I lived here.”
How foolish he felt. Just a bumbling shepherd facing these castle guards, unable to explain himself.
“Quietly,” the guard repeated. A few people had gathered behind him, anticipating drama. “Or difficult?” As he moved toward them, Briggan let loose a rippling snarl.
“No, Briggan,” Conor said. There were five of the dogs and only one Briggan. Although Briggan was superior in most ways to each dog, if one of the mastiffs got him by the throat, he’d be powerless against the other four. “We’re not here to fight.”
He felt Rollan’s attention on him, waiting for him to somehow sort this out; this was his hometown after all. But this was no Trunswick Conor knew. Not with that strange animal on the blue flag. Not with this guard, this strangely bloodthirsty crowd, these mastiffs.
A familiar voice rang out. “What’s the commotion?”
Inside the gate, people and animals parted for the newcomer. An animal led the way: a large black cat, waist-tall. Its eyes were golden and its pelt was silky, inky black with even blacker spots that showed in the sun.
A black panther.
As it stalked dangerously down the cobblestones, a boy stepped out behind it.
Devin Trunswick.
His posture was even haughtier than before. His clothing was impeccable. Everything about him shouted that he was a lord’s son. Conor felt so foolish for thinking anything might have changed between them because of Briggan.
How ridiculous, Conor thought. I’m still a shepherd’s son and he’s still a noble. We won’t ever be equal.
Devin’s eyes found Conor’s and held them. He seemed to be thinking the same thing.
Devin held out his arm. Without a second’s pause, the panther vanished. A tattoo appeared on Devin’s arm.
Conor inhaled audibly.
Impossible. It was absolutely impossible. Conor had been at the Nectar Ceremony where Devin had failed to call up a spirit animal. He had been standing right beside him. Close enough to see the disappointment painted on his mouth.
His mother hadn’t mentioned this in her letter. Conor’s pulse fluttered.
Where is my mother?
“Devin!” he called, trying to cover his surprise. “It’s me, Conor.”
Devin said, “I know.” Then he called to the guards, cool and imperious, “What are you waiting for? Seize them!”
Rollan grabbed Conor’s elbow. Together they jumped away. One of the guards snatched at Conor, but he rolled out of the way. Briggan snapped at the mastiffs. They were stronger, but slower. And there was absolutely no reason to engage them: they had no purpose here in Trunswick. Conor knew these streets. If he could get to the smaller alleys, he might be able to lead Rollan and Briggan out of danger.
He ran down an alley. Beside him, Briggan jumped on top of crates, his powerful hind legs sending them crashing behind him. Essix coursed overhead, her shadow shrinking and growing as she ducked beneath clotheslines and over jutting roofs.
A girl shouted out a window, “Run, Greencloaks!”
Conor barely had time to look up before the girl’s mother dragged her inside and clapped the window closed. The mother’s expression was frightened.
Farther ahead, more windows opened. A boy and a girl waved at Conor, and then, just after Conor and Rollan had passed, they tipped buckets of scalding-hot water into the alleyway. The pursuing guards yelled in pain. Steam curled up the walls. The children were helping Conor and Rollan escape.
Conor had no breath to thank them, but he waved and hoped they understood.
“I’ll remember that!” one of the guards shouted at the windows, his hand clapped over his scalded face. Conor and Rollan left them behind, not slowing. Conor knew that there was a hidden weakness in the wall nearby. If they could just make it there, they could leave Trunswick behind and escape across the moors.
But as Conor darted down a side street, a huge lizard — as long as Briggan — suddenly loomed from the darkness. Its face and clawed feet were black, but the rest of its bumpy hide was a checkerboard of orange and black. Everything about it looked poisonous. It hissed like something out of a nightmare. Conor scrabbled in the other direction. Behind him he heard snarls and cries. He couldn’t see Briggan or Rollan. It felt like there were walls and people everywhere — an older girl with a flat frog in her hands, another girl with the giant lizard, and Devin with his leering smile.
As he spun, Conor was brought up short by a fourth person: a tall, dark-skinned boy and his spirit animal, a long-legged chestnut bird with a big, stork-like head. The bird was tall enough to look right into his eyes. Possibly it was adrenaline, but the hair on Conor’s arms felt charged, like when lightning had struck very close.
“I’d suggest giving in,” the boy said. “My hammerkop here has a very short temper.”
“Also,” added the girl holding the flat frog, “because we have your spirit animal.”
The mastiffs had pinned Briggan to the ground. Conor’s heart sank when he saw that one of them had bracketed its jaws loosely around Briggan’s windpipe. The wolf’s eyes flashed, full of rebellion, but he had no choice but to submit.
“Also also,” Devin said, “we have this one. His cloak seems slightly less green than yours.”
He pointed to Rollan, who squirmed and thrashed in a guard’s hands. Behind them, a tall, handsome man in a richly embroidered cloak watched the proceedings with an approving smile.
“Two little piggies,” the man said. “And one not-so-big, not-so-bad wolf.”
Rollan sneered and spat at him.
The man seemed unconcerned. If anything, Rollan’s rage pleased him. “You had your chance to choose sides, Rollan. We both see you chose poorly.”
This man knew Rollan? Conor tried to place him. Was he from the castle? A guard?
No.
His mind returned to the mountains of Amaya, where Barlow, their ally, their friend, had been slain — stabbed through the back while saving Abeke’s life.
This was Zerif.
A Conqueror.
We’ve delivered ourselves to the enemy, Conor thought, cursing himself. All because I wanted to come back here. Why? This isn’t home. This place has always been a trap. All because I wanted to return to a place where I’d always been trapped. Now I’m trapped all over again.