Page 89 of Shadows and Roses

An arrow thunked into the grass.

"We said five." A man with a scar across his cheek stepped out from a bush, several other rebels with drawn bows also showing themselves. There would be more archers in the trees; that arrow hadn’t come from the ground.

Jerome responded, "We told your messenger we would be eight."

More archers appeared from behind bushes and trees, then rebels with swords and shields stepped forward and began to surround them. A semicircle of ten fighters, plus fifteen visible archers and an unknown number hidden away—they were clearly outnumbered and outmaneuvered. This was hardly a small gathering. Jerome was likely struggling with his instincts to tell her to turn and ride as fast as she could. She was definitely going to get an earful from Vern when they returned.

The scarred man placed a hand on his sword, scanning the riders. His eyes skipped past her as quickly as the others.

"So where is your Queen?Too much a coward to show her face?"

Jerome countered before she could reveal herself. "Where is Damon? Why send a lackey to greet us? Unless you don't intend us to live."

The man bared his teeth in a humorless grin. "Be glad our leader likes your courtesan. How is Castien?"

"Healing," Jerome replied. "He has been moved out of the palace, to somewhere more peaceful."

"Good. Though he should have been rescued long ago. Does your Queen make a habit of abandoning those close to her?"

"The Queen doesn’t make a habit of sharing her plans. He is safe and cared for."

"So just incompetent then," the man drawled.

"Enough. Will Damon and your captains meet with us, or shall we get on with it?" Jerome’s hand curled around his blade.

The man looked them over again, then lifted a hand. The archers lowered their bows. "We'll see you. Dismount. We’ll take your horses."

Jerome glared. She tapped her boots twice.Comply. Still, his arm flexed before he let go of his sword. The rebels let them keep their weapons as they traversed through a maze of treesuntil they reached a clearing.

The archers and fighters dispersed. Their camp was small and simple despite their numbers; it was likely a temporary and mobile setup. Three people sitting around the campfire followed their movements, one of them idly spinning a dagger.

The scarred man nodded toward the largest, open-sided tent.

"Wait in there. I’ll find Damon. Don’t wander."

Leather-armored fighters with hands on their swords stood stiffly around the edges of the tent, eyeing them as they entered.

A few minutes of tense silence passed, allowing them to scan the camp and their guards. Their horses were tied to trees across the camp—they’d have to fight through all the rebels to reach their mounts.

While the rebels’ gear appeared haphazard, they themselves were fairly disciplined. They stood without fidgeting, at least two of them watching each of her entourage. Their guards all shared the same intense frown. Probably ordered to gut them if they moved too quickly or suspiciously. Understandable. If she knew Jerome at all, he was on the same knife’s edge.

Finally, she spotted Damon leading a horse toward the camp. His mount nipped at him before he passed it off to the scarred man. Dodging a bite, the rebel leader approached the tents, greeting his people along the way.

Around his neck was a claw hanging from a strip of leather.

The leader of the rebels wore a claw as a trophy.

"Welcome to our humble little camp! My friend tells me Castien isn’t able to join us today. What a disappointment." His eyes roamed over them, catching on her face and wandering over her leather and chainmail.

Jerome spoke. "Our healers determined that a gathering would not help him right now."

"Is that so, my dear?" Damon addressed her, drawing all the rebels' eyes to her. "Where has he been moved to? We want to see him."

She stepped past a scowling Jerome. "He needs time, but you will see and speak with him again. Our healers have never failed."

A few angry murmurs rose, their questions answered as Damon swept a hand through the air.

"You have never lost the game, you mean. Welcome to our camp, O most gracious and brave Queen of Drantar!"

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