Page 22 of Gilded Locks

Maybe it was someone else instead. Someone from town. But then, who? And how did they have a verdure cloak?

A heavy sense of dread settled on Grace. Garrick had verified her fears. If the Sheriff realized the Rogue was back, the forest would be overrun by enemies. At least Garrick’s condescension served her for once. He didn’t respect his own cousin enough to believe her. Grace hoped it stayed that way.

And that seed of hope was sprouting again, pushing through the apprehension. Whoever this new Rogue was, he could be an ally. He seemed willing to defy the mayor. Perhaps, if it was someone other the Jonathan, she could convince him to shift his efforts to something less dangerous.

She couldn’t be sure.

For all she knew, the new Rogue had some motive other than helping the people.

Regardless, Grace had to stop him. His appearance would hurt the people. And she couldn’t allow that.

Grace knew what she had to do. She had to confront the man.

When she joined her father for the day’s work, she considered telling him what she had learned, but she still stung from his dismissal of the night before. She had to prove to her parents that she was not the child they thought her.

She would solve this problem, and bring proof. Then she’d show her parents what she had done.

Chapter 6

There were sixteen abandoned buildings in Fidara. Four shops and four homes on Craftsman Ridge, five farm homes, two field sheds, and the church ruins. If the Rogue wasn’t hiding in the fortress, Grace thought these buildings would be the next best option.

Three times over the next two days, Grace made excuses to Father and Mother and slipped away from weeding and storage-barn cleaning to inspect the possible hiding places. Each shed took a few minutes to examine, but the farm houses took longer. Some of them had two stories and multiple rooms.

By the time she’d returned from her third “visit with Lizzy,” her parents were clearly displeased with her neglect of harvest preparations. But she hadn’t found anything but dusty, rotting floorboards strewn with the remnants of furniture and trinkets left behind by the families who’d once lived and worked there,and she hadn’t looked in the church nor in any of the buildings on Craftsman Ridge.

The fact that her mother had returned from Vathra with a flour sack full of mystic ice, reporting that none of it contained Zerudorn gold, only increased Grace’s determination. Her parents thought her worries more unfounded, but they were wrong.

As Grace sat at the dinner table, eating, she came to a decision.

She’d search the buildings at night. No explanations would be required by anyone.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood and stretched with a false yawn. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll head to my room early.”

Her parents looked at her with concern. “Are you feeling well, fledgling? You’ve been leaving the fields often.”

Grace nodded. “I’m a bit worn, but I think a bit of rest should help.”

“If you’re sick, we need to call for a doctor. We can’t have you ill for the harvest.”

But Grace insisted a good night’s sleep and the upcoming pre-harvest picnic would be enough rest.

There were no more objections from her parents, and Russell ignored her and kept eating. She took it all as agreement.

Once up in her room, she changed, not into her sleeping gown but into the brown linen dress she trained in. After half a second of hesitation, she selected a brown riding cloak rather than the verdure cloak at the bottom of her trunk.

She placed blankets under her covers, slid the curtains aside, opened her window, and climbed out, closing the curtains and window behind her.

Descending was simple. Her room opened over the porch, and the columns supporting the roof were carved, providing foot and handholds.

Grace took the path leading behind her home, hugging close to the small precipice of Craftsman Ridge to lessen the chance of being seen. Stopping before the ground above sloped to meet the main road, she rose to her tiptoes, peering into the open street on the ridge.

Empty.

She slipped across the road in a fast walk.

A shiver ran down her neck. There was an ethereal beauty to the town when seen in shadow touched with a glimmer of moonlight. Dirt and decay melted into the darkness along with other minute details, leaving only the resilience of the town visible. Rundown buildings appeared solid and unbending; the pitted cobblestone road looked steady and sure.

And she, Grace Robbins, roamed the streets as a Protector of Fidara, instead of the debutante and farmer she paraded as in the light of the sun.

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