"You shouldn't do this, my lady. It's too dangerous," Kell said as they climbed the stone steps of the city square platform.
Highlady Ysara kept her gaze forward. Her cloak trailed behind her like a royal banner caught in the wind. "Don't try to dissuade me, Captain. The people must hear this from me, before the Bound reach them first with their lies."
Kell clenched his jaw. Her mind was made. Edramon help him, he admired her for it.
He turned to Dama, who stood just behind. "Put all soldiers on high alert. Eyes everywhere. I want those buildings swept."
Dama nodded crisply and pointed toward a tall building with windows overlooking the stage. Two soldiers broke off immediately.
Whistle stepped up beside Kell, arms crossed. "You know, in a spot this open, it'll be damn near impossible to keep her safe. Too many places for someone with a twitchy bow hand."
Torik scanned the square. He saw at least a dozen vantage points he himself would've chosen, were he planning something unsavory.
The city had gathered. Word of the Highlady's announcement had spread like wildfire, and Valebast turned out in force. Nobles and merchants pressed close to the front, well-dressed and skeptical. Behind them, the lowborn packed the streets like floodwaters, spilling into alleys, climbing crates and wagons to get a better view.
Ysara stepped up to the podium.
She raised her chin and spoke with the clarity of command. "I know many of you are wondering why I've called you here. It is not often that I stand in this place, before all castes and creeds."
The crowd settled into uneasy silence. Mothers hushed children. Merchants leaned closer.
"The truth," she said, voice ringing out, "is not easy. It is not pleasant. But it is what you deserve."
She looked over the crowd, gaze firm. "Our faith, the Bound, the institution we have trusted with law, spirit, and judgment… has been poisoned from within."
A stir rippled through the crowd. Like wind through a wheat field.
Whispers broke out.
"Lies!"
"She dares question the Faith?"
"What does she mean, poisoned?"
"The Bound are sacred!"
Ysara lifted her hands to calm them, but her eyes were fierce.
"They are corrupt," she continued. "They have been using a forbidden relic, the Crown of Tharoghul, the Last Titan. With it, they have created their so-called knights. Beings enhanced beyond human limits. Powered not by the divine, but by the very force they claim to oppose."
Gasps. Cries. Anger.
"Impossible!"
"Sorcery!"
"She speaks madness!"
"The First King would never allow it!"
"Enough!" she bellowed. "It is clear we can no longer trust The Bound as it stands. Therefore, I, Highlady Ysara, lord of Valebast, declare our formal renouncement of the Bound until it is purged of corruption, or until a new faith arises. One truer to the teachings of Edramon the First King."
The square erupted.
Objects flew. Voices turned to screams. People surged forward, soldiers pushing them back.
"That's enough, my lady," Kell said, stepping in front of her, intercepting thrown debris with his armored shoulder. "I told you this wouldn't work."
"Time to go," Whistle muttered. "Not a fan of getting skewered today."
Torik's eyes snapped to the rooftops. Among a sea of shadows, one figure moved with purpose.
"Rooftop!" he shouted, channeling his veilbinding.
He reached into the mind of the crossbowman, shifting the image in the man's eye. Ysara appeared a few feet to the right.
The bolt fired and missed.
But Torik heard a gasp.
A second figure, better hidden. A flash of metal. A hiss of air.
The bolt struck Ysara in the side of her neck.
She staggered.
Time slowed.
Blood spurted in an arc. Her hand reached out. She turned her head, lips moving. No sound.
Kell caught her before she hit the stone. "My lady!" he cried, voice cracking. "No!"
Another object flew overhead. Whistle grabbed Kell by the collar and yanked.
"Not the time, Captain!"
Soldiers rushed to form a shield around them. The crowd was a chaos of panic and fury. Some cried. Others screamed oaths. The mob broke into factions, some defending, others attacking.
They dragged Ysara's limp body down the steps.
A carriage waited, Ithren inside. Torik opened the door. Dama and Whistle shoved Kell inside. Two soldiers carried Ysara, laying her across the seats.
Torik slammed the door shut. The carriage wheels lurched forward.
Inside, the silence was deafening.
Kell cradled her head.
"She's gone," Dama whispered. Her voice trembled.
Kell shook his head. "No. She's strong. She survived worse."
"Kell," Ithren said gently. "Look at the wound."
The bolt had gone clean through. Arterial. Blood soaked her dress like ink across parchment.
Kell looked down.
Then let out a sound no one had ever heard from him before.
A broken sound. Rage and grief made human.
Whistle looked away.
Kell, a man who lived to serve, had just lost his purpose. And in that hollow where duty once lived, something else began to take root.
The carriage bumped and jostled. Outside, the world reeled from what it had seen.
Inside, the crew sat in stunned silence. The woman who had risked everything for the truth was dead.
Torik stared at his hands. They trembled.
"It was my job to watch the rooftops," he whispered.
"We all failed," Ithren said. "But they meant to kill her from the beginning. There was no speech that would have changed it."
Dama leaned forward, eyes sharp with unshed tears. "We knew it would be dangerous. But she still stepped up. She still told the truth."
Whistle exhaled. "And now the kingdom will tear itself apart, won't be long before news spreads."
Kell didn't speak for a long while.
When he finally did, it was soft. Cold.
"Not if I have anything to say about it. Ysara's name meant something, if I rally for the call some lords will answer."
He gently closed Ysara's eyes. Looking down at her, he whispered a thanks that was barely audible to the others.
"Take us to the keep. We have work to do."