from your friends,” Donald said.
Grace’s heart pounded against her ribcage. “And what news of the south?” She wanted so badly to rip the letters from his hands and read them now, but duty had to come first.
Donald’s face clouded and he lowered his head a little. “Nothing good. His Grace, Duke Brayden, has been murdered.”
Broyles nearly dropped his ledger before pushing Grace aside and getting right up in Donald’s face. The men stood eye level, but Broyles managed to dwarf Donald with his presence. “His Grace was murdered?” he asked incredulously.
“Messengers have been dispatched throughout Cesernan to all the lords. Lord Gregory of Grayshead is to be made the new chief magistrate in Glenbard, but His Majesty is looking for someone to take Grayshead’s place.”
“Who would kill Duke Brayden?” Grace asked. She wanted to knock Broyles over for getting in her way. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest.
“The Death Dealer.”
Three
Donald locked eyes with Grace, whose first instinct was to hide her shock so Broyles and Hoburn wouldn’t be suspicious. Donald, Calvin, and Cassandra knew Grace’s secret, Leon suspected it, but the rest of Arganis was oblivious. She didn’t want to show how upset she was in front of anyone.
Broyles reached over and cuffed Donald upside the head. Donald put a hand to his face and his mouth hung wide open in shock. “Broyles!”
“Don’t spin tales, boy,” Broyles barked and shook an accusing finger at Donald. His face steadily grew red. “The Death Dealer has saved many from bandits and fiends. How dare you bring false tales here!” Broyles reached to hit Donald again, but Donald grabbed his wrist this time.
“Duke Brayden’s personal guards said they saw a hooded figure stab His Grace and flee, and all of Glenbard is alive with the news. I’d hardly make up such a story.” He let go of Broyles, giving him a shove as he did so. He kept his eyes trained on the steward just in case the older man tried to hit him again.
Broyles inhaled and let out a deep breath, and his face slowly turned from red to pink as his anger subsided. He dropped his eyes and shook his head. “Apologies, lad. The Death Dealer saved my girl Nina from trouble once, and I don’t like to think of people besmirching his name.”
“And they’re sure it was him?” Grace asked. She tried to keep her feelings of anxiousness out of her tone, but she couldn’t keep from wringing her hands.
“Maybe an imposter.” Donald shrugged. “Maybe not.” He blinked and looked away from Grace. Of course it was an imposter. “There seems to be a wealth of Dealers across the country now. Imposter or not, this one took a blade to the duke.”
A tense silence spread between them. There were imposters everywhere now. Grace never imagined her simple acts against highwaymen would lead to anyone mimicking her. She’d just been a girl dressed in black, with a sword, scaring away those who wanted to cause misery to others. The name ‘Death Dealer’ came later as stories spread; outlandish stories. But someone murdering the duke, the chief magistrate in Glenbard, was more serious than stories of her being a ten-foot tall man who came from among the stars.
“I best leave you to your work,” said Donald. The tension broke, drifting away on the sea breeze. “I’d like to see my da.”
“He’ll be happy to see his son turned into a heathen in his absence.” Hobrun patted Donald on the back, his laugh driving away the last bit of tension and uncertainty that clung to them.
Donald gently pushed Hoburn away, which had the effect of looking like a tree trying to knock over a mountain. Donald
Grace’s heart pounded against her ribcage. “And what news of the south?” She wanted so badly to rip the letters from his hands and read them now, but duty had to come first.
Donald’s face clouded and he lowered his head a little. “Nothing good. His Grace, Duke Brayden, has been murdered.”
Broyles nearly dropped his ledger before pushing Grace aside and getting right up in Donald’s face. The men stood eye level, but Broyles managed to dwarf Donald with his presence. “His Grace was murdered?” he asked incredulously.
“Messengers have been dispatched throughout Cesernan to all the lords. Lord Gregory of Grayshead is to be made the new chief magistrate in Glenbard, but His Majesty is looking for someone to take Grayshead’s place.”
“Who would kill Duke Brayden?” Grace asked. She wanted to knock Broyles over for getting in her way. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest.
“The Death Dealer.”
Three
Donald locked eyes with Grace, whose first instinct was to hide her shock so Broyles and Hoburn wouldn’t be suspicious. Donald, Calvin, and Cassandra knew Grace’s secret, Leon suspected it, but the rest of Arganis was oblivious. She didn’t want to show how upset she was in front of anyone.
Broyles reached over and cuffed Donald upside the head. Donald put a hand to his face and his mouth hung wide open in shock. “Broyles!”
“Don’t spin tales, boy,” Broyles barked and shook an accusing finger at Donald. His face steadily grew red. “The Death Dealer has saved many from bandits and fiends. How dare you bring false tales here!” Broyles reached to hit Donald again, but Donald grabbed his wrist this time.
“Duke Brayden’s personal guards said they saw a hooded figure stab His Grace and flee, and all of Glenbard is alive with the news. I’d hardly make up such a story.” He let go of Broyles, giving him a shove as he did so. He kept his eyes trained on the steward just in case the older man tried to hit him again.
Broyles inhaled and let out a deep breath, and his face slowly turned from red to pink as his anger subsided. He dropped his eyes and shook his head. “Apologies, lad. The Death Dealer saved my girl Nina from trouble once, and I don’t like to think of people besmirching his name.”
“And they’re sure it was him?” Grace asked. She tried to keep her feelings of anxiousness out of her tone, but she couldn’t keep from wringing her hands.
“Maybe an imposter.” Donald shrugged. “Maybe not.” He blinked and looked away from Grace. Of course it was an imposter. “There seems to be a wealth of Dealers across the country now. Imposter or not, this one took a blade to the duke.”
A tense silence spread between them. There were imposters everywhere now. Grace never imagined her simple acts against highwaymen would lead to anyone mimicking her. She’d just been a girl dressed in black, with a sword, scaring away those who wanted to cause misery to others. The name ‘Death Dealer’ came later as stories spread; outlandish stories. But someone murdering the duke, the chief magistrate in Glenbard, was more serious than stories of her being a ten-foot tall man who came from among the stars.
“I best leave you to your work,” said Donald. The tension broke, drifting away on the sea breeze. “I’d like to see my da.”
“He’ll be happy to see his son turned into a heathen in his absence.” Hobrun patted Donald on the back, his laugh driving away the last bit of tension and uncertainty that clung to them.
Donald gently pushed Hoburn away, which had the effect of looking like a tree trying to knock over a mountain. Donald
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