be fine. He’ll heal quickly enough, and Harold says that he’ll soon have a booming market stall. He’s got a great future ahead of him.”
“Shut up.” Rashford banged his head against the door, then hit it with his fist again.
March wasn’t sure what Rashford wanted, but he obviously had reached his limit.
Rashford finally turned round, and, with his back against the door, he let himself slide down so he was sitting on the floor. “I’m not sure how much more I can take. I was just going to leave, but I don’t know where I’d go.”
March nodded. “I’d had enough on the battlefield. Seeing the bodies cut up. I don’t want to be a part of that.”
Rashford leaned back, his eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want to be part of chopping people’s hands off. I mean, maybe the enemy’s hand, but not my own boys.”
“The longer we stay here, the more like them we are. And we’ve brought it on our own heads. Anyone working for Harold has only themselves to blame. That includes you, and me too.”
Rashford’s head was slumped down. He muttered, “I hate him. Thomas and Broderick can’t be blamed for stealing from this place. They’ve never set foot in a palace before, never even seen this wealth. They want some of it. Why shouldn’t they take some of it? There’s still loads for Harold.”
“But Harold’s a prince. Nasty, cruel, and quite possibly mad, but still a prince. So he will punish any who disobey, and you will do his bidding, Rashford.”
“What else can I do?”
March hesitated. This was risky, but Rashford had seen him on the beach and had said nothing. “Well . . . you can bow and scrape and do as you’re told. You can chop off the hands of boys in your own brigade. Or . . . you can end it.”
Rashford raised his head, his eyes meeting March’s. “There’s no end to it, though. They’re all as bad as each other. If it’s not Aloysius, it’s Harold. If it wasn’t Harold, it’d be someone else.”
“No, that’s not true. Edyon would be prince. Look at him—you can tell he’d not hurt a fly. He’d reward those who helped him. This country’s still in the balance. Aloysius’s reinforcements haven’t arrived from the north, and who knows when they’ll get here.”
“But Edyon’s going to be executed.” Rashford frowned and lowered his voice. “Or are you planning on something else happening?”
“What can I plan, Rashford? I can’t stop the execution. Unless . . . Harold was dead. Somehow.”
“Somehow?”
“A sharp dagger to the neck. You could do it, Rashford.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve seen him—no one gets close. He’s on smoke all the time. The only person who can get close is you. If Harold was to die in his sleep, no one would give two fucks except Sam and a few others of the Gold Brigade,” Rashford said. “You could do it.”
“And the brigades would look to a new leader—one of them. Someone like you,” March added. “Someone who everyone respects.”
Rashford bit his lip but nodded.
“There’ll be more boys being punished like Thomas if we don’t act. Everyone must see that. There must be some others who’ll join us. They look to you, Rashford. They respect you more than Harold.”
Rashford shook his head. “Not all of them.”
“But you know the ones you can trust.”
“I’ll speak to a few, only the ones I’m certain of—Kellen, Fitz, and a few more. There might be trouble afterward, but the Bulls won’t hurt us. And if I get Curtis on board, then the Hawks will help us too. How soon?”
“It’s got to be as soon as possible. Tonight.”
Rashford nodded. “Agreed.”
“I can get into his bedchamber, but he has four guards around him at all times. We have to overpower them. And Harold himself is strong; he never lets the power of the smoke leave him. But if I can make an excuse to clean his sword and keep it away from him . . .”
March knew this was a weak idea, but they’d have to try it.
In the meantime, March had to somehow continue with his day and make an effort to appear as normal as possible. He went with Harold to view the metal construction on which Edyon would be executed. “The execution will happen tomorrow,” said Harold. “I want Edyon’s head on a spike before his father’s face rots past all recognition.”
After that, March saw Rashford once more, late in the afternoon. “We’re on,” Rashford reported quietly.