moment her huge black eyes meet his and she freezes. His sword won’t stop. His left hand is too clumsy, too weak to divert it.
He throws himself to the side with a cry, his sword striking stone. The tip shatters and the sword leaps from his hand, skidding away. He can hear the girl screaming, speaking too quickly for him to understand any of the few words of Arabic he’s learned. He looks up and sees her scrambling away from him to press her back against the half wall surrounding the rooftop. She’s unharmed.
Robin pushes himself back up on his left hand, then staggers to the edge of the rooftop. He can still see the men defending the King. There are fewer attackers now, but there are fewer allies as well. Robin reaches for his bow.
Drawing it is an agony, and he can feel the wounded muscle tearing around the arrowhead still lodged in his shoulder. But his aim is true, and from this height he can reach the front line. An attacker goes down, replaced by another behind him. Robin looses another arrow and another man falls.
He sucks in air through his nose, the hot dust scorching his lungs. He can feel the weakness coming, can feel blood pouring past his armpit, down his rib cage. His aim is faltering. But he can see the King now, his crowned helmet gleaming in the light of a blazing fire engulfing one of the gatehouses. They are on the edge of the city. There are horses waiting—they need only to make it another few paces to the gates, which stand open.
Robin draws his bow again. One of the King’s defenders goes down, and the firelight glints off a curved blade as its wielder races at the King. Robin draws in a long breath, willing his shaking arm to steady, begging his muscles to hold for one more shot, one last arrow.
Out of the corner of his eye: movement. The glint of light on a blade, the whisper of a soft sole against the sandstone. Robin could turn, could loose his arrow into the man creeping up behind him. His muscles quiver, and with a snarl of pain and focus, Robin narrows his eyes and lets the arrow fly. It courses straight and true through the air, inscribing a gentle arc down, down onto the battlefield, and buries itself in the brain of the King’s attacker. Robin takes a breath—the King is away, galloping into the desert.
And then a blade crunches into Robin’s side and he’s knocked down against the stone with the force of the blow. He cannot move, cannot feel anything below his rib cage—there is no pain. Robin’s eyes move slowly, lazily, sweeping across the rooftop. He sees the girl, pressed back into the corner as far as she can, everything covered except her eyes. They fix on his, wide and black. She is silent now.
“Marian,” Robin whispers to her. “Don’t be afraid.”
There are voices above him, but he does not hear them. Instead he can hear rain, a gentle patter against broad green leaves. The smell of wet earth rises all around him, and the world is wrapped in fog. From beneath the padded armor under his mail, he withdraws a chain; on the end of it is a small gold ring set with a bloodred stone. He curls his fist around it, enclosing the little ring in the shelter of his fingers to shield it from the world.
“Marian, I’m sorry.”
ONE
“MY LADY.” THE VOICE was urgent. “My Lady, please—please wake up.”
Marian swam up out of a dreamless sleep, her mind groggy and confused. It was dark, but as her eyes adjusted, the light of a candle came into view. Behind it she could see a familiar face, drawn and frightened.
“Elena,” she croaked, dragging herself upright. “What is it?”
Her maid swallowed, the candlelight bobbing and swaying with the trembling of her hand. “It’s my brother, my Lady. They’ve got him—they’ve arrested him and they’re going to kill him at dawn. Please, my Lady, I don’t know what to do.”
Marian was on her feet before she could think, reaching for yesterday’s dress hanging over her changing screen. She threw it on over her shift, ignoring the trailing laces at its back. “Where is my cloak?” she demanded, quick and curt.
“Here, my Lady.” Elena was shaking, terrified, but still competent. She thrust the cloak at Marian and then stepped back. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to stop them.” She