Six royal guards arrived soon thereafter. None of them looked happy, but while two of them had the cautious air of professionals, the other four seemed either nervous or angry or both. One of the angry ones pulled Kylar to his feet. Kylar was, he noticed now, manacled to the wall, and still wearing the clothing he’d worn the night of the coronation. They’d been nice clothes a week ago. His and Terah’s dried blood made the front stiff and reeking.

“So you’re the big wetboy,” the gap-toothed guard sneered. “You don’t look so tough when you don’t have a helpless woman shielding you.”

“Sorry I made you look bad,” Kylar said.

Gap-tooth hit him in the stomach.

“Please don’t hit me again,” Kylar said.

“You didn’t make us look bad, you murdering bastard.”

The captain said, “Don’t be an asshole, Lew. Of course he did.”

“Upstairs they’re making him sound like a god. Wetboy-this, wetboy-that. Look at ’im. He ain’t nothing.” Lew casually backhanded Kylar.

“Lew, I—” the captain cut off as Kylar disappeared.

One by one the guards realized Kylar had vanished. There was dead silence for a moment. Then it was broken by the clang of manacles hitting the stone floor.

“Where the hell—”

“Sir! He’s gone!”

“Block the door! Block the—”

The cell door slammed closed with all the guards inside. The lock clicked.

Kylar reappeared outside. Grinning, he waved the captain’s keys at them.

“That didn’t just happen,” one of them said. “Tell me that didn’t just happen.” Another cursed under his breath. The rest still looked like they couldn’t believe it.

“Captain,” Kylar said, “will you please ask Lew not to strike me?”

The captain wet his lips. “Lew?”

“Yes, sir. Right, sir.” Lew met Kylar’s gaze and quickly looked away.

Kylar opened the cell door and the men shuffled out sheepishly.

“Should I, uh?” Lew asked, holding up the broken manacles.

The captain swallowed. “Uh, if you don’t mind, Master . . .  um, Kagé?”

Kylar put his wrists together. They put the manacles on him and walked out of the dungeons. No one said a word. No one laid a hand on him, either.

52

The courtroom was a large, rectangular hall that could hold hundreds of people. It was overflowing, and the doors had been thrown open so more people could stand at the back and watch. At the raised table at one end of the room, Logan Gyre and Duke Wesseros sat side by side. There were supposed to be three judges, but Logan hadn’t wanted to impose the duty on the last surviving duke, Luc Graesin.