Not Kellyn?

Since when do I think that I know Kellyn?

I make a clicking noise to signal the horse back into motion before anyone notices I stopped, my thoughts still troubling me.

Temra and I don’t know exactly where we’re headed, but Kellyn has a place for us to find rooms for the night. Tonight we get a real bed. That thought encourages me to press on through the throngs of people.

“Is it just me,” Temra asks a few minutes later, “or are we being followed?”

Kellyn does a casual glance behind himself while Petrik blatantly begins to turn. Temra grabs him by the shirt to stop him. I glance out of the corner of my eye and definitely note that we’ve attracted a few stares.

Normally, I catch that sort of thing right away, so aware am I of all the people around me, but I was distracted by my own thoughts.

“You’re right,” Kellyn says. “There are figures watching us from the alleyways.”

Petrik makes a strangled sound, and he jumps off his horse in front of a wooden board. There are all manner of flyers attached to it with iron nails. Missing persons notices. Apartments for rent. Lost pets.

The rest of us unsaddle to get a better look at what captured the scholar’s attention.

The most prominent and eye-catching item on the board is a single square of parchment bearing four neatly arranged faces.

Reward: 10,000 ockles per capture. Alive only. All weapons in their possession to be handed over. Notify Warlord Kymora.

And then I see all our faces painted.

No, not painted. What I’d thought at first was parchment is actually cloth. Our faces were stitched onto the advertisement in color. In startling accuracy. Each face is so realistic, it looks as though it’s breathing.

The cotton spinner is now making Wanted posters in our likenesses.

“No,” Kellyn breathes.

I’m so distracted by my face staring back at me that I don’t remember we’re being followed until they’re already upon us.

Someone yanks on my arm, while another person sends their fist smashing below my left shoulder blade. I lose my feet before I can right myself from the blows. Hands grab my arms and wrench them behind my back, but then another figure reaches one of my feet, trying to yank me away from the first.

“Back off! I saw her first.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“Those are my ockles!”

I catch a glimpse of two men lifting my sister into the air by her arms. She plants her feet against the wood of the display board and launches herself and the men onto the ground.

Kellyn doesn’t even get a chance to reach for his sword. He’s overrun by men much smaller than him, but superior numbers count for a lot. They tackle him to the ground, use their weight to keep him in place. Someone brandishes a rope and stalks over to the mercenary.

I would panic, but I can’t seem to see through the pain. Someone gets their hands in my hair, and I feel a kick in my side. Everything goes fuzzy at a blow to my head.