Yet Malden had never been a true citizen. He’d never been raised to be an honest man. His people were among the lowest of the low, and no one had ever cared to remind him of his rank because they assumed he would never rise above his station.

That expectation, or lack thereof, had given him ambition. And ambition bred will. Taking care, he removed one hand from the crown and flexed the fingers to get the blood flowing through them again. Then he placed the crown on the floor. Oh, that was hard, but once done, he felt so much better. He knew at once he’d made the right decision. He eased his other hand and wiped blood from his palm.

Then he began to consider, once again, how he was going to escape.

The hallway was blocked by the portcullis spears, and even if he could have fled through the palace, he would only arrive in the courtyard where doubtless every armed man on Castle Hill was waiting for him. The tower was collapsed and impassible. It seemed he had but one choice for egress, though he liked it not.

He could climb down the oubliette, the pit that nearly swallowed him before he reached the tower. He peered down into its inky depths now, and remembered what he had thought before—it could lead nowhere but into the Burgrave’s dungeons, some hundred feet straight down.

It was the only way out.

Jumping into that pit would be folly, of course—he would never survive the fall. He could attempt to climb down, but from what he could see of the shaft, its walls looked slick and free of easy hand- and footholds to facilitate such a descent. Fortunately he still had the rope he’d used to gain entrance to the palace, and Slag’s folding grapnel. The rope would be just long enough, if he could drop the last ten feet.

He wasted little time. No doubt guards were headed to the palace already, to check on the Burgrave and his retinue and make sure they had not been injured when the tower collapsed. At least some of those guards would be coming to check on the crown as well. The crown. Best to secure it now, so he wouldn’t lose it. He picked it up again.

Thief.

“Be still!” Malden hissed. He would not let it control him again. He would let no man be his master, ever again.

Well. Save for Cutbill. And Cythera and Bikker, of course. He scowled at himself, but wasted no more time on that line of thought.