Someone screamed, but other than a collective flinch, no one in the room stirred. They were too stunned, too afraid, to move.

You killed him. I stared at the guard’s body knowing that I’d set him up to die, but unable to comprehend that it had actually happened. Murderer.

I dragged my eyes from the corpse in time to see Lessa shake her head, expression sour. She said something to Roland that looked like an admonition, but he ignored her, his attention back on the sweet in his hand. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my focus. There would be just one chance, and I couldn’t miss it.

My pulse roaring in my ears, I watched Roland lick the sugared globe once. Twice. Then he opened his mouth wide…

Something flashed past in my peripheral vision. Roland started, candy slipping from his hand to smash against the ground at his feet.

“No,” I breathed. “No, no.” Embedded in magic not more than a foot in front the boy’s face was an arrow, the fletching still shuddering from the impact.

“Who did that?” he screamed, and I silently asked the same question as I watched our plan fall apart before my eyes.

He lunged, but Lessa reached up from where she was kneeling on the ground and jerked him back. As I struggled to hold my ground against a crowd that had reached its breaking point, she held up gloved fingers smeared with crimson from the broken candy globe, one word on her lips. One name.

Mine.

I fell in with the crowd, trying to keep my feet as men and women jostled against each other, fighting to get through the narrow doors, glass shattering as some turned to the windows for escape. People were going down, others clambering over their backs, heedless of the screams. I was caught up in the flow, the press of bodies so tight I couldn’t breathe. I lifted my arms, trying and failing to protect my head from elbows and fists.

Then I was through.

I fell once, agony lancing through the back of my legs as they were stomped on, but I caught hold of the cloak of a man ahead and clambered up.

“Cécile!”

Roland’s voice filled the air, drowning out the cries of the terrified and injured.

Then the tavern exploded. The force of it must have thrown me forward, because the next thing I knew, I was face down in the slush and mud, my ears ringing. All around were people in the same position: some dazed, some clutching at wounds the explosion had inflicted, some not moving at all.

The air contracted with a massive flux of magic, and I closed my eyes, waiting for whatever was to come. Again and again the air pulsed with enormous concussions, but the blow I expected never landed. Turning my head slowly, I looked behind me.

Roland was writhing in the rubble that had been the tavern, one arm pressed against his face. Lessa and the other two crouched a few paces away from him, backs to me.