The tavern descended into chaos.

Everna had been in large fights before, both in the tavern and during her days at the academy — predominately as an unsuccessful mediator forced to defend herself from the occasional fist and flying bottle — but those brawls were nothing compared to the sudden violence that gripped the taproom.

Guards turned on guards. Patrons scrambled out of the way of the conflict, chairs and tables toppling. A handful of them, including Lyra, ran for the cellar. A few of the braver — and drunker — patrons remained behind to assist, flinging plates and bowls and bottles into the fray with reckless abandon, while the rest fled for the door.

Windmore, realizing he was cornered, made his escape, Gillain on his heels. Her father barreled after him as well, throwing one of the smaller guards into the wall. A handful of the Windmore’s accomplices moved to intercept Corden while another pair slipped past and made straight for her.

Cursing, she leapt onto the bar, just as a sword skimmed past her legs.

Banor bolted upright as she passed, hazy eyes wide. The moment he took notice of the pandemonium, a drunken laugh tore from his lips. Hefting his axe with, he swung at the first guard that came within reach.

A second guard ducked beneath the swing and lunged for her. She kicked Banor’s abandoned mug into his face, just as a well-placed wine bottle clocked him on the back of the head.

It was pure and utter chaos in every sense of the word. The taproom transformed into a sea of stumbling bodies, swinging weapons. She could hardly keep track of what happened. There was no way to tell which of the guards were on which side.

Her brother broke through the line of guards struggling to hold him back and shot out the door, barking orders. Bree, the cook’s assistant, poked her head out of the kitchen, then struck the nearest guard with the underside of a heavy frying pan. Lisette bobbed in and out of sight, swinging and stabbing at anyone who dared get too close to her.

Banor leapt off the bar and onto a small cluster of guards and sent them toppling, his laughter ringing above the clamor of battle. One stumbled into Wil and quickly found a dagger wedged between his ribs. Another fell victim to a wayward serving tray. A rusted pail streaked through the air, its contents, which looked very much like vomit, spilling over a handful of guards.

From the corner of her eyes, she caught a flash of gold as Leah bounded down the stairs and into the fray.

She didn’t have time to question when she arrived. A gloved hand clamped around her ankle and yanked. The bar disappeared from beneath her. Her knee caught the edge and a mess of pins and needles shot through her leg. A second hand clamped over her mouth, swiftly followed by the sharp bite of a dagger at her neck.

“If you want to keep your head, I suggest you drop the sword and come with me,” her assailant said, his voice in her ear.

“Not happening,” Everna hissed.

She seized the man’s wrist with her right hand, anchoring his arm in place, and flipped her sword so that the tip pointed behind her. Her assailant stepped back to avoid the strike. She followed suit, taking advantage of the opening, and ducked out from beneath the dagger. Keeping her hand firmly on his wrist, she immediately stepped to the side and wrenched his arm forward. Her assailant — a Shroud agent, she realized — cursed.

Most assumed her mother was deadliest with a dagger in her hand, but the real danger lay in her martial prowess. Over the years, her mother tried to teach her several maneuvers, many of which pertaining to her predicament, but Everna lacked the strength and finesse required to see them through. She couldn’t throw a man twice her size, but she was resourceful, if nothing else.

Foregoing the flip that should’ve followed, Everna did the next best thing; she drove her knee into the junction between his legs.

The Shroud agent lurched forward, a pained whine pulling from his lips. She struck him again, just for good measure, then drove her heel into his kneecap. The moment his leg buckled, she released him and scrambled over the bar.

Blades came at her from every angle, some intentional, others a matter of poor placement. She skirted around a pair of guards burying punches in each other’s faces and snatched a serving tray off one of the few tables left standing. A guard, covered in blood and missing several teeth, made a grab for her. From the corner of her eye she saw the Shroud agent, who’d recovered more quickly than she expected, do the same.

Cursing, she flung the serving tray at the guard. It caught him square in the jaw and sent him staggering into the path of a flying dagger, which struck him in the shoulder. He tripped over a fallen mug and landed on his rear in a heap of failing limbs.

A chair sailed past her head. Shroud’s agent tore after her, tossing toppled furniture aside. She seized the first thing she could get her hands on — an untouched bottle of brandy — and swung it at him, missing. The agent lunged for her and she scrambled to the side, swinging her sword. She missed again; the tip grazing the outer edge of his hood. He swung own weapon in retaliation and she barely batted it away before it came at her once more and grazed her chin.

Something heavy collided with the side of her head. Liquid — wine — spilled into her eyes, glass shards digging into her skin. Her foot struck the splintered remains of a chair leg and, with a sharp burst of pain, her ankle gave out. The ground met her back with enough force to drive the air from her lungs.

The agent loomed over her, a darkened void where his face should be. He was winded — or seething — his shoulders jerking sharply as his gloved hand curled into a fist. Everna forced down the panic bubbling in her chest and readjusted her grip on her sword.

If this was how she went out, then damn it all, she’d go out fighting

The agent snarled and raised his sword. Though she could hardly see through the wine and tears burning her eyes, she flung the bottle. It flew wide, shattering against the back of a guard’s head.

Frustrated, Everna kicked at the agent’s ankle, but he caught her foot mere inches before it connected.

“Fortunately for you, Godwin wants you alive, and that’s not negotiable,” he sneered. “But he never said you had to be in one piece. How about I cut your legs off so you can’t keep running, huh?”

She’d cut his legs off instead, if her she could reach. The blade, which was roughly as long as her for forearm, wasn’t long enough and, with one leg hoisted high into the air, she couldn’t pull herself up far enough to make an attempt. The agent wisely kept out of reach of her other leg.

Out of options, she flung her sword at his face, but to no avail; he carelessly swatted it aside and set it spiraling across the taproom.

Not a moment later, it came at him from behind. The blade plunged straight through the back of his hand, forcing him to relinquish his weapon. Feeling his hold on her ankle slack, she wrenched her leg free and scrambled backward.

Several things happened at once. An arrow struck the agent in the shoulder. Wil appeared behind him, not from the shadows but from thin air, and drove his sword through his back. At that same moment, her mother burst from a well of writhing shadows, her face twisted with fury and her eyes wild with murderous intent.

With nothing more than a flash of dwarven steel, her mother sent the agent’s head tumbling from his shoulders. His body crumpled to the floor and, as if his death heralded the end of the fight, the tavern fell silent. The traitorous guards surrendered, and those who remained loyal to the kingdom swiftly apprehended them.

"I have half a mind to slap some sense into you," Evelina said, though Everna could tell by the tone of her voice she was more relieved than angry.

Ducking her head, to avoid her mother's pointed glare, she turned to observe the aftermath. Andryll, whom she hadn't seen during the conflict, stood in the entryway, peering into the street. Near the bar, Banor climbed to his feet, wiping at his bloodied nose with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin half-hidden beneath his beard. Leah, ever the picture of poise and perfection, gracefully picked her way through the wreckage, stopping every so often to examine a guard before she continued on in favor of the more heavily wounded.

Among them, Everna counted eight dead and many more injured.

"When did Leah get here?" she asked, turning to look at Wil over her mother's shoulder.

Before he could answer, her mother said, "She came with Corden, and thank the gods for it. I doubt I'd have survived another night, otherwise."

Unease pitted in her stomach. Corden hadn't explicitly said how dire the situation was, but he'd insisted it was enough for concern. Yet, with that unease, came an abundance of relief. If Leah had been the one to tend to her mother and Pala, then she had nothing to fear. Her mother was awake, and Pala likely would be as well.

"Guess that explains how he found the safe house," Lisette muttered as she pushed a soaked chunk of hair from her face, glass shards falling onto her shoulders. "I don't get why he couldn't just say that."

"The joys of dealing with my family," Everna said. "They don't ask for things; they cut straight to intimidation. You learn to get used to it."

Her mother eyed Wil and Lisette, her upper lip pulled back in a sneer. "So this is all Shadowguard has to boast about these days? A bunch of third-rate runts?"

Lisette startled. "How did you—"

"I'm aware of the situation, even if my daughter lied about it. You didn't truly believe I wouldn't notice a couple of flea-infested rats sniffing about my tavern, did you?”

"And yet, you missed the ones who killed the mayor," Wil argued.

The look she gave him could've stopped a raging boar in its tracks. "Don't test my patience, you little shit. I know you're the one who dragged my daughter into the post that night, and the only reason you don't have a dagger in your throat is because she's alive. And you better hope it stays that way or your Overseer will be the least of your worries."

Wil held his ground, though she could tell from the way he shifted on his feet that it was fear that stayed his tongue. Her mother would take his head off before he could draw his sword if the display she witnessed moments ago was anything to go by.

Everna heaved a sigh and climbed to her feet, her ankle aching. "Mom, let it go. Please. I've had enough fighting for one day."

"Fortunately for you then, I believe the excitement is over," Andryll said, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "It seems Corden and Ronan have successfully apprehended Windmore. Or, should I say, Corden has successfully prevented Ronan from beheading him."

"Let him," Everna hissed. "It's no less than he deserves."

Her mother pursed her lips, then shook her head. "I know you're upset, dear, and as much as I would love to agree, it may be best they take him alive. The Courts aren't exactly in your favor."

"The Courts can bite me," she spat. "If even a prince can't convince them to see reason, there is nothing Windmore can offer them. Don't forget they sided with him!"

"She has a point," Wil said. "Even after I told them Windmore admitted to his part, they refused to drop their suspicions. They're still convinced Everna had some part in it, and it'll take a confession under a truth spell before they'll let it go."

"And they could've just had a cleric interrogate me and call it a day." Everna said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I don't even think that will save me at this point. It's like they're doing everything in their power to avoid resolving this."

Her mother snorted. "It's the Courts. You didn't truly expect anything less, did you?"

Everna had hoped that if they were as intent on stopping whatever was brewing in Inverness, they'd have exhausted every means at their disposal. Yet it seemed to be the opposite. They waived her rights and blew past all steps between her arrest and the trial — as if they wanted her guilty and hanged as quickly as possible.

"Shroud is notorious for throwing their agents to the wolves," Lisette said. "Remember what I said about someone tipping us off? We still don't know who it was, and until we confirm it wasn't Shroud and that you aren't acting as a double agent, the Courts won't take any chances."

"They hang you or release you and it's over," Wil reminded her. "They have to keep the case open on the off chance their suspicions are correct."

She raised a brow. "I still don't see why you can't do anything about it. They're treason charges. You should have some authority over that."

"Division of powers, Everna. The Crown has limited power over the Courts as it is, and I'm not the king. The only power I have is over the High Knights. I couldn't do anything until Corden arrived, and I wasn’t sure when he’d get here. The Courts vetoed the transfer request twice. I had to give him the order directly because they refused to deliver it, and find someone to take over his post.”

"But the Steward has authority over the Courts?" Everna asked, dubious.

"Windmore undoubtedly lied about that," her mother snarled.

"I don't know," Wil admitted. "Inverness has never had a steward before and even the Courts aren't sure what the extent of his power is."

Lisette chimed in, "We know that at least two of the Arbiters have been a problem. Osain suspects Shroud may have slipped one or two of their agents into the Courts to stir the pot."

Her mother scoffed, "I can assure you there aren't just one or two, and it's been going on longer than you think. I had hoped the legitimate ones outnumbered Shroud's imposters, but it seems not to be the case."

Everna shifted on her feet, leaning against a toppled table to take the weight off her bad ankle. "Is that why they agreed to the ploy?"

If Shroud had agents in the capital — in the Courts themselves — it would explain how Windmore bypassed all levels of authority and charged her with treason. Where the interpretation of the law and judgment was concerned, the Arbiters were the ultimate authority. If they deemed the case worthy of treason and Windmore's actions justifiable, there would be no further argument.

"That very well could be the case, now that I think about it," Wil said. "I told you, the Courts believed you were as good as dead anyway. Shroud might have figured it'd be better to let you put yourself in the grave they dug. They may pressured you into doing something stupid while the uncompromised ones hoped you'd draw Shroud out of their hole."

Everna pinched the bridge of her nose. "And neither have succeeded."

Her mother pursed her lips. "No, you drew them out, and that's the problem. They're exposed, and it's only going to get worse from here."

"I guess I'm heading back to the safe house, then."

She'd hoped that with Corden now in control of the Guard, Osain would allow her to return home. She had nothing against them (Vina aside), but the safe house lacked what she so desperately needed at the moment: comfort and familiarity. She'd grown tired of wearing the same dress for days and having to borrow necessities from Lisette. Never mind the washroom; she needed a proper bath. She hadn't had more than a quick scrub down in well over a month.

Her mother made a sound of disapproval at the back of her throat. "You're staying here."

Lisette protested, but a sharp look from Evelina stopped her short.

"She's staying here," she said with finality. Then she jabbed her finger into Wil's shoulder and said, "As are you. You got her into this mess and you're getting her out of it. I meant what I said; anything happens to my daughter and you'll wish it was your Overseer you were dealing with. I don't give a shit what the consequences are. You won't be the first prince I've taken out, but I have no problem making you the last."

He looked as if he wanted to protest further, but Everna shook her head. There was no arguing with her mother. Nothing short of divine intervention could change her mind. If Everna went back to the safe house, her mother would weasel the location from Corden and drag her home by the ear.

"Now," her mother said, her hand returning to her side. "Everna, once Leah tends to your ankle, go take a bath. You look awful. And you reek." She turned to Wil and Lisette again, the scowl returning to her face. "As for you two, clean up my tavern."

Brawl

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