Page 31 of Reign
“For Lyonesse!” Fitzroy bellowed, unsheathing his gleaming sword and thrusting it into the air.
The men in the square roared back the rallying cry. But I remained silent, unimpressed by his theatrical speech.
Bash chuckled beside me. “You’re not charmed by him like everyone else?”
I shook my head, watching Fitzroy flash his audience a smoldering look. “I wonder how many hours he spends admiring his own reflection,” I said.
Bash laughed. “If I had his face, I doubt I’d do much else.”
Knights appeared among the crowd, ushering us new recruits toward the drawbridge. Hopeful soldiers sang of valor and victory while I began plotting my escape.
“Thanks for your help,” I told Bash, clasping his hand and shaking it firmly.
He furrowed his brow. “What?”
“I’m starting my new life,” I whispered before slipping through the marching ranks.
“Smith!” Bash called, but I didn’t look back. This was my last chance to escape the war at Cambas.
Bash grabbed my shoulders, turning me to face him. “Smith,” he repeated. “The King’s knights will hunt you down. Your head will end up on a spike.”
I stepped back, twisting my ankle on the uneven cobbles. “They’ll never find me,” I assured him, confident that once I shed my Finn disguise, I could return to life as a woman. “I’m good at hiding.”
Bash shook his head, unconvinced, but also unaware of the secret identity hidden beneath my tunic and breeches.
“Oi,” Fletcher’s voice cut through the ruckus.
Bash turned, and I seized my chance to escape.
Finally, alone, I snuck down a narrow alleyway, its dinginess somehow surpassing the dim street I’d just left behind. Shadows shifted within dark crevices, raising the hackles on my neck. Clutching my packsack tightly, I searched for a path less menacing.
As I quickened my pace, a man stepped out, blocking my way. Forced to halt, I froze as he tugged the rim of his cap low, hiding everything but his toothless grin.
“Where you headed, boy?” he asked, his voice dry and croaky.
As I reached into my sock, taking my blade and hiding it up my sleeve, four other men emerged from the shadows into the faint light.
“You deaf or something?” he pressed.
I shook my head. “I, I…” I stuttered, unsure of what to say.
Out of nowhere, Toothless threw a sudden punch into my stomach, knocking all the air from my lungs. Doubling over, I wheezed, failing to catch my breath before he struck again, sending me tumbling to the ground. Curling up, I braced against each blow as the other men joined in, kicking me as if I were a ball. The beating felt endless, as though they wouldn’t stop until the light had dimmed from my eyes.
Then, abruptly, they halted. I played dead, afraid they’d strike again if they noticed I was still breathing. Thieving hands rifled through my pockets, searching for anything valuable. As the men clawed through my clothing, I feared they’d notice I was lacking a male member, realize I was a woman, and deem my maidenhood more valuable than a few coins.
The cool blade rested in my limp hand, its chill biting at my skin, as if urging me to fight back. When one of the thieves plucked my father’s flat cap from my head, I clenched my grip around the knife and drove it outward, slicing the toothless thug’s cheek.
Blood dripped down his face, trickling onto mine as I lay helpless beneath him.
“You little cunt,” he growled, rage frothing in the corners of his empty mouth.
He raised his fist, eclipsing the light above me. I closed my eyes, bracing for the blow. But before he landed another punch, a sharp whistle cut through the tension, making him hesitate. His head jerked upward as something flew past my face, striking the thug and knocking him onto the cobbles.
Freed from his restraints, I staggered to my feet, my blade trembling in my grip. Beside me, the thug spat a glob of blood into the sewage-filled gutter, dragging himself onto all fours.
Someone squeezed my shoulder, and I spun around—weapon raised.
“Smith,” Bash said, his hands lifted to show me he was no threat. “Give me that,” he demanded, gently prying the blade from my grip.
