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etween the people and the knights, though they usually didn’t last long and the outcomes were predictable. Those fools that weren’t killed in the fight were taken to the dungeons. There was never a discussion or announcement of how long they would be imprisoned and the knights didn’t allow visitors.
    The people were divided as to who to blame. Some believed the king was behind it all. He is the king! they would exclaim. But others had their doubts. They watched Illius Molick strut about the city like a king. They watched him order the searches for rebellious writers or fighters. They did not doubt that if Salir Romore was weak, he would be easy to bend—easy to be put to use by Illius Molick
    The line had dwindled and Ivan and Galen were at the door now. They were last and the only person in front of them was Vin. Garren opened the door for him and Vin brushed past without a word. Ivan frowned after him. He had disliked Vin Connolly since the first time he had met him. Garren nodded at Ivan and Galen and let them leave the dilapidated building.
    They took a few steps down the deserted alley before Galen said, “That was quite a speech.”
    “But they all agreed, didn’t they?” Ivan said happily. “The only one who gave me any trouble was that bastard Vin.” Ivan actually took a skipping step and Galen chuckled.
    Galen looked causally around and Ivan knew he was searching for knights.
    “So, when do you leave to find your spy?”
    They had climbed some steps and entered a more active street.
    “As soon as possible. Maybe even tomorrow. You should come!”
    Galen shook his head.
    “Sorry, Ivan, but no can do. Mom wants me at the inn all day tomorrow.”
    “Have you still not told her?” Ivan asked, suddenly demanding.
    Galen sighed heavily.
    “No, it would kill her.”
    Ivan exploded immediately.
    “We’re doing the right thing!”
    Galen gave a small smile. “It would still kill her.”
    Ivan snorted, his hands deep in his pockets.
    “I’m telling you, Galen, when this is all over—when the king is replaced and the knights are reformed—they’ll all be thanking us on bended knee.”
    “Don’t speak so loudly,” Galen advised softly. His eyes were trained on a knight, but the brute hadn’t heard anything as he was busy leering at a girl.
    They walked on in silence, Ivan shooting moody glares at the people they passed and Galen focusing on the cobbled road. At the end of the street, they parted, Ivan to the left and Galen to the right.
    Ivan now walked down a large road. Heavy stone walls flanked either side, guarding the large houses sitting behind them. He passed these by until he came upon a tall iron gate. He took out a brass key from inside his trouser pocket and opened it. A hand resting on the gate, he looked around. The large lawns were still green but were starting to look pale, and some patches here and there had already turned brown. Red and yellow leaves littered the ground and as he watched, some took flight in a sudden gust of chilly wind. He yanked the gate shut with a loud clatter and turned the key in its lock.
    It was near noon. He was sure his mother and father were in the garden having lunch, so he headed in that direction, walking around the large house instead of through it. Yes, there they were, sitting at a small circular table, laden with trays of sandwiches and jugs of juice.
    “Ivan!” his mother called happily when she caught sight of him.
    “Mother,” Ivan nodded.
    “Have a chicken sandwich. They’re delicious.”
    “Thank you, maybe later—”
    “Have some almond toffee,” Mrs. Finley continued, raising a mug of a warm, steaming drink. “Or would you prefer tea?”
    “I was actually hoping to have a word with you, Father,” Ivan said, looking pointedly at Mr. Finley who was drinking from a glass of wine.
    Mr. Finley lowered his glass, but didn’t set it down.
    “Certainly. If you’ll excuse me, Abby dear?”
    He rose, glass still in hand and headed into