The sun bled low across the valley, staining the river the color of old iron. From the narrow windows above the tavern, Leo watched the square fill up, and what poured into it was not market bustle but a tide of fear made flesh. Men with pitchforks stood shoulder to shoulder with fishermen gripping long gaffs. Women hefted iron pans and cudgels. Children clung to skirts and peered between knees. Faces were hard, mouths tight with a hunger for action, for someone to fix the dread they felt pooling in their chests.
"They are gathering," Owen breathed at Leo's shoulder. His ink-stained hands trembled when he set down his parchment. "This is not council business anymore. This is a mob."
Voices swelled below like a hive turned violent. The clamor carried up to the rafters in a thousand small shards.
"Serpent seed."
"Hand him over."
"Before all of them return."
The guards in the room shifted like leaves in wind. Some checked blades and straps as if testing an anchor. Others could not meet Leo's eyes.
Sofia stood at the table, helm under her arm, watching the square as if she were measuring the depth of a current. Her voice was low when she spoke. "The council has lost control. This crowd answers to fear now, not reason."
One of the older guards, his beard threaded with gray, growled. "Then we cut through and ride. Break out now and be gone."
Another man spat back, anger and exhaustion raw in his tone. "Through our own people? You would spill farmer blood for this boy?"
The room tightened. Arguments folded on themselves and opened again, the fracture that had been widening all day yawning wider.
Leo stepped away from the window. His heart pounded so hard he thought the floor might catch its rhythm. The shard purred inside him, delighted, a greedy thing in his ribs.
Look how their fear burns, it whispered. Strike once and they scatter. Show them fire and they will bow.
He pushed his palms flat against the rough plaster, feeling each tiny granule beneath his skin. He forced the whisper down. He would not let it speak his choices for him.
Nearby, the boy they had pulled from the river stood on the stairs, small shoulders tremoring. His voice cut the thunder of argument like a brittle reed.
"They're scared. That is why they look at you like that. But you saved me. I know you are not bad."
The words lodged cold and bright inside Leo like a splinter. He wanted to believe them with a hunger that hurt.
A pounding hit the tavern doors below. It came sharp, then doubled, like fists beating a heart that had been promised a kill.
"Bring him out!" a voice shouted.
"Hand him to the council!" another cried.
"We will take him if you will not!"
The tavern keeper's pleas rose and broke. No calm followed.
Sofia snapped her helm into place. The steel rim swallowed the scar and the small softness behind it. "We move before they break the doors," she said, voice clipped, businesslike. "Pack light. Only what we can carry to the horses."
Half the guards snapped to action, practiced and quick. The others hesitated, the old fear like a frost on their limbs. One of them, broad and heavy in the shoulders and raw with panic, finally broke.
"This is madness!" he barked. "We should hand him over. Let the Domains deal with it. He is not worth all our lives."
Steel answered the threat. Another guard half-drew his sword with a hiss. "Say that again and I will gut you where you stand."
The room teetered on the edge of violence. Voices rose, footsteps shuffled, the lantern light trembled in the draft like a candle in a storm.
Owen moved between them, hands up as if he could hold the floor steady. "Stop! Fighting each other is what they want!" His eyes flicked to Leo, frantic. "We need you steady now. Do not listen to the shard. Do not let it drive this choice."
Leo's breath came in hard pulls. Each shout outside felt aimed at him. Each accusation pressed like weight upon his shoulders. He looked for one thing he could trust. He found Sofia, her jaw set, eyes unflinching.
"We leave," she ordered. "Under nightfall. Quiet, fast, and together. Anyone who cannot stomach that may stay and answer to the mob."
Her words were a hammer. No speech followed for a long moment. The broad guard spat on the floor and turned away. Two others followed him, faces etched with shame. They left without a formal farewell, their departure a small surrender.
Sofia did not stop them. She looked to those who remained and, without softness, met Leo's eyes.
The pounding below rose to a roar. Timbers strained, hinges groused as if the doors themselves feared collapse.
Dusk thickened and the valley held its breath. The mob's voice swelled like a tide coming in. The hunger in the square smelled like smoke and anger. If the caravan failed to move before the crowds finally pushed through, the square would be lit not by lanterns but by flame.
Leo pressed his fingers against his palm, feeling the hot coil of the shard like a trapped ember. In the room and in the square, choices were forming like tinder. Some hands would strike match to flint. Whether by their fear or by his will, fire would find its way into the heart of the town.