Sir Jerel BanHow had he missed it? The thought rankled. For somebody who prided his eyesight he had missed a lot recently, and this time it could have cost a life.
Jerel barged through the stunned crowd behind Fleuri, only barking apologies and never looking back.
It could have cost a life. He was not so old yet. It was as though he’d fallen from favour. Why did he not deserve it? He must have been doing something wrong. Idleness, doubt. Murder.
It could have cost a life.
But it did not. Even through the adrenaline Jerel felt the relief explode through his trembling limbs; the Princess and Captain were alive. He was surprised to find his bow in hand and an arrow knocked. The string slackened as he relaxed.
A Nem. Not even disguised. He should have seen it.
So why didn’t he?
The others seemed to have the situation under control, or at least one assassin restrained. Could there be more? He didn’t see any, but apparently that meant little. He swore an oath under his breath, some rather colorful language about magic.
Hungry for redemption, Jerel swung gaze over the room, eating the details and picking over each person, and between them, never staying still. Even though he knew he’d find nothing.