Striped~
Nigel Willoughby
Jorendon
Nigel responded to the summons at once. By the time he arrived at the palace, the boulder was already crashing down the mountainside. He caught up to His Holiness in the Hall of Shields.
“This could get ugly,” Peder said in tight-lipped greeting.
“It already has.”
Mervyn Griffith was in the throne room, wrestling in the grip of soldiers restraining him. He was hurling curses, mad with grief, and seething with hatred for John Deighton.
Deighton was making a strained attempt to ignore the man’s ravings. He stood before Anne and Franz, composed and expressionless, with his hands clasped serenely before him.
“Murderer,” Mervyn screamed again. “If you didn’t kill her with your own wretched hands, you sent your puppets to do the deed.”
“Calm down, man,
