Wren’s POV
The boy is nineteen, and his name is Emrys, and he gets four words out in the yard before his legs give out.
“They took the run.”
They carry him into the kitchen. Somebody puts a cloth against his ribs, and somebody else puts brandy in his hand,d and Ronan crouches in front of him and does not once raise his voice.
“Slowly,” Ronan says. “From the top.”
“North road, past the crossing.” Emrys is grey. “Four of them in the road, and I mean in the road, Alpha, stood there waiting. They knew the day. They knew the hour. They cut the traces, and they didn’t touch the goods.”
“Then what did they take?”
“The book.” Emrys swallows. “The tally book off the seat. And they took Dunn.”
Rhys says a word I won’t repeat.
“Who’s Dunn?” I say.
“Quartermaster’s clerk,” Ronan says. “Rides
