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He stepped closer. "Not for a moment."

I believed him because I could feel the truth of it through our bond, even without hearing the words.

I was about to answer when I heard a horse approaching.

Much came over the ridge at a gallop.

His horse was exhausted, its sides heaving, and he slid from the saddle before it had completely stopped.

Something was wrong.

I knew it the moment I saw his face.

"There's a new proclamation," he said, struggling to catch his breath. "Issued at noon. They've read it in every market across the shire."

I stepped toward him.

"Go on."

"It's not just you anymore."

He swallowed.

"Fitzwalter's declared the entire Sherwood band outlaws and traitors. Every man and woman. He's named everyone he knows."

Little John went still beside me.

"And?" I asked.

"He's given seven days."

Much wiped a hand across his face.

"After seven days, any village found to have sheltered the Ghost of Sherwood will be charged with treason."

My stomach tightened.

"What villages?"

"Thornby. Papplewick. Edwinstowe. Blyth."

He looked at me.

"All of them, Robin. He named them."

"What happens to the people?"

"The proclamation says their houses will be burned and their land confiscated."

Nobody spoke. Much was only nineteen, and I could see he'd been crying at some point during his ride.

Seven days.

For six years, I'd done everything I could to keep the Crown's soldiers away from the people who helped us.

I'd stolen grain when they were hungry, protected their roads, and made certain the poorest families received what the wealthy were willing to take from them.

Those people had fed us, hidden us, and risked their lives to keep Sherwood free.