Thirty-Two
The sun starts its descent toward the horizon, obscured by a patchwork quilt of swollen gray clouds. Each passing minute tightens the knot in my chest, and I swallow against the sob that wants to rush up my throat.
He’ll meet the blade at sunset.
I was numb after we concocted a scheme, even as Marion dressed me in the maid’s outfit I wore before and draped a plain cloak around my shoulders, the hood casting deep shadows over my face.
Every sound, every slice of darkness feels like a threat as I follow the lines of townsfolk scurrying through the narrow streets like ants alerted to food. Disguised as another face in the crowd, I move with them, making my way to the amphitheater at the far edge of the city.
The weathered stone walls absorb the overcast gray sky, and narrow arches and columns line the entrance. The pathway into the amphitheater is lit with flickering torches, and I’m swept along by the crowd, the press ofbodies leaving me little room to breathe as we funnel through the tight entrance. The air is thick with anticipation and the unsettling low hum of countless voices. The entire kingdom has gathered for this morbid display, and what’s worse is they’re excited for it.
Inside, the theater opens up, revealing a section of tiered seating that crawls along the far wall like a ladder and looks down onto the platform at the amphitheater’s center.
He’ll meet the blade at sunset.
The guillotine stands on the stage like a wolf locked onto its prey, its teeth sharp and deadly. Dark stains mar the wood where others have met their end, the basket below waiting to catch Kane’s head.
The VIP seating gradually fills with nobles and important figures of the court, their jewels and silks like dying stars against the unwashed gray. I spot Lady Whitmore’s peacock feathered hat before my gaze lands on her thin brows and pinched face.
The Empress thrums hot against my chest, a reminder of the magick that brought me here and the hope I cling to. The hope that’s been sliced thin under the shadow of the guillotine.
My ragged breaths stir my hood when my eyes land on them—Four and Ivy—two heads of a snake seated prominently at the front of the center tier.
Ivy’s eyes gleam with anticipation, her lips curled into a faint self-satisfied smirk. Four takes a seat next to her, and she touches his arm and leans into him, giggling as if he’s just brought back popcorn and candy.
Anger scorches my veins, and I press my palm to the card. The Empress pulses in response, andI channel my rage into pushing forward instead of holding back.
Plump raindrops burst against my shoulders and drum along the wooden planks of the platform. The steady beat of rain blends with the constant murmur of the crowd, and if I wanted to, I could close my eyes and imagine the ocean, imagine being far, far away from here. But I chose this path. I’m doing this on purpose.
I pull the cloak tighter and push through the throng jostling for a better view, my gaze never leaving the platform. My breath is heavy and ragged as I edge closer to the stage, to where they’ll kill Kane if I don’t stop them first.
A door creaks open, and chains slap the wood. Silence flares, prickly and hot as lightning. Every face in the crowd turns to the platform, their eyes fixed on the stairs pressed into the back of the stage. Kane is led out in chains, flanked by two men, cloaked and masked like reapers in head-to-toe funeral black.
The silence stretches as Kane and his jailors ascend the stairs, his shackles clanging against the wood.
I stare at him, unblinking, my skin clammy, my chin trembling. Kane’s tattered clothes are dark with sweat and rain. His black hair is plastered to his forehead. Water drips from the strands and trails down his neck, pulling at his shoulders, dragging him down further. He stumbles slightly, but the figures on either side keep him upright, their grips nearly as strong as his chains.
The crowd swells, their shouts merging into a thunderous roar of boos and jeers. The rain beats down harder, punishing them, punishing me, trying to wash us clean.
The guards shove Kane toward the wooden structure standing menacingly at the center of the platform. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t scan the crowd. His eyes are fixed on the ground, and my heart breaks all over again.
I edge closer to the staircase at the front of the stage, my stomach in my throat, every nerve ending on fire.
I can’t let them take him.
I won’t.
“Stop!” My voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.
Heads whip around, confusion rippling through the crowd as I charge the stage. My footsteps strike the wood. Water soaks my slippers and splashes my legs as I race up the stairs. My hood slips off when I reach the top, and I stand tall, the rain-soaked disguise clinging to my skin.
“Fawn?” Kane’s dark eyes encase me.
Gasps ripple through the audience, a collective intake of breath that seems to pause the very storm around us.
“Seize her!” The shrill shout comes from the stands.
I spin around to stare up at Ivy on her feet beside Four, pointing a shaking finger in my direction.
