Diabolical. Even knowing what I knew, the urge to fight for my allies might overpower me. I white-knuckled the arms of my seat, holding on for dear life.Stand down, Roosa.I was outgunned, outnumbered, and ill prepared. Maybe Domino and the others had a plan of their own.
Yes, yes. Of course, they did. And if not them, Cyrus.
Despite the distance, I swung my gaze to him. He already watched me. With a single shake of his head, he issued a clear command: Act unaffected.
A tremor worked through me. No doubt Mr. Vyle had spies woven into the crowd, on the hunt for any hint of sympathy.
Withering inside, I nodded.
“Do not allow their lack of worms to sway you. These infected are too far gone for treatment,” Mr. Vyle said as the prisoners were lined up behind him. He held out his hand, and a baron marched over to give him a sword.
The roiling in my stomach worsened. “Surely he isn’t going to kill them.” Because CURED needed them. Would imprison them as they’d done to Victors and use their bodies as pritis factories.
“He’s the executioner,” Roman said, unconcerned. “What else do you expect?”
No, no, no. As Mr. Vyle moved to stand in front of the first prisoner, tremors invaded my limbs. A team of glowers would swoop in at any moment. Yes, any moment now.
“Any last words?” Mr. Vyle asked. Hoping they would beg for mercy or change their allegiance?
“Soal is the cure,” the soldier called to the audience, his head high. “CURED is the dis—”
The executioner struck. A swift swing of his weapon. The soldier’s head fell to the floor, his body standing for several seconds longer. Blood sprayed over Mr. Vyle and the royals, none of whom reacted.
A gasp congealed in my throat. Cheers erupted throughout the crowd, Roman one of the loudest.
“Anyone else have anything to say?” Mr. Vyle asked, his fury unmistakable despite his calm demeanor.
Without missing a beat, each Soalian cried, “Soal is the cure!” Their lack of distress erased the veneer of calm from the executioner’s face. “CURED is the disease. Open your eyes and—”
With a grunt, he struck again and again. As heads rolled and bodies toppled, Roman and Winslet popped to their feet, clapping excitedly.
I sat frozen, steeped in revulsion and helplessness, choking back horror, fighting my tears, and swallowing a rise of vomit.
Warmth spread from my shoulder, light as a whisper, and I knew. Domino was behind me, offering what comfort he could. I bit the inside of my cheek and held tight to our bond, certain it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“These brave soldiers fought for what they believed was right,” he told me. “They did not die in vain.”
Do not cry. Don’t you dare.I didn’t care if they hadn’t died in vain; they’d died. That was bad enough. They should be alive and well.
A blood-splattered Mr. Vyle removed a pocket square from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and wiped his face before returningto the podium. A cleanup crew overtook the stage, swiftly removing the remains and mopping up the blood. As they worked, fury sparked wrath, the two twining inside me, leading to a wildfire of hatred. The executioner deserved a taste of his own medicine.
“Now that we’ve completed that bit of unpleasantness.” Mr. Vyle motioned for the cheers to end, and everyone went silent. “There’s a second reason for this meeting.”
The hatred only spread and deepened.
“Yesterday’s excursion also served as a testing ground for your skills, resilience, and aptitude,” the executioner continued, sending a wave of agitation through the audience. Usually CURED’s tests ended in anguish. “We have selected twenty of the best and brightest for a special training program that will take place here in Theirland.”
Wait, wait, wait. I sat up straighter. The last special assignment had led to the death of my teammates. They and others were purposely infected with a nasty strain of Madness and transformed into mindless soldiers.
“When I call your name, come forward.” Mr. Vyle wasted no time. “Lord Roman Alexander.”
A grinning Roman erupted from his seat. Applause rang out as he jogged down the bleacher steps and onto the dais, where he stood at attention, projecting great satisfaction.
Other names were called, both Winslet and Miller among them. The fact that the “best and brightest” were mostly trainees I’d served with didn’t escape my notice. I wondered if CURED had placed us together for this, always this.
“And finally,” Mr. Vyle said with a bit of glee, “Arden Roosa.”
My heart skipped a beat. No. He hadn’t called my name. He just hadn’t.
