He’s suffered enough.
I lift my aim a smidge, threading a breath between my parted lips. I close my eyes, find a small sliver of silence tucked beneath my ribs, and release the string.
The arrow loosens, and I hear the distant thud, followed by a hush that blankets the crowd.
The howling stops, the only sound now the roar of my own blood gushing through my ears as I slam more shells atop my crumbling crystal domes.
“You missed.”
I open my eyes.
Vanth’s head is slumped forward, a blossom of blood swelling from where my arrow protrudes from his heart.
No, I didn’t …
There is no dousing surge of relief for the fire in my veins. No breath of fresh air that can clear the rotten filth from my lungs.
Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill, slamming another shell atop the dome containing my flourishing self-disgust.
I look up at Cainon who’s clutching the rail, chewing his lip. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he mutters, taking the bow. In a few swift motions he’s snatched another arrow, set it alight, notched it, and then it’s whizzing through the air so fast it’s impossible to trace. It lands amongst the straw, and a violent burst of flames lick up the side of the pyre. Up Vanth’s legs.
His body.
The smell of burning flesh hits, and it’s an effort not to fold forward and vomit as I force myself to watch his skin bubble and blister, blacken and melt, until all that’s left are his charred remains and a swirl of ash on the wind.
* * *
Cainon speaks with one of the guards below the podium while I stand beside the balustrade, fingers wrapped around the railing, bits of ash littering my dress and hair.
Drifting through my torpid insides.
I watch the thinning crowd, hunting a dark-blue cloak and a rebellious dash of sandy hair. Perhaps Zane feels my gaze on him because he finally turns, glancing up at me when his uncle stops to have a word with someone.
My heart leaps into my throat.
I unlatch the reticule from around my wrist and tuck it between two railing rungs, desperation widening my eyes.
He frowns but gives me a terse nod.
Pure, unguarded relief floods my veins, and I well up from the force of it, clearing my throat as I offer him a tight smile.
If anyone else were to notice the bag and pluck it from its hiding spot, they’d find it empty.
ButZane …
He’ll scope the lining, find the small slit in the side, then worm his fingers down and feel the folded notes I tucked within. One a placation, the other a plea—a note I pray makes it into his uncle’s handssoonbecause I’m running out of time.
Cainon assists me down the stairs, and I’m boosted back onto the horse. A blow of wind wails through the lofty buildings, playing with the tendrils of my dress, lifting my hair off my neck just as Cainon climbs up behind me and settles me between his thighs.
But my attention isn’t on the man at my back, wrapped around me like the bars of a prison cell. It’s onBazestanding amongst the crowd.
Though his face is cast in shadow, I can feel the hot rake of his stare upon the bite mark as I hurriedly pull my hair back down to hide it. I feel that same stare scrape across my wrist, my cupla, like he sees it for the shackle it is.
He begins weaving through the crowd, shoving people aside in his haste.
Charging toward me.
