“What is the punishment for thievery in Basral?” I asked, my voice ringing out. Casildo was red-faced, even in the darkness of the square. Whispers sounded around us.
“The work camps,” spat Darbaran with glee. Maybe it was because Darbaran loved using his power to cause suffering, or because his debt with Casildo was now expunged, but it was clear he was getting joy out of this.
Casildo blanched white at the mention of the grueling work camps Vahid had implemented in the north.
“You stole from me,” I said clearly, stepping forward, still shielding my face. “And no one contravenes the law in Basral.”
I licked my lips, preparing for the performance. “But there is one exception to that law.”
The guards moved to arrest him.
“Wait!” he shouted, desperation lacing his voice. “What exception?”
A feral grin spread across my face. “You are allowed”—I said the words slowly, relishing them—“to have a family member take your place if you so choose.”
Casildo gaped at me. “But I don’t have any family.”
“Now that isn’t true, is it?” My voice was deceptively soft.
I stepped closer. A frown creased Casildo’s forehead as he squinted up at me.
“You have a daughter. She can take your place. The law will accept her blood instead of yours.” My words were just above a whisper.
Casildo staggered back and clutched at his chest. I wanted to laugh at the irony—in this city children were sent to the work camps every day—orphans, those that worked as pickpockets and swindlers. But a child of a wealthy merchant—that was unheard of. That was shocking. When I had gone to prison, no one had said a word.
Except my father.
Let Casildo do to his own daughter what he did to me.
“It is the law,” I repeated. “You are allowed to have someone else serve your reparation. It’s your choice, either you or your child.”
I could see his mind working as he narrowed his eyes. That he didn’t immediately denounce the idea had triumph flooding through me.
As if to hammer home my point, Noor appeared with his daughter, taken from her bed in the north of the city—the sweet-faced, dark-haired little girl who clutched a small doll to her chest. She couldn’t have made a better martyr. The woman who had picked her up from school was also there, being held back by Darbaran’s soldiers as she wept and lunged for the girl. Casildo looked as if he might vomit. He dragged his gaze between the little girl and me.
“Fine,” he spat, not looking at his daughter. “Take her instead.”
I released a low breath. Murmurs sounded all around me.
He had done it.
He had actually chosen himself. In the end, he wouldn’t even save his own daughter.
The woman with the emerald dupatta let out a low wail.
“Baba?” His daughter’s voice was pleading and soft. Noor shot me a look but I didn’t return her glance. I clenched my fists tight and willed the steel in my heart to remain for this next part.
If I looked too closely at this little girl, if I remembered my owntrauma at being arrested, at feeling so alone I could break in two, then I wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done.
This girl had just seen someone she loved betray her and give her up for his own greed. It was better she learned this lesson now.
“A coward is always a coward,” I murmured, mostly to myself, but Casildo heard me. His gaze shot up, and his eyes narrowed. I smiled at him, letting my teeth show.
“What did you just say?”
“You would let your own daughter go to the work camps for your crime? Sentence a child to be imprisoned?” This time my voice carried over the crowd. People had started gathering in the square around us.
“Is it better that the child have no father?” he sputtered. “I can get her out once I speak to the emperor.”
