Page 32 of Orc’s Gallows

“Then I find out what they want.” I fasten the buckles. “What they’re willing to trade for a return to normalcy.”

What they’re willing to trade. I already know the answer—the certainty settles into my gut with cold weight. The council doesn’t negotiate. They demand. And the only thing they could possibly demand that would restore their faith in the Gallows Warden…

Her. They want her dead. They’ll make it a condition of any agreement.

I dismiss the thought. Cross to the weapons rack and select the blade that has served me for fifteen years. The one I used to carve through the scaffold’s wards. The one I’ll use to carve through anything that threatens what’s mine.

“Stay here.” I address Halvard, but my attention is on the doorway that leads to my quarters. To her. “Guard the Hall. If anyone tries to breach the perimeter while I’m gone⁠—”

“I know, sir.” Halvard straightens. “Nothing gets through.”

I nod and head for the door.

“Sir.” Halvard’s words stop me at the threshold. “The men have been talking. About the executions.”

I turn, one hand on the door frame. “What about them?”

“The ones that happened before… before everything changed.” The captain’s face hardens. “The men are noticing things, sir. The dead… they don’t seem to stay dead lately. Not since the girl in the square. It’s like the platform is holding onto them.”

“When did this start?”

“Weeks ago. Maybe months. We didn’t think much of it at first—figured it was nerves, or the crowd getting to people.” Halvard shakes his head. “But after the revenant… after seeing what happened on the platform… some of the men are wondering if we’ve been feeding something we shouldn’t have.”

“They’re right to wonder.” I meet his gaze. “Keep them away from the scaffold until I figure out what we’re dealing with. No one goes near the gallows. No one performs any executions, even if the council orders them. Understood?”

“Understood.” Halvard hesitates. “Sir—the council won’t like that. They’ve already sent three execution orders since the riots started. Political prisoners they want dealt with before things get more complicated.”

“Then the political prisoners will have to wait.” I step through the doorway. “The execution platform isn’t safe. Nothing that happens on that structure goes the way we expect anymore. Until I know why, no one dies there.”

The door closes behind me.

The claiming sigil radiates warm against my neck, reminding me of the choice I made and can’t unmake, of the future I’ve committed us both to.

I head for the Council Towers.

And pray that whatever they demand, it’s within my power to give without destroying what’s left of my soul.

Today, the viewing window shows only the damaged scaffold and the empty square below. The crowd that usually gathers for executions is absent. The ropes hang motionless, bearing scars from my blade where I carved through the wards.

Seven faces stare down at me as I enter.

High Councilor Varn occupies the central position, his aged features arranged in an expression of wounded dignity. Councilor Thessa sits to his right, her witch’s eyes glittering with barely concealed satisfaction. The others—bureaucrats and politicians whose names I’ve never bothered to learn—watch with varying degrees of hostility and fear.

Only Councilor Marsh looks uncertain. The youngest member of the council, barely thirty, with an expression that suggests he’s reconsidering every choice that led him to this room.

“Gallows Warden.” Varn’s words drip with false cordiality. “How gracious of you to answer our summons.”

“High Councilor.” I don’t bow. Don’t kneel. I stand in the center of the chamber, letting them look down from their elevated positions while I refuse to acknowledge their superiority. “Your messenger mentioned a discussion of order restoration.”

“Indeed.” Varn steeples his fingers. “The city is in chaos, Warden. Riots in the streets. Fires in the merchant quarter. Three Bell Towers silenced. All because you chose to defy this council’s lawful authority.”

“I chose to prevent a greater disaster.”

“So you claim.” Thessa leans forward, her smile sharp as a blade. “You claim that some mystical force beneath the scaffold requires the sacrifice of death-witches. That the execution we ordered would have fed this… entity.”

“It’s not a claim. It’s the truth.”

“Then prove it.” Varn spreads his hands in a gesture of reasonable inquiry. “Show us this creature. Demonstrate its threat. Give us more than the word of a man who has destroyed two decades of loyal service for a condemned criminal.”