“Nonsense. You have no business going near that filthy prisoner.” His hand tightened around her waist possessively.
She felt sick all over again. This was wrong, all wrong. If she couldn’t get close enough to Rangar to perform the hex, he’d hang for real . . .
“I’m not feeling well,” she gasped, knowing her pale face would look convincing. “I fear I need to sit . . . ”
She stumbled away from Captain Carr toward the stairs back to the carriage but then made a show of tripping. She made sure she fell near Rangar.
Even with his hands bound, Rangar immediately moved to break her fall. She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, pretending to steady herself as the crowd gasped to see their princess touch a dirty prisoner.
“Trust me,” she whispered urgently, searching Rangar’s eyes. “I promise you won’t die.”
His brown eyes burned into her with the same intensity of the building storm overhead. And then Captain Carr’s soldiers grabbed her away from Rangar, rushing to get her to safety. Bryn swiped her bare index finger against the scar that ran across his cheek a second before they led her away. The trace of ash from her fireplace left a mark against his skin.
She felt her breath coming fast. It had been a risk to touch Rangar publicly, but she had to mark him for the spell to work. It was fortunate the ash blended in with the dirt already streaking his face.
Captain Carr strode over with angry steps. “Lady Bryn. Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, raising a hand to her head. “I was just dizzy . . . I was headed for the carriage to sit, and I stumbled.”
The captain narrowed his eyes. Perhaps the pretend fall could be overlooked as clumsiness, but he had seen her tenderly touch Rangar’s face with her bare hand.
There was no explaining that away.
Suspicion was clearly written on his face. Captain Carr hadn’t fully trusted her since she’d returned; if he hadn’t needed her as much as he did, she doubted he would have believed a word of her story about being imprisoned against her will in the Baersladen.
Now, she had to hope that he believed she’d touched Rangar’s face because of secret affection—it was a dangerous truth, but it was better than him guessing that it had to do with magic.
His jaw tightened as he stepped toward Bryn. His whole energy had shifted; the undercurrent of threat that he usually masked with composure reared up now, fully aimed at her. He leaned in close enough so only she’d hear while he pretended to straighten her skirt out of concern.
“I don’t know what existed between you and that Baer prince, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s going to die whether you love him or not. So I hope you said your goodbye.”
He drew back, motioning sharply to a soldier. “She isn’t feeling well. Take her to the carriage. Keep a close eye on her.”
The soldiers forcibly led her off stage under the guise of helping a woman who’d apparently taken ill. The crowd was awash in murmurs. Some of the gossip reached Bryn’s ears as the soldiers led her through the throngs.
“ . . . such a delicate constitution . . . ”
“ . . . too much for a lady to take, she shouldn’t have been so close to the noose . . . ”
“ . . . It shows she’s not bloodthirsty like the old king and queen . . . ”
At least the crowd didn’t seem suspicious of her—they’d been too far away to see how she’d touched Rangar’s face.
As the soldiers thrust her into the carriage and closed the door sharply, she heard Captain Carr address the crowd again. Bryn pressed her hands against the carriage window, locking eyes with the stage. The soldiers had led Rangar to the trap door beneath the noose. The executioner lowered the rope around his neck.
“Rangar Barendur, for your crimes, the kingdom of the Mirien sentences you to hang!”
Alone in the carriage, no one watched when Bryn raised her hand and traced the spiraling death slumber hexmark shape in the air.
She’d have to time the spell perfectly. Too soon, and Rangar would pass out before the hanging, and it would be clear that someone was interfering with magic. Too late, and the noose would do its job.
Please don’t let it snap his neck . . .
She had to trust that Rangar believed her message that they wouldn’t let him die. If he took care to fall at an angle, swinging rather than dropping directly down, there was a much greater chance his neck wouldn’t break.
The executioner gripped the trap door’s lever.
“For the Mirien!” Captain Carr yelled.
