The pulleys crank and the ropes strain. The couple rises into the air, their robes swaying above the firepits.
A new chant erupts. Torches strike in unison. The arena turns into an inferno.
I stare up at Ulrich and Jytte and think of Fiona's head locked in wood and Kirill's neck exposed to a falling blade. I've never wanted to snap a neck more in my entire life.
Kirill looks at Fiona. "Last chance. Do you want me to show them any mercy?"
She trembles. Then shakes her head. "No."
"Move them over the fire," Kirill shouts.
Hell opens up. Deafening screams fill the arena as lace and roses explode into flames. Fabric curls and blackens while threads of rope burn. Their bodies drop farther as the metal wire bites into their necks.
Fiona gags behind her hand.
Kirill pulls her away.
Sean steps up to handle the sentencing as they leave the stage.
The taste of smoke and vengeance thickens on my tongue. I glance back at the guillotines, my stomach twisting.
Valentina steps beside me, grabs my hand, and urges, "Come with me. This is our chance."
"Huh?"
She tugs at me, and I follow her, darting through the arena toward Fiona and Kirill.
The hallway swallows us in cooler air the second we step into it. Torches line the walls in a softer rhythm, their flames swaying instead of attacking the ground like they did inside.
Fiona leans heavily into Kirill, robe clutched tight, her legs unsteady.
He hovers around her with lethal protectiveness, checking every shadow as if another knife could come flying out at any second.
Valentina and I close the distance fast. She shouts, "Wait!"
Fiona and Kirill turn.
"What's wrong?" Kirill asks with alarm.
She frets, "Are Sean and Zara okay?"
I tease, "They're fine. Living it up with the hanging corpses and declaring a national chastisement for trying to overthrow you."
Fiona blurts out, "Thank you for saving us! Both of you."
I puff my chest out, boasting, "Piece of cake."
"Then why did my wife almost get beheaded?" Kirill seethes, holding Fiona tighter.
Valentina slaps the back of her hand into my stomach so hard I breathe out through my teeth.
Fiona offers a soft correction to her husband. "He's being funny."
"There's nothing funny about it," Kirill repeats, still glaring at me.
Fiona tries again. "Kirill?—"
"He's right. It's horrendous, and we need to weed out the rest of the traitors. And that's why you must give us their seats," Valentina announces.
