The courtiers chattered excitedly, a roar that echoed into the palace walls and made my stomach turn. Winnie took hold of my arm to steady me, another hand placed on the small of my back.
I came to the entrance, looking out on the courtyard with contempt. My father leaned on the opposite end of the threshold,arms crossed over his chest. As I passed him, he reached out and touched my shoulder. I smelled something awful on his fingers, like he’d been messing around with rotting meat and field mice. The apothecary in me recognized the scent for what it was: henbane and hemlock.
“Father?” I whispered, but he shook his head and went inside.
Winnie ushered me on. We pushed through the crowd, none of whom seemed to care that their queen was among them. Pitch and oil drifted in the air, and soon I reached Florence. She was bound to the stake, but strangely enough, she appeared utterly tranquil. Almost euphoric. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, gently tossing with the breeze, and when she saw me, she smiled. It was sardonic, like she was readying herself to deliver a joke. A careful pyramid of wood was built around her, but she might as well have been standing in a field of daisies.
Nicolas stood next to me. I saw Quinn, too, though he gave us careful distance.
“Your Majesty,” Florence called out, perhaps her first instance of proper address I’d observed. “I’m sorry for deceiving you. You couldn’t have known.”
Death lurked around the corner, and she was constructing my alibi. Winnie squeezed my arm. When I didn’t respond, she did for me.
“How could you, foul woman?” she shouted, though her voice broke on the words. “You will not be missed.”
Florence chuckled, not bothering to watch Taran as he came out with the torch. “But I’ll miss you most of all, Lady Winnifred.”
“Go to Hell.”
Taran approached the pyre with the torch held high. The crowd fell silent in the gravity of the moment. Asli leaned forward, bright-eyed with anticipation. Beside him, Sahra turned away, finding support on the half-wall behind her.
“I cannot go to Hell,” Florence announced, her hazy stare returning to me before sweeping over the crowd, “because Hell is coming to Gallae.”
Taran set the fire. It spread out slower than I imagined when my father shared the story of Laetitia. “Enough, witch. I checked you for carvings; the Lord will not hear you.”
Florence ignored him. “This is my final wish, O Lord of Night. The last of many gifts. Let Gallae burn with me.”
My heart skipped. I took a step forward and was held fast by Winnie. Surely she wouldn’t; Florence cared for me, for others here. She wouldn’t curse us. She couldn’t, not without a—
Shadows erupted from beneath the pyre, a living, writhing presence. They rose like great wings, blotting out the evening sun. The temperature plummeted, and I felt Him there, a pure being of immeasurable wrath.
Gasps and screams rippled through the crowd. A vast figure cupped Florence protectively even as the flames climbed higher. They changed colors, burning a bluish-black that cast everything in otherworldly light. The Banewights’ uncertainty was shared, Asli’s pleasure curdling on his face.
Through it all, Florence remained serene. Father gave her that. Her skin blistered and cooked, and the Lord of Night appeared before her one last time, kissing her forehead in farewell before the smoke obscured everything.
The light of the world started to return, those shadows receding beneath the pyre. I swallowed thickly, sensing that the Lord’s darkness hadn’t faltered or waned, but perhaps had beenreleased, as if Florence herself incubated great stores of his magic.
Beneath my feet, the ground shook. We all felt it.
Then the earth was still.
Chapter 51
Hail pounded thewindows.
In the past hours, I’d seen the vengeance of all the elements: Florence burned, the earth shook, the sky wept and froze, and the wind outside sounded like a constant wail as it toppled trees and rattled the doors throughout the palace. Nowhere felt entirely safe, but I found some refuge in the comfort of a bath. At least here, I could submerge my ears and tune out everything but the ringing in my head.
My skin was raw from the sponge. No amount of buffing got the stench of burning hair and flesh out of my nose, and the bath oils merely added an unsettling floral note. That smell was likely to haunt me for my entire life; now I knew why Father’s eyes bulged when he recollected the day Laetitia died. It wasn’t enough toseeit, but to have that loss of life singed into my every sense…
I’d dismissed Marcy, unable to bear another moment of her hovering presence after the execution, but the solitude was just as maddening. As my fingertips pruned, I finally pried myself from the lukewarm waters of the tub and dried myself off.
The candles flickered. I held my breath, anticipating an unwelcome visitation from the Lord of Night. The hearth was burning strong and the moon was waning, but there was no denying the sense that He had grown stronger. I supposed, if He truly wished to do so, He could extinguish every flame in the room.
As I put on my chemise and robe, someone quietly knocked, as if they weren’t quite sure they wanted me to greet them. Fair enough; I wasn’t sure I wished to do so, either. Still, I did, and as I forced open the heavy door, I found Quinn waiting on the other side, looking like he’d been caught in the rain.
His eyes held a familiar edge to them. Before I could sign a word, he entered the room, bracing himself against the mantel and watching the hearthfire like it spoke to him.
I locked the door, if only to ensure no one would find us so compromised, but I had no intentions of indecency. Not with the man who’d chosen my acquaintance over Florence’s life.
