Signe soon entered the pits, a pair of broad warriors parting the crowds as her bondswomen held the train of her ivory gown. More and more people spilled into the pits, gleaming stones of black obsidian clutched in hand.
Reciting the exits, Saga tried to ignore the building anticipation. The shuffle of boots and soft greetings to her left disrupted her thoughts, and as she turned to investigate, Saga’s gaze locked onto eyes of a depthless green.
Rurik sent her a look, and she understood at once—the fool was here on her account. Declining a seat, he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the stone wall which sectioned the dais off from the stands. Rov joined him a moment later, looking entirely unimpressed.
A cheer rose from the crowd, and Saga turned to find the Klaernar dragging three figures toward the pillars. The condemned, muzzled in iron bridles, were fastened to the V-shaped pillars with arms spread wide.
She would be a rock, hardened against the world. Would see but not feel. Saga’s gaze landed vacantly on the condemned. She would not look away, would not flinch, would not?—
No.
Saga couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the woman in the middle. Those unmistakable brown eyes, which had been so filled with determination when last she’d seen them, were now framed by an iron bridle.
No. Not her.
But no matter how many times she tried to clear her vision, no matter how many prayers she uttered, nothing changed. It was Ana.
Ana, who had given her a taste of hope.
Ana, who had risked everything to save anyone else’s sister from the pillars.
Ana, whom Saga hadn’t dared contact in over a week.
The blood drained from her face. How? They’d been so careful.Howhad Ana been discovered? The roar of the crowd grew muffled, as though she’d been plunged under water. She forced in a breath, her evening meal churning in her stomach. Saga tried to think, tried to come up with a plan—to no avail. Every option led to death.
She could not save Ana.
Realization seeped into Saga, chilling her blood. Thorir was not her punishment, nor was attending this execution.
Ana was her punishment.
How foolish Saga had been to think thatshewas the one who’d pay for her rebellion. Saga should have known Signe had sharper knives and knew how to use them. She forced her lips shut—attempted to wipe the panic from her face. Her eyes locked with Ana’s, wide and fearful.
The High Gothi had entered and was reciting the charges of witchcraft, but his words did not reach Saga’s ears. She kept her gaze on Ana, determined to be a calming anchor in a sea of horror. It was the only thing she could do. A last act of kindness.
Something tugged at her, instinct perhaps, and without thinking, Saga dropped her mental barriers and allowed her Sense to awaken. A jarring wall of noise crashed upon her, the thoughts of the angry crowd intense and unrelenting, swarming in from all sides. It was disorienting, so loud, their violent thoughts rattling through her.
Kill the scum.
Let us get on with this.
They must pay in blood.
Saga tried not to let these unsettling thoughts grab ahold of her, instead focusing on Ana, stretching toward her through the chaos.
I would do it all over again. I regret nothing. It was the right thing to do.
It was Ana. Saga grasped the thread, pulling it to her.
Ana, she thought.Ana, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.
But Ana made no sign she’d heard. The Gothi sliced into her vein, collecting the slow crimson drizzle in a cup.I get to see my sister. Finally, I’m going home to her.
Saga’s hand flew to her mouth.
“You may now cast your judgment,” came the Gothi’s voice, and the crowd surged forward.
Saga held on with all of her might to the thread of Ana’s consciousness, clutching it through the violent efflux of thoughts. Something snapped, the thread falling loose, and Saga balled it up, holding it to the warmth of her heart.
