He sat bareback astride Dippy, the gelding’s flanks heaving from the run. Dust coated his shoulders. His clothing was torn and his face marred with dark bruises. But he was alive.
He was alive.
Gasps swelled into shouts, the crowd shifting like a tide. Nobles leaned over the gallery rail, craning for a better look. Civilians surged against the soldiers holding the perimeter. One called James’s name. Then another. And another.
Lestara turned on him, fury making her skeletal, monstrous. “Seize him!” she screamed. “He is a traitor! A slave to the snake charmer’s wiles!”
She lunged toward the executioner, her nightgown torn and filthy, her legs streaked with blood. “Kill her!”
Still, neither soldiers nor the executioner moved.
James was their prince. The man they’d fought beside, bled beside. Lestara…she was their queen by marriage marred by a dark reputation, her authority weak.
“They murdered your king!” Lestara shrieked. Spittle flew from her lips as she spun toward the nearest guards. “James and Ahnna conspired together because they want the crown! Kill them!”
The crowd had gone volatile now—hot with uncertainty, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Someone shouted that it was Ithicana’s doing. More still that it was the work of Amarid. Chaos swirled like a rising tempest.
James spurred Dippy forward, the crowd parting in gasps andcries. Hands reached out, trying to touch him. He ignored them all, gaze locked on Ahnna.
“Alexandra, do something!” Lestara hissed. “Stop them!”
There was a long, sickening pause.
Then the dowager queen slowly lifted her head.
Ahnna’s breath caught.
Alexandra had clawed her own face in grief—blood striped her cheeks in jagged crescents, mixing with smeared cosmetics and tears. Her mouth trembled, but her eyes…her eyes were pure, undiluted fury as she rose to her feet.
“Execute the prisoner.” Her voice was hoarse, inhuman. “And arrest that traitor!”
Gasps. Screams. Shouts of protest from the crowd.
But the executioner obeyed.
He nodded once and pulled the lever.
The world vanished beneath Ahnna’s feet.
She screamed as the platform dropped, her stomach rising into her throat as she waited for the rope to snap taut.
She kept falling.
Falling—
Pain jolted up her legs as her slippered feet slammed into the cobblestones. Her knees buckled. The noose was still around her neck, but it dangled loose, cleanly severed.
Above her, an arrow quivered in the wooden backdrop of the gallows.
An Ithicanian arrow.
The roar came next, shattering the stunned silence.
“For Ithicana!”
On a rooftop, silhouetted by the sun, stood her brother. Her king. Bow still raised, eyes blazing.
Pandemonium erupted.
