Thoren’s face is pale as he asks what the others should be asking. “Where is Cohen Copperstream?”
As he speaks, a shout sounds behind us and three Blacksmith guards rush past, heading west toward the residential sector.
I step in that direction just as I recognize Maybelle racing toward us along the path.
She’s out of breath, trembling so hard that she shakes in my arms as I catch her.
“Vandawolf! Thoren!” She gasps for air. “It’s a flogging. At Copperstream House.” Her eyes fill with tears as she looks at Thoren. “They say it’s Petra.”
“What?” Thoren’s eyes are wide as he grabs Maybelle. “Why?”
“She’s accused of stealing apples from Malak’s orchard.” Maybelle’s face is ashen. “The penalty is death by lashing.”
“No!” Thoren tears away from Maybelle, darting away down the path.
I spin to Maybelle. “Get back to the castle. Stay hidden. Don’t come out.”
She rushes away from me, and I sprint after Thoren.
I know the way to Copperstream House now, having scoped out the quickest paths to it, but there are too many people in my way, too many humans rushing in that direction and slowing me down.
Thoren is quick and agile and he stays in front of me, darting between the humans and Blacksmiths.
He’s ten paces ahead of me when I finally race along the path that leads directly to the front of Copperstream House.
A wall surrounds the grounds, a wide opening in the middle that leads into a vast courtyard.
Up on the ramparts, Blacksmith guards stand at intervals, while on the ground, they line the wall, each of them holding a pole weapon with a single-edged blade at the end. I recognize these weapons as glaives, which are good for keeping an opponent at bay while you gut them.
In front of the Blacksmiths on the ground is a row of copper spikes, all pointed outward, their sharp ends positioned at varying heights between stomach and eye level.
A roar of sound fills my ears as humans—many humans—are gathered in front of the spikes, all of them shouting.
All of them are protesting, even as the guards up on the battlements form bows and arrows with their metal and threaten to shoot.
One of the humans sees Thoren, shouts to the others nearby, and instantly, a path through the crowd opens up between us and the spikes.
I don’t have time to be astonished at the way the humans recognize my brother, the way his name is called, or the overwhelming trust that fills their faces as he sprints past.
“Thoren is here!”
What kind of affinity has my brother forged with these people in such a short time? Gaining their trust and their faith like this?
In my heart, I know it’s the kind of kinship that I could never attain.
Thoren leaps at the top of the spikes, taking hold of the nearest sharp end, even though it could impale him, before he vaults smoothly over it.
The Blacksmith guards directly in front of him move to intercept him, but he feints left and then right, slipping through the gap between them with all the agility that hunting in the mountains has given him.
I’m now only five paces behind him, catching up along the path the humans cleared.
I follow my brother, vaulting over the spikes and barreling into the Blacksmith guards, taking advantage of the way they were already unbalanced to get past them. The guards up on the wall shout, but I’m too close to their brethren for them to shoot their arrows at me.
As I sprint through the opening in the wall, the vast courtyard beyond it becomes fully visible to me.
A whipping post rests in the center of the space.
Petra is chained to it, facing away from me, her hands secured high above her head.
