“Long live Emperor Erabis!”a voice called out from the crowd. It swelled into a fierce chant.
How far would Cassandra and Tristan get if she rushed the stage and jumped into his arms right now, convinced him to fly them away from here?
Not far, she figured, her stomach plummeting as she inspected the many pairs of tucked wings cresting over the Empire soldiers’ shoulders. Not to mention the matte-black monstrosities spearing up behind the Vasilikans.
Her heart pounded in her chest as Eamon flashed the crowd a beaming smile that didn’t warm his eyes. He patted his hands against the air, once again encouraging silence.
“There is one final enemy to reveal. This one, I’m afraid, comes from your own species,” Eamon whispered.
The crowd booed and hissed.
How were these Cassandra’s people? What had happened to them? She’d never known the humans of Thalenn to be so cruel.
More Empire soldiers exited through the palace doors, and Cassandra’s heart dropped to her feet.
A line of Shrouded Sisters was paraded onto the stage, their dress robes torn and bloodied, their faces covered in weeping cuts and ugly bruises.
At the end of the queue, two soldiers propped up Borea, her platinum bob stained red and hanging in limp, disheveled strands across her placid face. Her gaze was as dull as Reena’s had been.
The Sisters’ eyes spiraled, unfocused, and many pairs of lips were moving, no doubt muttering soft prayers to Letha.
“There have been rumors,” Eamon began in a cryptic tone that had the crowd straining forward, “of a Savior in your midst.”
Run, run, RUN,the voice in Cassandra’s head screamed, but she was paralyzed with fear, her catatonic limbs burning with useless adrenaline.
On stage, Tristan tensed into a terrifying stillness. Tiny eddies of wind stirred the tendrils of hair draped across his forehead.
“A Savior who has taken it upon herself to decide which of you is worthy of salvation and which of you should be sacrificed to rot in oblivion.”
Cassandra didn’t dare turn her head to look back at the crowd. She could tell by the slithery sounds of their hisses that they were eating up Eamon’s words.
What was wrong with them? Did they not realize theEmpirehad put them in the position to rot in the first place?
“A wolf in a Shrouded Sister’s robes!”
The crowd roared its disapproval and Cassandra scanned the faces of her Sisters, though none returned her anguished stare.
Eamon stepped from behind the podium, and stalked over to the line of Sisters, snatching a Typhon broadsword from one of the Vasilikans.
He yanked Borea out of line and pushed her to her knees before him, then yanked her head back and exposed her throat.
“Which one?” he snarled into the Fae female’s ear.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Borea answered calmly.
Eamon pressed the edge of the sword to Borea’s neck, hard enough that blood beaded and trickled down the steel. “Who is the Savior Sister?”
Borea remained the portrait of pacified stillness. “A myth, your Imperial Majesty.”
Eamon snapped his fingers and a row of Empire soldiers crested the stage to line up behind the Sisters, pushing them to their knees. The soldiers drew their swords, a coordinated metallic hiss, then rested them in the crooks of the women’s necks. Several Sisters blubbered, tears and snot mingling on their lips.
Cassandra’s heart slammed a violent drumbeat against her ribs as she observed her beloved Sisters kneeling broken upon on the stage, about to take a punishment that she herself had earned.
She cut her eyes towards Tristan, found him staring at her, trembling with silent pleas,beggingher to stay seated, not reveal herself.
Eamon leaned down and whispered into Borea’s ear, though Cassandra heard every word. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to kill you all.”
He nodded to the soldiers and they raised their swords as a synchronized, keening wail burst from the mouths of the Sisters.
