Elloven hadn’t known Rhiain well when they were girls, only by reputation. Depending on whether one was coming from the perspective of landed gentry or a peasant, Rhiain was either the sparkling fire-haired darling of Riverchapel or the spoiled daughter of an autocrat. Everyone in the Easterlands knew the story of her refusal to marry Castien Edevane. Rhiain and Asterin’s rebellion had dethroned Sestinn Edevane from his position as steward of Oldcastle and sent he and Castien into shameful exile.
She wished Rhiain or Asterin had just killed Castien and rid the world of his filth. There were many nights Elloven had awakened drenched in the sweat of her terrible memories of him, of his ripe stench, his cold touch, berating herself for being too weak to send him a nightmare when she had still been his plaything. Once she knew how to harness her magic, she’d send him something far worse.
The rebel who had taken down the Edevanes was who Elloven saw standing at the edge of the scaffold. Rhiain’s cheeks bloomed against the harsh iciness of the too-calm morning. Her eyes were just as cool, the killer in her rising to her irises in a hint of what might come.
Word had traveled fast, almost too fast. After Mathias Skylark learned of what had happened, he’d quietly retired to his chambers and was found an hour later hanging from a rafter, his lifeless body still warm to the touch. When Rhiain had received word, she’d paused long enough to take a deep breath and make the others promise to say nothing to Jesstin.
Elloven had been trying to get into the jail for hours, but she wasn’t family, and she hadn’t known it was a rule before answering honestly that she was not his wife.
Steward Theocratin Edevane, Jesstin’s half brother, had sent a raven back from the Northerlands ordering the Mythgarde authorities to wait for his return, indicating he was on his way that very morning, but they’d laughed and tossed the letter onto the frozen stones, where it quickly shredded under the wet boots of enthusiastic onlookers gathering to watch a man be hanged for a crime he didn’t commit.
“You should go, Elloven,” Rhiain said. She sounded composed, but Elloven was familiar with that deception herself. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”
“I was a witness, Rhiain. Your brother?—”
“Did nothing wrong, I already know. He would never touch a woman without her consent, no matter what else he’s done,” Rhiain snapped, followed by a sharp breath. “Forgive me. You’ve done us a great kindness. If not for you, we wouldn’t have...” She hesitated, to glare at a passing guard. “What passes for lawmen here have assured us that your word means nothing against the word of their precious Virtue, who has clearly been bribed to commit a man to death. The only thing we can do now is fight back, and Asterin has gone to see to that. We’ll handle it. You needn’t worry. Go on home and rest now.”
“I’m not leaving. Taven is retaliating because of me.” Elloven stepped around her. “The least I can do is stay and show both Taven and your brother whose side I’m on.”
Rhiain squeezed her arm with a tight, weary smile. “I’m sure Jesstin will appreciate that.” She squinted into the foggy distance, likely searching for signs of Asterin’s return. “I know coming home must be bittersweet for you. But no matter what cruelty people sling at you, there are some of us who know it doesn’t matter how your husband and his friends died, only that it’s a blessing they did. You and I are too aware of the way terrible men rarely suffer. You’re welcome at the Hermitage any time, day or night.” She bent a polite nod and excused herself.
“Thank you.” Elloven’s words faded before they could form as she watched Rhiain walk away. It wasn’t surprising a man as honorable as Asterin had chosen a wife who was both fierce and kind.
She hadn’t seen Taven since Jesstin had been carted off to the jail under the village. He might still be able to reverse what had been done, and she was the only one who could convince him to do it. Sesto had explained the Virtue would be expelled for lying, but they could send her away with as much money as she could carry to start a new life, a significantly better life than she’d ever have in Mythgarde. Elloven would even go with her to help her, if that was what it would take.
But she suspected—hoped—it would be far easier than that.
Playing to Taven’s bravado would be repulsively simple.
Despite the crowd still amassing, there was an eerie sensation of being alone. A handful of men tested the rope and chair on the scaffold as guards lined up along the path Jesstin would soon walk. Young women sold small mugs of ale and stew, and little boys took coin bets on how many seconds it would take for Jesstin to die. Midnight women gathered in tight circles, holding their opinions to whispers, while bawdy men milled about, loudly declaring their bet would be the winning one.
Taven’s sudden appearance at her back made her leap forward, knocking one of the bet boys sideways. The child cursed her with words so vulgar, she nearly forgot why she was there.
“You shouldn’t watch this, Ellie. I’ve sent someone home with Pinky, and the carriage is waiting for us.”
She spun on Taven and took firm hold of his arms. Her hands barely wrapped halfway around. His size had always been effective at subduing her when nothing else had. “Where have you been?”
“With the authorities, giving my statement. Come, I’ll walk you?—”
“Taven.” She shook him, but he hardly moved. Her chest caved as she looked up at him, careful to hide her desperation. “You made your point. We’ll go home, you and I, together. After you tell them you were mistaken and convince the Virtue to do the same.”
Smoothly unruffled, he cocked his head and said, “I’m afraid I can’t, Ellie. He sealed his own fate when he hit me and then her.”
“He did not hit that girl!” Elloven cried and released him, stumbling back. She needed to get ahold of herself fast, or something terrible would happen, something she couldn’t stop. “We never have to see him again. He’s nothing to us. But using lies to end his life is not who you are, Tav. It’s not.”
“This is not on my conscience, nor yours. He made a choice.”
“You would deny him a future because of a misunderstanding?”
“Does this look like a misunderstanding?” Taven’s hand swept with fury across his swelling face.
“And you think execution is a just punishment for a punch?” she declared, incredulous.
“Mythgardians write their laws, not me.”
“But he didn’t break their law, Taven!” She grunted in frustration. He was listening, but he wouldn’t hear her unless she made him. “He offended you. And yes, he hit you, but only after you swung on him first.”
“He was trying to corrupt you.”
