Uneasy laughter erupted at the disgusting joke, and suddenly, I was hungry for death. Humanity was ugly.
The crowd's comments escalated while I balked at the sight of the steps. Two guards fell in line behind me to ensure I completed my ascent, but my feet were weighed down, as though they’d fallen into thick mud. I willed my body to move, to go bravely to my death.
The next life will be better.
“Go on, then!” a man bellowed from the crowd, inspiring others to shout their own expletives.
A nudge signaled my stalling had come to its end. Up the steps I went. My body hummed violently from the terror of the unknown. Every nerve ending screamed for me to stop. What would await my soul on the other side of that blade?
The hooded executioner greeted me on the platform, alongside a recognizable block of wood, its familiar worn curve ready to cradle me into my next life.
“Lady Reyva Ashford…” The magistrate shouted—addressing me but facing the crowd—as he read from an obnoxiously long scroll.
Bergmont,I corrected him silently and tried to maintain a stoic expression.
He went on to list my crimes and reiterated my death sentence. As if the mob could forget why they delayed their evening activities to gather here today.
As he read, the scroll included a few new crimes about evading seasonal payment to the Crown, which was made impossible during my time in the keep. Now, they couldlegallyconfiscate the vast estate and pass it off to a new up-and-coming noble. It dawned on me then that could have been part of their plan all along.
But that wasn’t a concern I would carry with me. My journey was waiting patiently at the end of the long-winded magister’s remarks. My clasped hands began to sweat and slip.
I shifted my weight and scanned the crowd. The mass of unfamiliar faces hosted a myriad of expressions. Anger. Intrigue. Impatience. Sadness.
My heart sank with a sadness I recognized.
Lydia.
I pressed my lips together as tears blurred my younger reflection. She did look like me. All hair and defiance, just as Cova said.
Directly behind Lydia was my sister’s cold gaze, judging me until my very end.
An escaped tear splattered on the stage as I noticed who stood to her left.
Weary, sunken eyes and flushed cheeks beneath a mop of curly brown hair. Beau was coming apart at the seams within the crowd. He stood tall, but his shoulders visibly shook. He was not the nervous, sun-kissed stable boy I’d fallen in love with, but a man, breaking into a million pieces.
My eyes leapt between family members. Beau didn’t know he was standing mere feet from his daughter, and they were both about to witness my execution. A deep ache burrowed between my ribs. Stretching into my limbs, it screamed at me to run, to save myself, to dosomething.
The magistrate’s address dwindled with the remaining light of day. Cova flicked her chin, a silent command for me to turn around. Slowly, I angled my body and caught the sapphire robes standing in the alcove I’d emerged from.
Tucked away in the shadows of the rounded doorway, he lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers at me. He cast a pointed look at my family. Then, both their eyes fixed in Cova’s direction and they whispered to each other.
The Traveler wasn’t bluffing. He intended to take Cova. Or worse...Lydia. And Dawn above knew what would become of them.
With the swing of the axe, and the squelch of my severed head hitting the wood, Cova could become the Hive’s new target. And then what? Would she find herself arrested and found falsely guilty for murder? Would she help the Hive?Couldshe help the Hive? She’d never admitted to having a gift. Even if I’d asked, I would bet a heavy bag of coin she’d deny it.
I pretended to fix my skirt as I turned to face the villagers in the audience, as if I hadn’t been instructed by my sister to give myself up to the Hive. Our final fight. One last silent disagreement before I exited the world. How very fitting for us.
I wouldn’t look at her again.
Torches replaced the light we were losing to the fast-approaching night.
My teeth chattered as I stole a glance at the silver metal of the axe.
I stretched my fingers wide before balling up my fists again. The hum of adrenaline graduated to a roar.
“Lady Ashford —”
Bergmont.
