Page 46 of Orc’s Gallows

“I don’t know yet.” His face sets with the determination I’ve seen before, the certainty that used to terrify me and now makes my heart ache. “But we have until dawn to figure it out. And I refuse to let thirty-seven people die so the council can pretend they’re still in control.”

He pulls me close, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist. In front of Halvard, in the middle of the execution square, with the bells tolling overhead and the world crumbling around us—he holds me like I’m the only solid thing left.

I lean into him. Let myself take comfort in his strength, his certainty, the unwavering beat of his heart against my cheek.

The bells keep tolling.

Somewhere beneath the gallows, the Judge stirs with anticipation.

Brannok pulls back far enough to look at me. His expression has gone still—not the cold stillness of the Gallows Warden, but something harder. The stillness of a man who has made up his mind.

“Tomorrow at dawn.” His words are quiet but absolute. “I walk into that square alone. I give the Judge what it’s wanted since the beginning—me, standing on its platform, accepting its judgment.”

My chest tightens. “And while it’s focused on you⁠—”

“You reach the anchor stone.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “End it the way we planned. Tear it out by the roots while I hold its attention.”

“Brannok—”

“This is what we’ve been building toward.” He pulls me close until I’m tucked against his chest. “Everything tonight, the graveyard, the families we met—it was never just about understanding. It was about knowing exactly what we’re fighting for. And what we’re willing to sacrifice to end it.”

I hold his gaze. The execution square stretches behind him, the gallows a dark shape against the pre-dawn sky, the bells still sounding their grim rhythm.

Then I nod.

“Dawn.” The word is a promise and a sentence and the beginning of the end of everything. “We end it at dawn.”

ELEVEN

BRANNOK

The council chamber smells of incense and cowardice.

Seven faces stare down at me from their elevated seats—High Councilor Varn with his death warrants stacked neatly before him, Councilor Thessa with her traitor’s smile, the others arrayed in various poses of calculated outrage. The viewing window behind them shows the execution square, empty now but for the gallows that have defined my life.

Ismerie stands at my side. I insisted on that, despite protocol that says mates wait outside during official proceedings. Where I go, she goes. The council can add it to their list of grievances.

“Gallows Warden.” Varn’s words carry the practiced disappointment of a man who has signed thousands of death sentences without losing a moment’s sleep. “You have been summoned to explain your failure to carry out lawful execution orders. Thirty-seven condemned prisoners remain in the cells when they should be decorating our platform.”

“The orders were unlawful.” I keep my tone flat. Controlled. The tone I’ve used for two decades to deliver sentences and maintain authority. “Mass execution of suspected death-witches without proper trials violates the city charter.”

“The emergency provisions⁠—”

“Are meant for external threats. Invasion. Plague. Not convenient purges of citizens the council finds inconvenient.”

Thessa leans forward, her witch-blood ancestors betrayed by the zealous gleam in her eyes. “The death witches are a threat. They feed on our executions. They grow stronger with every hanging. Surely even you can see the danger they represent.”

“I see the danger.” Ismerie stiffens beside me and I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers in full view of the council. “I’m looking at it. Seven people who have used the gallows to maintain power, eliminate rivals, and terrorize the population into compliance. The death witches aren’t your enemy. Your own system is.”

Silence. The kind of silence that precedes violence.

“You know what’s beneath that scaffold.” I continue before they can respond, meeting Varn’s gaze without flinching. “You’ve always known. Every wrongful execution fed it—you were warned of that when the Hall was first built, and you chose profit over conscience.” I let that land before adding: “Mass hangings won’t solve your problem. They’ll make it unstoppable.”

“And your solution?” Varn’s words drip with contempt. “Let the witches go free? Abandon the gallows that have maintained order for three hundred years?”

“Yes.”

The word falls into the chamber like a stone into still water.