“A better chance ofwinning,” he says. I smile wanly at the positive spin he’s trying to put on this.
He pauses, as if he’s choosing his words carefully before he speaks.
“If we’re going to attack directly, you should still hold back from using your celestial power.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not agreeing to that. What if it’s life or death? I’m not going to let someone die just to keep myself safe.”
He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “I know that. I’m only suggesting youtry. Remember that once the Temple knows what you can do, they won’t stop hunting you. Ever.”
“Well, then we’ll just have to make sure none of the Temple’s people leave here alive.”
His eyebrows rise. My words surprise him with their ruthlessness, but I know he doesn’t disapprove.
“That will certainly help. But the whole village has been called to witness the purge, and people talk—especially if they’re scared. And theywillbe scared when clerics from the Temple come here to find out what happened. If you use your powers today, you can’t guarantee news of them won’t spread.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll focus on my job, and hopefully it won’t come to that.”
We’ve agreed I’ll stay out of the line of fire while the fae are keeping the clerics busy. Until I see Tira safe and free, I won’t be able to focus on anything else anyway.
Footsteps signal the arrival of Kit. He looks between Leon and me, and I see a question flash across his face. He’s wondering what’s going on between us, but I don’t know the answer to that myself.
The curiosity doesn’t last for long, however, his somber expression quickly returning as he addresses me.
“It’s nearly time.”
* * *
Kit, Una, and Hale leave before us, and once we’re sure a decent crowd has gathered, we join everyone else on the route to the sanctuary. The fae wear their traveling cloaks to hide their weapons, and I keep my hood up and my head down to avoid being recognized.
Most of the village is already in the square. Every resident of Otscold has been called to witness the purge. After last night, they’ve also had a brutal reminder of what happens when you defy the Temple. They huddle together in small groups, keeping their eyes on the ground or resolutely fixed to the platform in front of them. It means no one takes much notice of us as we slip into the side of the square.
We arrive just in time. The front entrance of the sanctuary swings open, and the cleavers march out, leading a trail of around twenty young men and women. Something is squeezing my heart as I search their faces, recognizing too many. When my eyes land on Tira, it’s all I can do not to shout out to her.
I can see the tracks of tears across her face. But she’s not crying now. No, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. All the same, it breaks me to watch her. Her eyes are distant, like she’s gone somewhere far away.
Her hands are bound with thick black cord that must be made with dimane. It’s the mineral used in prisons to keep criminals from accessing their magic. Humans, anyway. Fae aren’t susceptible to it, just like we aren’t affected by iron. It only occurs to me now that dimane was probably one of the ingredients Etusca used in my potion.
Sobs rise from the crowd as the condemned are led onto the platform. Someone starts to wail, only to quickly be shushed. I want to call out to Tira that she’s not walking to her death. That I’m here. But I’m forced to stand in silence.
Then the senior clerics emerge from the sanctuary.
I drop my head. Nunias is leading the way, and I have to make sure he doesn’t see me yet. At least I won’t need to hide for long. I feel the fae shifting beside me, and I glance sideways to see them edging away through the crowd, fanning out.
Bearer Sophos follows, and as he climbs up to the platform, I get a proper look at the man. His head is hairless, though a severely neat beard decorates his chin. He’s lean and tall, his long robes emphasizing his height, and when he turns his head to survey the crowd, he reminds me of a bird of prey.
He stretches his arms wide. Every eye turns toward him as he begins to address the crowd.
“May Ethira bless this gathering, so that?—”
One of the prisoners on the platform, a boy I don’t know, starts to laugh.
It’s enough to cut Sophos short, as hundreds of heads now swivel toward the boy. His laughter seems uncontrollable, big whoops rumbling out of him as he doubles over.
“He’s hysterical,” a man beside me murmurs to his friend.
Sophos examines the boy with a frown, then twitches a finger, and one of the cleavers steps forward. The soldier is drawing her sword when Freya, one of the condemned standing two down from Tira, starts laughing too.
“Enough,” Nunias demands, his face turning red with rage. “Silence, both of you.”
