“I think…I think today will surprise you,” I said, allowing myself to hint at the turn to come. “Perhaps Miséricorde will have a chance to shine.”
He smiled faintly. “I think you’ve been among the Fractured for too long. Or perhaps all this heat has finally gotten to you. Should I get you one of Phemie’s ices?”
I offered him a shy smile. “I think I’d prefer a spiced cake.”
I was pleased to see his eyes twinkle and his dimples wink as he grinned. “Was it everything you imagined it would be?”
A roll of drums broke our conversation and drew everyone’s attention to the citadel.
Baudouin emerged from the gated portico, flanked by a strongholdof guards. His wrists were in heavy iron shackles. He wore a shift of ivory linen, the mark of a condemned man, the mark of one destined to meet the executioner.
The soldiers marched him across the cobblestones and up the stairs to a platform dominating the middle of the courtyard. It was such an innocuously plain structure, like a stage hastily built for a group of traveling players.
Baudouin had been sentenced to death by beheading, and he shook visibly when he spotted the dark walnut block at the center of the platform.
Beside me, Leopold took a deep breath. He flinched and our knuckles brushed. I waited for him to jerk his hand away and fumble for an apology.
He didn’t.
Neither did I.
Slowly, as if pulled by the gentle but persistent current of a stream, our eyes met.
He took a deep breath.
I took another.
All around us, the crowd began to cheer as Marnaigne and the executioner stepped into the courtyard.
The king looked resplendent, dressed in full imperial regalia, including an ermine-lined cloak, despite the oppressive heat broiling the afternoon. He stood tall and straight. He made his way through the crowd, nodding to several merchants and pausing as a line of little girls curtsied before him. It was the first time I’d ever seen him wear his crown, and I was struck by how well it suited him. It boasted countless rubies, emeralds, and diamonds along a lustrous gold circle. In direct sunlight, the crown was enough to almost blindme.
Dots of color danced over my eyes as the king spoke, reciting the long list of Baudouin’s crimes and reading the formal statement of sentencing.
I shifted from one foot to the other, only partially listening to the proceedings. I understood that the king wished to drum up the moment of forgiveness, to turn it into the day’s production, but Leopold was right: the heat was getting to me. I longed to be out of the heavy costuming, away from the crowds and back in the blessed coolness of my chambers.
Down on the stage, Marnaigne asked for his brother’s repentance, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The moment had come. This would all be over soon.
Despite the fear holding claim on Baudouin’s body, tensing his muscles into ripples of trepidation, he shook his head and spat at his brother. The king went rigid, nostrils flaring, and I could feel the crackle of his rising temper all the way from the royal box.
My heart hammered an odd cadence in my chest.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
That wasn’t going to—
“I had hoped you would come to see reason,” Marnaigne began, his voice booming over the crowd, a seasoned actor performing before the largest audience of his life.
I cringed, sensing the impending explosion.
“I had hoped you would repent and we could end this in reconciliation.”
I could not make out Baudouin’s response, but the twin dots of anger burning across Marnaigne’s cheeks indicated it was not what he wished to hear.
“I know now it is not meant to be. It will never be, as long as you and your line are allowed to traverse the earth. Guards!” Hesnapped, and a cadre of uniformed soldiers marched from the citadel. They brought out other prisoners, a middle-aged woman and a young boy, flanking them as if the captives might run. It seemed an unnecessary precaution.
I’d never before seen a set of more pitiful people. They’d not been treated well during their confinement. Iron shackles had left welts ringing their wrists and ankles. The wounds had broken open and were festering with pus and bits of hay, and I couldn’t begin to guess at the last time they’d been allowed to bathe.
When the woman spotted Baudouin on the stage, she all but collapsed and had to be carried up the steps, howling her despair.
