“If you are good citizens of the empire,” the leader called out. “Then you will wish to bear witness. If you do not, we will know you are not good citizens.” He turned to his men. “Let them decide for themselves if they have changed their minds.”
Those pinned to the ground rose as soon as they were able and silently merged back into the throng. The leader strode to the next chained man. When a warrior went to grab him, the prisoner fought wildly, writhing and kicking, but three of the false warriors held him down. Others came forward to subdue the rest, and even as Ashyn saw the leader’s sword rise, there was a part of her that did not make the logical assumption. That refused to make it.
He’s bluffing. Threatening. Posturing. One death is enough. He does not need —
The blade fell. The young man heaved himself up at the last moment, in a final attempt to escape, and instead, lost the mercy of a quick death. The blade caught him too high, cutting but not slicing through bone. Blood sprayed like a fountain.
I’m not seeing this. I cannot be seeing this. The spirits. The ancestors. The goddess herself. None would allow —
Ronan clamped his hand on her collar and heaved her backward, dragging her off the roof of the cart. When she realized what he was doing, she stopped resisting and scrambled down herself, hitting the barrels hard, toppling one in her haste. She leaped to the ground, her ankle twisting, recovering fast as she lunged forward to race around the cart and —
Ronan hauled her back. She fumbled with her cloak’s fastening, got free, and almost darted away again before he caught her by the tunic. He yanked her back and seized her arms instead.
“No,” he said. “You cannot —”
“I must. Guin.”
“You can’t.”
“I can try. I will try.”
She gave a tremendous pull, but he only tightened his grip. When she began to struggle, he did the same as the false warriors in the square. He pushed her to the ground and pinned her there. Only he didn’t pin her with a sword, but with his own body, holding her down, wincing as she kicked and fought. When she opened her mouth, he jammed his forearm against it, and she had to stop herself before she bit him.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said. “Nothing.”
She wriggled away from his forearm. “I can try —”
“How, Ash? It’s a dozen men. Guin is chained. If you interfere at all, they will see who you are. You’ll be captured, and Guin will still die.”
“But I need to do something. Anything. Please.”
“We can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He touched her face, wiping away tears, and only then did she realize she was crying. He wrapped his hands around her face, fingers entwined in her hair, and he pressed his palms to her ears, shutting out the screams and struggles of the dying. She lay there, gasping for breath, trying not to think —
Not to think of what was coming? To ignore Guin’s death? To leave her out there, surrounded by strangers as she died?
“I need to be where she can see me.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. That won’t make you feel any —”
“It’s not about me. I won’t let her die alone again.”
THIRTY-NINE
Ronan finally agreed though with obvious reluctance. He kept hold of her arm, as if to steady her, but she knew it was to restrain her, should she have any urge to rush in and save Guin.
Of course she had the urge. But as she’d lain there crying, the tears had washed away the panic, and she realized he was right. Now, as they moved around the side of the cart, she could see it, too. Guin was chained, surrounded by Alvar’s men, with more ringing the crowd. Perhaps earlier, if Ashyn had acted when the crowd rose up, in that initial surge of horror and rage…
Perhaps she could have turned the crowd against the false warriors.
Or perhaps she’d have gotten them all killed along with Guin.
While the others fought and wept as the blade came down the line, Guin only stood there. Perhaps it was shock, but it seemed like resolve. She’d been dead before. So she would be again. It was not what she wanted – so desperately not what she wanted – but from everything Ashyn knew of Guin’s mortal life, she’d not been a girl accustomed to getting what she wanted. And so it was again.
Ashyn tried to ignore the executions, but that was as futile as ignoring a raging fire if you were caught in the middle. She heard the sobbing of the prisoners and their relatives and friends in the crowd. She heard the thwack of the blade, then the chortles of Alvar’s men. She smelled blood and urine and vomit.
She kept her gaze on Guin and kept moving forward. When she was only a few paces away, the young woman noticed her. Her eyes rounded, and her gaze shot to Ronan, head shaking as she motioned for him to keep back, to take Ashyn away.
Ashyn shook her head and motioned that she’d not try anything, but she was staying where she was. She would not leave. Even Ronan seemed to realize that and finally released her.
I’m sorry, Ashyn mouthed as fresh tears streamed down her face.
Guin gave a wry smile. “Don’t be.”
The leader finished executing the man beside Guin. The girl tensed, fear finally crossing her face. He took a step toward her.
“No!” a voice called from deep in the crowd. “Not the women. Please, my lords. Spare the women.”
I know that voice.
She turned to find that Ronan was no longer beside her. It was him shouting from the middle of the throng. A few people moved away from him, distancing themselves, but he stayed where he was, his blades hidden under his cloak, his gaze downcast, his posture servile.