Page 37

“Burn them!”

Gerald’s men shout, startling the breath out of me.

It becomes a chant that spreads. More Maska covered in weapons stream into the yard. They surround the men stunned by the spectacle who were already there from Hanook. As the crowd grows, neighbors run over to see what’s going on.

A grunt sounds from behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, the man with the sword is on the ground, clutching his knee. Tristan stands over him, his bare foot a blur as it slams down over the man’s ribs in a crushing blow.

Another of Gerald’s men rushes to attack, swinging a knife at Tristan’s neck. I scream, but Tristan is already diving back. When the man follows, Tristan kicks out, hitting him in the stomach. He chases it with a punch to the head. The man goes down. His weapon lands several feet away.

Liam and I lurch forward to join Tristan, but viselike arms wrap around me. Desperately, I wiggle an elbow free, then slam it into the belly of the foul-smelling man imprisoning me. With a stomp, I smash his foot. He howls but doesn’t release his hold.

Liam charges the Maska man in front of him but is struck in the shin with a bat-like weapon that has spikes on the end. It drops Liam to his knees. A second strike rains down on his shoulder. The sound of his bones snapping reaches me, and I scream.

Tristan quickly glances at me before he throws a vicious head butt, knocking a third Maska soldier to the ground. Henshaw cowers, his hands covering his head.

“Enough of this,”

Gerald snaps. He aims his arrow at Tristan’s back.

Time slows down.

“Tristan!”

I yell, flashing all that he can’t see into his mind. The arms around me wrench tighter, choking off my voice.

Tristan stops, then his hands raise high in the air as he slowly turns around.

The Maska he was fighting punches him in the gut. It drops Tristan to one knee. An elbow follows, then he’s pushed to the ground and held there with a knife at his throat.

“Fighting back was very stupid,”

Gerald says, lowering his bow. “Tie her to the arch.”

There are shouts of “no,”

but I can’t tell who they’re from. A numbness enters my body as I’m dragged to the makeshift altar where I was to be married.

The crowd has grown, but the Maska outnumber them all. Some even line the front porch of my house. Hanook men stand with concerned faces and hands on their weapons, but they don’t move. Where is Father? Or Percy? Or any of Father’s most trusted men? Where is my mother? Freia? My gaze lands on Elise, the neighbor who came looking for information on her husband the day I followed Freddy. She covers her mouth as she huddles her six-year-old daughter, Polly, under her arm. Her face is desperate, like she wants to help me, but she can’t. Everyone knows not to intervene. A clan leader is judge and jury, and even if they weren’t, the Maska are now fifty, maybe seventy-five strong.

They came ready for battle.

Finally, I spot an older man I recognize—Leroy. He shoves his way forward, his knife drawn. “What’s the meaning of this, Gerald?”

“Justice,”

Gerald calls back.

“He’s lying. Stop him,”

I call. “Get my father!”

At my alarm, Leroy raises his knife, but his eyes dart to the side as Maska soldiers box him in.

Tristan kicks out at his captors, fighting back again. It takes two men to hold him down. “Fight, Isadora! Don’t let them do it!”

The urgency of his shouts causes more people to draw their weapons. But nobody makes a move.

I thrash against my captor. It hurts. My neck feels like it could burst open, and my body is disturbingly weak despite all the adrenaline. Still, I kick and claw with everything I have.

With effort, the man shuffles me to one arm, then rips down the white fabric I was to be married under. A brutal blow lands in my stomach, and while I’m gasping for air, he tightly secures me to the tree with the cloth.

Elise shouts her outrage. “You can’t be serious. Let her go!”

Another man shouts. “Someone get the Saraf.”

“Yes,”

Gerald yells. “Someone get the Saraf. Or rather, someone release him.”

A lump of terror forms in my throat as I watch the Maska soldiers guarding my porch open my front door. Percy is the first to run out of the house; Father’s not far behind. Their faces are tight with anger. They hold no weapons. More Maska file out behind them.

Gerald shouts over everyone. “The time for real leadership has come.”

Father’s feet stop moving when he sees me bound. “Gerald. Release her.”

There’s a deadly quality to his voice.

“I can’t. She’s a traitor.”

Father bares his teeth. “Someone shoot him,”

he commands.

Gerald smiles. “Siding with a traitor makes you a traitor. How about someone shoot him?”

Father attempts to say something, but the Maska soldiers who just escorted him from the house turn and fire on him. Some only feet away. An arrow lodges in Father’s throat, the shaft stretching from ear to ear. A look of shock ripples across his face, before sliding back into rage. More arrows punch into his navel. His back. His side. He fights to stay on his feet but falls to the ground.

I scream until my voice gives out, but it’s only one of many as chaos explodes around me. People duck for cover. Men from all clans turn and fight the Maska. Percy drops to Father’s side, and I lose sight of them both.

An explosion rips through the air. A deafening bang, impossibly loud. People jump and huddle together as they turn toward the sound. Gerald is pointing a gun in the air. Although there are many of those around, I thought the ammunition had long ago gone bad or run out.

In the new silence, Gerald yells, “I won’t apologize for killing any man who stands in the way of justice—even the Saraf. Not when that crime affects every one of us. These two have committed treason by betraying us for the Kingsland. They set the prisoners free.”

A low murmur breaks out, but most of the people are too shocked or afraid to speak.

“Lies!”

Liam shouts, as he hunches over, bracing his broken body. He’s silenced with a kick to his wounded leg.

“There were seven witnesses, including me,”

Gerald continues. “There is no need for a trial.”

The man who tied me to the tree opens a flask and dumps it over my head. The amber liquid drips down the front of the white cloth and bites at my skin. I blink furiously as the fumes of the alcohol sting my eyes but go still as he takes his knife and a piece of flint from his vest.

“No. Please don’t.”

My whispered words are filled with as much disbelief as they are a plea.

He strikes his knife against the stone.

Tristan’s screams reach my ears and somewhere deep inside my soul. They fill me with a sadness I’m sure I could drown in if given enough time.

The flint is struck again.

My eyes slip closed, and I send a thought to Tristan. I love you.

We’ll share it, he says. Give me half. His words come through like a broken whisper, thanks to the distance between us.

I’m stunned by his request. I can’t imagine passing the horror of being burned onto him, but thankfully, I don’t have to make the choice. We’re not close enough to share.

Tristan must come to the same realization, because he fights to inch forward along the dirt as the men on top of him hold him down.

Other shouts fill the air, but a shocking number aren’t calling for my survival. How quickly people have switched sides now that Gerald has gained control.

That, or they truly believe I’m a traitor.

My brother’s voice cuts through the noise, drawing my attention. His face is red, mouth etched in a scream as he sprints toward me. There’s a knife in his hand. He doesn’t make it far before he’s stopped, tackled to the ground. Close by him, I find a crying Freia.

My focus shifts to the cursing man, struggling to set me on fire.

“You don’t have to do this,”

I beg. “Please.”

His face sneers in frustration as he strikes his flint harder. Sparks explode off his knife, and I cry out as a flame ignites.

There’s no time for one last glance at Tristan. It happens in the split of a second.

This is it.

But then my executioner falls against me, as if he lost his footing. I wait for the pain to hit. For the bite of heat. The agony. Seconds pass, and I feel nothing. Have the flames been smothered out?

The man pulls back, his eyes pained, then peers down at his chest. The triangle of an arrow protrudes from the left side of his vest, directly over his heart. Blood seeps around the edges. He took an arrow to the back. My mouth drops open as he falls to his knees, then completely over, dead.

Who fired?

Yelling erupts around me as Gerald and his men try to figure out the same. I scan the people, then the trees and thick bush of our property line. Something moves to my left, drawing my attention. It’s Vador, back ramrod straight. He looks like a general as he observes from beside a tree, away from the crowd. But it’s not him holding the bow. Samuel squats below him in the bush, nocking a fresh arrow.

They’re here! Tristan! I call to him. We’re—

My words cut off as a thud hits the tree next to my thigh. I flinch. My gaze flicks back to Samuel. His lips twitch in annoyance. The arrow he nocked is gone.

Did he just fire at me?

I watch, helpless, as he draws another arrow from his quill and takes aim again, staring me down. I tense. Try to angle my body away from him.

“What are you doing?”

Tristan yells from across the yard. I’m not sure if he has a view or if I’ve sent him all that I see. “Samuel! No!”

But then I understand exactly what’s going on. The elite guard is here to rescue Tristan.

And kill me.

This is their retribution for the attack they believe I carried out on them. Samuel told me himself he’d make this happen. They believed Annette.

Samuel lets his next arrow fly, and a cry rips from my throat as I’m struck in the hip. Bright red blood wells up around it, a stark contrast against my white dress. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it didn’t have to be. It’s Samuel’s arrow.

Poison.

Tristan fights his way to his knees despite being held down. “What have you done?”

His voice breaks on the last word.

“There!”

Gerald yells, pointing with his gun. “They’re in the trees!”

He fires once, but a volley of arrows soars through the air from deep within the forest and high up on the cliff. People fall—mostly Maska soldiers—as they’re struck with astonishing precision.

Gerald is hit, too, in the forearm and side, but he remains on his feet. “Attack!”

He fires again.

The sting of the arrow in my body is both fire and ice, burning me from the inside and sending me into shock. I can’t get enough air.

Gerald throws his gun when it stops working, then grabs his bow, aiming for the trees, his face wild as more and more of his men fall next to him. As the losses grow, some Maska lay down their weapons, then raise their hands in surrender. The dozens of remaining people in the yard cower, awaiting their fate.

“Show your faces, you cowards,”

Gerald yells. “Come and fight us like men.”

The crowd quiets as if waiting for a response.

“Set our men free and we won’t kill every last one of you,”

Vador calls. Only the edge of his profile is visible from behind a tree.

Gerald grimaces. “You want your men? Come and get them.”

“Wrong answer,”

Vador yells.

More arrows launch from the trees like a swarm of birds divebombing the ground. Gerald is struck again, this time in the thigh. One of the men holding Tristan is killed. The other one shields himself behind Tristan’s body, his knife at Tristan’s neck. He drags Tristan back until they reach the edge of the yard. But Ryland appears from behind a tree, making quick work of the Maska clansman with his knife.

Relief comes so fiercely that my eyes well with tears. Tristan’s with his people. He’s safe.

“Let me go,”

Tristan shouts. He sounds so far away. “Get off me, Ryland. I have to get to her.”

Ryland wrestles Tristan to the ground, his face a mask of tension as he fights to keep Tristan down.

“Last chance,”

Vador yells to Gerald. “Release the doctor unharmed or die like a dog.”

Gerald is so wounded I’m not sure how he remains on his feet. Out of the seven men who originally halted our escape, only he and two others look alive. One huddles beside Henshaw, clutching an arrow in his shoulder, while Henshaw kneels, paralyzed with fear. The other holds a knife to Liam’s bloodied neck.

Gerald pants, wincing in pain. “Just your men? Then you’ll leave?”

“Just our men,”

Vador confirms.

I get flashes and sparks of Tristan’s rage. The distance between us is too much for more. My stomach cramps as I begin to feel the effects of the poison working through my body. Already the stinging and burning from the arrow is turning into a numbness that’s dripping down my arms.

I feel the instant Tristan stops fighting to get to me and focuses on taking the poison instead. To do something—anything—to save me. But it doesn’t work.

The elite guard is keeping him from me. They want me to die.

“Three seconds,”

Vador warns.

With fury on his face, Gerald waves for the lone man with Henshaw to send him over to the trees. It takes effort to get Henshaw to his feet, but once he starts moving, he breaks into a run and doesn’t stop until he disappears.

“You’ve got your men. Now get out of here!”

Gerald screams, only his voice comes out wrong, more of a squeal. His lips look blue, and it’s evident he’s struggling to breathe. He slumps a little, then falls all the way, landing facedown on the ground.

Samuel must have poisoned him, too. I turn away, unable to watch. With three arrows, it’s triple the dose of what I have, but I’m still going to share his fate.

Screams erupt from the remaining people, the neighbors and clan soldiers.

“They’re going to kill us.”

“Fight or we’re all going to die.”

“No!”

Vador shouts and steps out from the trees, boldly revealing himself. “We did not come to massacre you. We only came for our kidnapped men. Remember, it wasn’t us who killed your Saraf. It was this man.”

He points to Gerald now lying dead on the ground. “But I propose that your new Saraf of the Five Clans, Liam, leader of Cohdor, meet with me, the acting mayor of Kingsland. We can talk and explore a truce. It’s long past time.”

The lone man with the knife to Liam’s neck slinks back, releasing him. Liam grunts and pushes to his feet. One of his shoulders hangs lower than the other, and pain creases his face as he limps on his bleeding leg.

Liam is Saraf. It’s happening.

“He’s not our Saraf. He’s a traitor!”

someone shouts.

“Seven witnesses saw him release the prisoners.”

“Burn him too.”

I try to shout my objection, but nobody hears me or cares. My gaze flits over the people, the mob calling for his death. He can’t die too. Not only is he innocent, but Liam needs to be Saraf. He’s the clans’ only hope for peace. For change. I glance down at the arrow that’s leaching the life from me at a devastating speed.

I’m already gone. I’m already gone. I’m already gone.

We can’t both die.

It’s like I’m standing on a cliff, staring down at the water a hundred feet below. My knees shake. My throat and eyes burn. And even though my courage never arrives enough to steal away my fear, I know what I have to do.

“You’re right,”

I shout, and this time I gain everyone’s attention. “I betrayed you to the Kingsland by setting the prisoners free. But it was only me. I acted alone. Liam tried to stop me.”

Liam’s eyes fill with fierce devastation at my confession, but even he knows it’s the truth.

“She confessed. Burn her,”

someone yells.

My breath punches from my lungs. What have I done? A ringing fills my ears. My vision turns into a dark tunnel. The poison is wreaking havoc in my body, and I embrace it. Will it to work faster.

Don’t watch, I send to Tristan wherever he’s being held down. I don’t even know if he can hear me.

Too many in the crowd nod in agreement. Some even begin to chant.

“Kill the traitor. Burn her.”

My gaze locks with Liam’s tear-filled eyes as a new, terrible thought dawns on me. His first act as Saraf won’t simply be to watch me die.

It will be to set me on fire.

He can’t break with custom now. They won’t respect him without it.

Liam’s face is a stubborn mask. He limps over to me, resolve burning in his eyes. “I will fight for you. I don’t care if I become Saraf. They can go—”

“I’m dying. The arrow was poisoned,”

I whisper, then look down at the evidence embedded in my hip. “I can’t be saved. You’ll be the best leader. The one they need. You can be the change we’ve always dreamed about. Make peace, Liam. I believe in you.”

His mouth works as tears flow down his cheeks. “I—I can’t.”

Those words resonate with all that I am. Every part of me rejects this. I can’t either. I don’t want to die this way—with fire. And I don’t have it in me to beg him to do it.

My gaze finds the first arrow Samuel fired that lodged in the bark of the tree, just inches from my thigh. With a grunt, I wedge it out with my bound arm.

Liam’s lips pinch in anger. “They can rot, Isadora. I’ll kill them all before I kill you.”

He will. I believe him. But it can’t happen.

My eyes find Father’s body on the ground, and I think about how I’ve been a pawn to the games of men since the beginning. A pawn to bring war. Hatred.

Revenge.

But I want my legacy to be peace.

And I want this, my death, to be on my terms. I stab the second poisoned arrow into my thigh and cry out.

Liam stares at my leg in alarm. “What have you done?”

He shouts my name, but it’s over. There’s no going back. Tristan and I can’t share two arrows of poison. With any luck, I’ll die as fast as Gerald, sparing me the pain of being burned. There’s a tiny bit of relief in knowing the decision is made. I close my eyes, trying to ward off the crippling surge of fear.

The pain isn’t as I remember it from before. My tongue grows numb and clumsy. My eyelids become stuck open, unable to close. My arms are dead weight. Unattached. My body is shutting down with double the poison. Please, let it be quick.

Liam looks like his heart just shattered.

My head tilts as my neck loses strength, and something catches in my peripheral vision. It’s Ryland; he’s running toward me. He looks upset. Then Tristan’s there, too, in front of me, crashing into my mind like he plowed clear through a wall. He must have found a way to break free.

Don’t do it, I plead with him. There’s no point. Taking on the poison now will kill us both.

He doesn’t listen, and I’m too weak to resist him.

My head drops forward. It’s almost over now. I feel it.

Everything goes dark.