Rune’s mind spun with confusion. As she tried to make sense of it, the Good Commander ascended the steps of the platform, causing a hush to fall over the entire courtyard.
The Blood Guard soldiers retreated. Nicolas Creed stepped toward Seraphine, whose hands were manacled at her sides. The witch restraints clasped her hands entirely in iron, so that her wrists ended in two black metal stubs, preventing use.
“Good evening,” said Nicolas, dressed in his usual black. “We have a surprise in store for you tonight. We’re simply waiting for …” His piercing gaze scanned the room before landing directly on Rune. “Ah. There she is. Citizen Winters, will you join me up here for a moment?”
Is this another trap?
Rune glanced into the sea of faces, but the guests looked as surprised as she was. Verity’s hand tightened on her wrist. But Rune couldn’t refuse the Commander, and Verity knew it.
Reluctantly, she let go.
With no other choice, Rune started toward the platform. Drawing nearer, she could see the split in Seraphine’s lip and the bruise ringing her eye, blackening her brown skin.
“Our guest of honor is a model patriot. Miss Winters’ bravery, loyalty, and refusal to tolerate witchcraft is an example to us all.”
At the name Winters, Seraphine’s head whipped sharply toward Rune, her dark brown eyes narrowing.
With hate, Rune thought.
She swallowed, making her way toward the platform, realizing with increasing horror what was happening.
They were going to kill Seraphine. Right here, in the middle of this courtyard.
This was tonight’s entertainment: a private witch purging for Luminaries guests.
Rune’s pulse thudded loudly in her ears. Everywhere around her, faint whispers buzzed in the air. She glanced around, looking for Gideon. Had he known? Was this another one of his traps?
But Gideon was nowhere to be seen.
As she stepped up beside the Good Commander, who placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, Laila opened a black box and drew out the purging knife. She cradled it, almost lovingly, in a piece of red velvet. Then held it out to Rune.
A smile ghosted across her lips as she said, “Rune Winters, I grant you the privilege of purging Seraphine Oakes tonight.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
RUNE
SILENCE RANG THROUGH THE courtyard as the lethal curve of the purging knife glinted in the space between them. A knife that had stolen not only Nan’s life, but hundreds of others.
Rune expected it to burn her when she took it. But as Laila placed it in her hands, both the hilt and the steel were cold to the touch. Rune hoped her trembling didn’t give her away.
What am I going to do?
If she refused to kill the witch before her, she’d reveal the truth to every single one of her enemies. Rune was surrounded. There weren’t only Laila and the other Blood Guard soldiers to contend with. There was the Good Commander himself, not to mention the hundreds of patriots seated at tables, and the thousands of guards beyond, patrolling the halls of the palace.
Cold panic hummed in Rune’s blood.
She was trapped.
The Commander signaled to the musicians to begin. This was the sickest part of private purgings: the music. As if slitting the throat of a girl and watching her bleed out over the floor weren’t butchery or murder, but refined art.
Rune’s fingers tightened around the knife hilt.
Laila retreated, moving toward the levers. In a moment, she’d pull them, and the chains would snap, yanking Seraphine’s feet out from under her and drawing her toward the sky, to hang upside down. Like a cow to be slaughtered.
Rune and Seraphine were momentarily alone on the platform.
She could cast a spell. But to do that, she’d have to pull the blood vial from her pocket, uncork it, and draw the spellmarks. Someone would realize what she was doing and stop her before she could finish.
I could nick my finger with this knife, she thought. Just the fingertip. And use the blood to draw a spellmark on my palm.
But what spell would be quick enough? What wouldn’t require much blood or draw much attention?
And the silvery scar she’d be left with would damn her.
Maybe that was the price she needed to pay, to save Seraphine. To fulfill her grandmother’s last request.
The music still played as Laila grabbed hold of the levers.
“You disgust me.” Seraphine spat. The spittle hit Rune’s cheek, startling her and drawing her attention back to the witch. “Kestrel would be ashamed of you.”
Beneath the grime of too many nights spent in a disgusting cell, Seraphine was fine-boned and pretty. She reminded Rune of a sparrow.