go now. Church and then saving Rory. I’ll bring her home.” I pray I’m not telling a lie.
“You will.” Brenna’s hand whips out, lightning quick, catching mine. Her sharp nails bite into my wrist. “Thank you, Cate.”
I tug away. “You’re welcome, Brenna.”
• • •
Sitting through services is torturous. O’Shea himself takes the dais. He speaks at length about hell and the agony that awaits the damned souls of witches. Eventually we’re all released, blind as baby mice, blinking into the chilly morning sunshine. About half of the crowd flows out of the cathedral and right across the narrow cobbled street into Richmond Square.
I stroll arm in arm with Tess, boots crunching through the frozen grass as though we’re on our way to a picnic instead of a hanging, but I’m careful to note the squadrons of black-and-gold-liveried guards. There are nine guards at each front corner of the square, and I’d bet a third squadron is in position at the back gate.
The Brothers are expecting trouble, and they want us to know it. The guards are armed with guns and bayonets. My fingers tighten on Tess’s sleeve, and behind us, I hear Rilla suck in a jagged breath. Alice is chattering on about the money the bazaar raised, as if she’s ever cared one whit about the poor. She’s good at this deception. I scan the crowd until I find Mei, dressed in an old, battered gray cloak, a mandarin-orange hem peering out beneath. She and Mélisande skipped services to explore the back alleys and plot out ways to shepherd the girls back to the convent.
One of the benefits of a busy city like New London is that no one knows if you attend church or not.
We come around the front of the scaffolding. The gallows are built of rough-hewn oak. Two upright beams support a thick crossbeam, and from that crossbeam hang six nooses. The floor—a platform a dozen feet off the ground—is a trapdoor that will give way when the lever is pushed, and beneath it is a dirt trench to hold the bodies.
I pray there won’t be any bodies.
Tess’s ungloved fingers tremble on my arm. We’re ten feet away from a gallows where our friends are about to be hanged.
We keep walking, joining the crowd farther back. I count the Brothers in their black cloaks—twenty, thirty, forty, more. We are terribly outnumbered.
One Brother turns, and his brown eyes collide with mine. Finn.
My steps falter as he strides toward us. “Good day, Brother Belastra.”
Is it my imagination, or does he look disturbed by the salutation? “May I speak to you for a moment, Miss Cahill?”
I nod. “Go ahead and find a spot for us to watch, Tess. I’ll be right there.”
Finn and I step aside, a few paces from the streaming crowd. His hood is up, but his unruly copper hair peeks out beneath. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, so I’ll come straight out with it. Two of the girls being executed today are from Chatham. Sachi Ishida and Rory Elliott.”
I fake surprise, my hand hovering over my mouth. “I knew Sachi was arrested last month, but Rory too?”
“She and Sachi have always been thick as thieves.” His gaze falls to the brown winter grass. “I thought you would want to know. To prepare yourself.”
Oh, I’m as prepared as I can be. I give an uneasy glance at the gallows and then the National Council building next to the cathedral, where, any second now, the prisoners will be escorted out under heavy guard. “Thank you. It’s all just awful.”
Finn’s head snaps up. “I voted against it. Reinstating this.” His cherry mouth curls in disgust. “I just—I wanted you to know that. I’m not the kind of man who thinks murder is a solution.”
I smile. “I know.”
“Do you?” He steps close. Closer than is appropriate, given that we’re in full view of half of New London. Behind his spectacles, his brown eyes lock onto mine. “How do you know me so well, Cate Cahill?”
Oh, just that—the sound of my name on his tongue. It makes my
“You will.” Brenna’s hand whips out, lightning quick, catching mine. Her sharp nails bite into my wrist. “Thank you, Cate.”
I tug away. “You’re welcome, Brenna.”
• • •
Sitting through services is torturous. O’Shea himself takes the dais. He speaks at length about hell and the agony that awaits the damned souls of witches. Eventually we’re all released, blind as baby mice, blinking into the chilly morning sunshine. About half of the crowd flows out of the cathedral and right across the narrow cobbled street into Richmond Square.
I stroll arm in arm with Tess, boots crunching through the frozen grass as though we’re on our way to a picnic instead of a hanging, but I’m careful to note the squadrons of black-and-gold-liveried guards. There are nine guards at each front corner of the square, and I’d bet a third squadron is in position at the back gate.
The Brothers are expecting trouble, and they want us to know it. The guards are armed with guns and bayonets. My fingers tighten on Tess’s sleeve, and behind us, I hear Rilla suck in a jagged breath. Alice is chattering on about the money the bazaar raised, as if she’s ever cared one whit about the poor. She’s good at this deception. I scan the crowd until I find Mei, dressed in an old, battered gray cloak, a mandarin-orange hem peering out beneath. She and Mélisande skipped services to explore the back alleys and plot out ways to shepherd the girls back to the convent.
One of the benefits of a busy city like New London is that no one knows if you attend church or not.
We come around the front of the scaffolding. The gallows are built of rough-hewn oak. Two upright beams support a thick crossbeam, and from that crossbeam hang six nooses. The floor—a platform a dozen feet off the ground—is a trapdoor that will give way when the lever is pushed, and beneath it is a dirt trench to hold the bodies.
I pray there won’t be any bodies.
Tess’s ungloved fingers tremble on my arm. We’re ten feet away from a gallows where our friends are about to be hanged.
We keep walking, joining the crowd farther back. I count the Brothers in their black cloaks—twenty, thirty, forty, more. We are terribly outnumbered.
One Brother turns, and his brown eyes collide with mine. Finn.
My steps falter as he strides toward us. “Good day, Brother Belastra.”
Is it my imagination, or does he look disturbed by the salutation? “May I speak to you for a moment, Miss Cahill?”
I nod. “Go ahead and find a spot for us to watch, Tess. I’ll be right there.”
Finn and I step aside, a few paces from the streaming crowd. His hood is up, but his unruly copper hair peeks out beneath. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, so I’ll come straight out with it. Two of the girls being executed today are from Chatham. Sachi Ishida and Rory Elliott.”
I fake surprise, my hand hovering over my mouth. “I knew Sachi was arrested last month, but Rory too?”
“She and Sachi have always been thick as thieves.” His gaze falls to the brown winter grass. “I thought you would want to know. To prepare yourself.”
Oh, I’m as prepared as I can be. I give an uneasy glance at the gallows and then the National Council building next to the cathedral, where, any second now, the prisoners will be escorted out under heavy guard. “Thank you. It’s all just awful.”
Finn’s head snaps up. “I voted against it. Reinstating this.” His cherry mouth curls in disgust. “I just—I wanted you to know that. I’m not the kind of man who thinks murder is a solution.”
I smile. “I know.”
“Do you?” He steps close. Closer than is appropriate, given that we’re in full view of half of New London. Behind his spectacles, his brown eyes lock onto mine. “How do you know me so well, Cate Cahill?”
Oh, just that—the sound of my name on his tongue. It makes my
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