Bring Me Their Hearts(21)

“When I can get away with it,” I admit. He nods and turns to Y’shennria.

“She’s pretty enough, isn’t she? Her hair’s a little long, though.”

“We’re cutting that before the Welcoming, rest assured,” she says. I bite back the urge to remind them I’m standing right here. Y’shennria told me hours ago to expect this sort of treatment, but it’s still irritating.

“Of course, of course. Speak true, milady—do you think you’ll catch the prince with her?” He talks to Y’shennria like I’m bait for a fishing rod. I can’t stand it one second more.

“If we do catch him,” I say, “I very much hope someone will clean his scales before we roast him.”

The baron blinks, and Y’shennria’s expression is deadly cold before she smiles at him sweetly.

“I’m sorry, Baron. She’s a little rough around the edges.”

“Being raised on a farm will do that to you.” The baron chuckles nervously.

“It would be lovely, though, wouldn’t it? If such coarseness could somehow catch his finicky eye?” Y’shennria presses.

“Indeed. Just think of it—the Y’shennria family on the Crown Princess’s side! Why, you’d give the whole Steelrun family a fit! They have their own girl in the Spring Brides this season, you know.”

“So I’ve heard. Lady Steelrun hasn’t been quiet for months about it.”

“Well, this is our last chance to keep the d’Malvane bloodline in Cavanos, so I’ll be rooting for both of you. Kavar forbid Prince Lucien marries some servile, tower-kept thing from Avel.”

They laugh in tandem. I don’t get the joke, and I’m more than a little glad for it, because it sounds like a terrible one. The other nobles must not be worth talking to—either that or they’re one of the many families who don’t associate themselves with the Y’shennrias because of their Old God ties. By the snide looks I’m getting, it must be the latter. I focus on the crowd instead. A few people position themselves by the strange metal coffin—one of them a man in an impressive white robe with long silver hair. I wish I had that little brass seeing tube, but Y’shennria is deeply immersed in conversation with the baron, and I don’t dare interrupt.

“People of Vetris!” The silver-haired man’s voice booms, startling me. He holds a copper stick to his mouth, and it somehow amplifies his voice—another strange yet useful human machine. “I bring to you today a purging of our hidden wickedness, an enemy of Kavar, and a threat to the safety of our great nation!”

The crowd roars. One of the nobles beside me waves a handkerchief like a flag. Y’shennria leans in to me, murmuring, “That man in white is the Minister of the Blade—Archduke Gavik Himintell. He’s the leader of all the lawguards in Cavanos, and he oversees Vetris’s army.”

“Sounds like a man with a lot of power,” I say. Y’shennria nods.

“Too much, some say. He and the king have grown close in the last six years, and he has the king’s ear in all matters. He’s dangerous and clever. Stay away from him if you can.”

I watch the archduke in the distance, his voice still booming.

“By the grace of our king, the guidance of our High Priest, and the workings of our Crimson Lady, we have discovered a witch traitor in our midst, plotting even now to kill and maim your children, your husbands, your wives!”

The crowd roars again, fire on their tongues. The man raises a pale sword high, sweeping it around the throng.

“They would take the hearts from your chests!”

Another roar. The hunger whispers in agreement with him: Gladly.

“They would curse you with magic enough to turn your blood to ash, your crops to stone!”

Another cheer.

“They would taint the holiness of our great and honorable city with their Old God filth, and for this, they must die!” Archduke Gavik motions for someone. Two lawguards lead a young boy forward, no older than me. He looks underfed, afraid. He’s gagged with a wad of cloth and bound at the wrists. The crowd goes absolutely wild at the sight of him. People chant drown the witch; others throw rotting fruit. I clutch the railing, a sick feeling rising in my throat. That’s what the coffin is for. That’s why it’s suddenly filling with water from a long tube attached to it at the side. The silver-haired man lets the crowd work itself up with every inch of water that seeps in. More fruit, stones, sticks. The boy flinches as a rotting peach hits his feet. I look to Y’shennria, her head held high, her eyes never leaving the sight.

“Y’shennria—”

“No,” she says simply, quietly, so the baron watching next to her can’t hear. My unheart sinks. Am I to be forced to sit here and watch someone die? If I do nothing to stop this, it’s as if I killed him myself—another body to the pile of my cruelty.

The lawguards bring a stepping ladder, placing it against the now-full metal coffin. They open the lid, and the silver-haired archduke points at the boy.

“Drown the witch, in the name of the New God, in the name of peace!”

The lawguards muscle the boy onto the stepladder, his thin body flailing madly in a last attempt at freedom. Celeon, human—it doesn’t matter. Everyone is cheering. And if they aren’t outright cheering, they’re grimly watching everything unfold before them. Baron d’Goliev makes a gesture, touching his eyelids, then his heart.