Chapter 5 #3
She hadn’t seen Taven since Jesstin had been carted off to the jail under the village.
He might still be able to reverse what had been done, and she was the only one who could convince him to do it.
Sesto had explained the Virtue would be expelled for lying, but they could send her away with as much money as she could carry to start a new life, a significantly better life than she’d ever have in Mythgarde.
Elloven would even go with her to help her, if that was what it would take.
But she suspected—hoped—it would be far easier than that.
Playing to Taven’s bravado would be repulsively simple.
Despite the crowd still amassing, there was an eerie sensation of being alone.
A handful of men tested the rope and chair on the scaffold as guards lined up along the path Jesstin would soon walk.
Young women sold small mugs of ale and stew, and little boys took coin bets on how many seconds it would take for Jesstin to die.
Midnight women gathered in tight circles, holding their opinions to whispers, while bawdy men milled about, loudly declaring their bet would be the winning one.
Taven’s sudden appearance at her back made her leap forward, knocking one of the bet boys sideways. The child cursed her with words so vulgar, she nearly forgot why she was there.
“You shouldn’t watch this, Ellie. I’ve sent someone home with Pinky, and the carriage is waiting for us.”
She spun on Taven and took firm hold of his arms. Her hands barely wrapped halfway around. His size had always been effective at subduing her when nothing else had. “Where have you been?”
“With the authorities, giving my statement. Come, I’ll walk you—”
“Taven.” She shook him, but he hardly moved. Her chest caved as she looked up at him, careful to hide her desperation. “You made your point. We’ll go home, you and I, together. After you tell them you were mistaken and convince the Virtue to do the same.”
Smoothly unruffled, he cocked his head and said, “I’m afraid I can’t, Ellie. He sealed his own fate when he hit me and then her.”
“He did not hit that girl!” Elloven cried and released him, stumbling back.
She needed to get ahold of herself fast, or something terrible would happen, something she couldn’t stop.
“We never have to see him again. He’s nothing to us.
But using lies to end his life is not who you are, Tav. It’s not.”
“This is not on my conscience, nor yours. He made a choice.”
“You would deny him a future because of a misunderstanding?”
“Does this look like a misunderstanding?” Taven’s hand swept with fury across his swelling face.
“And you think execution is a just punishment for a punch?” she declared, incredulous.
“Mythgardians write their laws, not me.”
“But he didn’t break their law, Taven!” She grunted in frustration. He was listening, but he wouldn’t hear her unless she made him. “He offended you. And yes, he hit you, but only after you swung on him first.”
“He was trying to corrupt you.”
“I will never look at you the same if you don’t fix this. I will never speak to you again.” She shook her head fiercely and held her ground. “Never.”
Taven’s breath clouded with his exhale. “Ellie.”
“What will it take? What do you... What can I offer you...” Elloven released each word upon the courage of the one that came before.
“It’s marriage you want, right? My unyielding loyalty?
Would consenting to your betrothal be enough for you to return to those men and make this right?
” The first hint of tears stung her eyes.
“Because I can offer you nothing greater than my own self, Taven.”
It was so swift, Elloven wasn’t even sure she’d seen it, but then it was there again. Taven was... afraid. Restless. Troubled. The truth unraveled in his eyes as he stared back in silence: he did feel remorse, but whatever he’d said or done to fix things had not been enough.
“What’s done is done,” Taven muttered. His nose flared on his inhale. He squinted at the scaffold. “Let’s go home.”
Elloven’s eyes scraped him in disgust. “You’ll stay and watch what your small mind has created, knowing no matter how much flesh and bone you wield over another, you will never be more than this.”
“You would speak such filth to me? To me? After what I just did for you?” Taven demanded. His form towered over her, but it did nothing to diminish her now; she was larger than him in that moment, engorged in wrath over what he’d done. Whatever brewed in her eyes, he saw it and retreated some.
“My words are nothing compared to what I can do to someone who uses intimidation to take what he could never be offered willingly. You think you’re exempt?
You’re at the very top of my list now.” Elloven squeezed past him and through the thick crowd.
She was shoved into a man who slopped meaty stew all over her boots, only for her to spin into another who spilled ale down her dress.
Taven called after her, her increasing distance dulling threats he could not risk others hearing, or they’d see the type of man he really was.
The crowd’s energy shifted when a voice carried over them, loud and sharp in the still morning. “We all know why we gather on this morn, do we not?” the man cried.
“We know! We know!” came the response, in the unison of a chant.
“We all know what we stand for, do we not?”
“We know! We know!”
Elloven craned to look for Jesstin, but everyone around her was so much taller, and all she could see were cloaks and furs. She pulled her hood over her head and lowered it before pushing the rest of the way to the scaffold.
“And we all know who we are, do we not?” The announcer waited for the crowd’s response. “We are the sons and daughters of the Seven Sisters of the West, and we answer to ourselves and no one else!”
Elloven froze.
“No one else!” came the refrain.
Mythgarde was connected to her mother’s people?
“We are refugees of a world created for others, and we have ourselves created one anew, one where we are free to be as we are. There is no threat greater than exposing such freedom to the same world we fled.” The man went silent. “Many of you are not one of us, and yet we welcome you. Do we not?”
“You do! You do!”
Elloven’s heart throbbed between her ears, flushing her face. She shoved harder to get to the front.
“We do,” he said. “For if you are here, you are one of us... when you are here. There are no truths that leave this village, including your own. We ask only one thing in return, for you to respect our code. The Ivory Rogue has one law, and it is sacrosanct. The Virtues, the daughters of the great curia, of the Seven Sisters, must never touch their flesh to an outsider while serving as a Virtue. Their sanctity preserves ours, yours. Without it, we are nothing but another village of iniquity, a world like all the rest.”
Elloven tripped into the line of guards when she exited the throng.
They glared and shoved her upright, but now she could see the scaffold again.
The man was no taller than a child, but his words contained the thunder of the skies.
More guards gathered behind him, but in the center, standing upon a shifting, uneven stool, was Jesstin.
The noose around his neck had already been tightened. A loss of footing, a slip of a guard’s balance, was all it would take.
It wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.
A nightmare would be too precarious among such unpredictable men.
It was more likely to lead to more death and destruction, and even if she’d love to punish everyone gleefully participating in this atrocity, they didn’t deserve to die.
She had other magic, but she’d never known what circumstances or variables empowered it.
Chaos magic was, by its nature, fickle. Disaster had always followed whenever she let it flow.
It won’t be magic you need here this morning, El.
The words, the voice, were as clear as if Gennady was standing beside her. His wisdom pierced her, and her sorrow was paralyzing, but she wouldn’t fail Jesstin.
“The word of a Virtue, of a woman of the Seven Sisters, of the pure blood, is more valuable than gold. Only the testimony of another Virtue can negate the power of another. Our Virtue Sanja has conferred to us that this man, a proprietor in our village, has laid hands upon her. If no other Virtue can provide witness to challenge this, his life is ours to arbitrate.”
“What about a woman of the Seven Sisters who is not a Virtue?” Elloven cried. The question seemed to come from somewhere deep inside of her. When the man searched for who had spoken, she made her voice louder and repeated the words.
“And who are you then?” he asked. He waved his arm to beckon her up. “Come, come, tell us who you are, that you would use such words.”
Elloven cautiously stepped through the opening the guards created for her.
She let them lift her onto the scaffold, and from there she could finally see the size of the crowd.
There were a hundred or more watching, their eyes narrowed in curiosity, distrust. She didn’t see Rhiain, Asterin, or Sesto.
In the distance, Taven tried to grab her attention, but she ignored him and his unctuous scowl.
A young woman of perhaps fifteen stepped onto the dais wearing a long robe, dark as midnight. She raised her gloved hands and wrapped them around Elloven’s face, eyes fluttering upward before closing.
The girl’s touch was electric, a prolonged sensation of brushing the wrong thing on the coldest, driest days. It was startling yet familiar, and she felt herself drift away from the scaffold toward the skies.
Abruptly, Elloven was released. Her spirit crashed into her body, sending her to a knee.
“She is who she claims,” the girl declared and left.
“Indeed,” sang the announcer as he approached a stunned Elloven. “A stranger of the blood? What a rare day this is for us. Why did you raise your voice?”