Page 231 of Of Masks and Fury

“Of course, of course.” She opened the door, gesturing me through. “The ceremony waits for no one, not even the Lady of Mercy.”

I hurried through the castle and then the gardens on legs that wanted to sprint toward the village square and tear Mae away from the elders holding out mugs of ashwine.

As I hurried down the road leading to the square, star-thorns and ghostbells tangled over trellises, their heavy perfume clogging the back of my throat. White petals scattered across the path, traditional decorations that now felt like grave markers.

The village square opened ahead, memories of each prior Day of Mercy shot through me. Me, trembling on the platform, feeling useless. My people dying for something that was one of the most wonderful parts of them.

My heart roared up into my throat as each toll of the bells counted down to death.

Or revolution.

Trew’s voice echoed in my mind. “When the moment comes, remember who you are. My equal. Burn it all down.” His words wrapped around me like armor, steadying my steps.

Fates, what I wouldn’t give for one of his smirks right now, that wicked curve of his mouth promising we’d face this side by side and emerge laughing.

The platform stood at the center of the village, draped with direblight lilies. Elders in their sky-gray robes moved among the condemned, handing out mugs of ashwine. Those who wore white gleamed too brightly in the morning sun.

I counted them. Once. Twice.

Twenty-four souls, marked for slaughter. Mae’s familiar form blurred through my tears. This woman was like family. How dare he use her against me? Rage kindled in my core, hot and unyielding, my magic stirring in a storm about to break.

Father stood at the platform’s center in his ceremonial robes, his gold circlet catching sunlight.

The crowd parted as I approached. Whispers followed in my wake.

“The Lady of Mercy.”

“The king said she was too ill to attend.”

“Perhaps she recovered. So brave of her to come.”

I climbed the platform steps. Father had begun his traditional speech, his voice carrying across the square.

“On this Day of Mercy, we cleanse what madness would soon corrupt—” Shock crossed his features as his gaze landed on me, followed by fury, then something calculating and cold. “Amarissa.” He recovered quickly, his voice smoothing. “You’ve returned to perform your duty.”

There he went, trying to control the narrative, forcing me back into the role of obedient daughter and dutiful executioner.

I removed the mask.

The crowd gasped as I let it fall to the platform at Father’s feet.

“I have returned,” I said, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent square. “But not for the duty you imagine.”

Father’s hand moved toward the ceremonial blade strapped to his side. “You forget yourself, daughter.” He lifted his hand to hit me, thought better of it, and lowered it back to the blade.

I met his gaze without flinching. “For the first time in my life, I know who I am.”

Movement rippled through the crowd, and a tall figure pushed through.

I’d mapped those shoulders with trembling fingers and that stride that commanded storms. Trew was here for me. Always for me.

His disguise fell away like smoke as he strode closer to the platform, his golden eyes blazing.

The crowd pressed back from him without conscious thought, their bodies recognizing a predator even if their minds didn’t understand. His magic filled the square with a pressure that made ears pop and hearts stutter.

When his eyes found mine, everything else fell away. I found his silent promise there.I’m here. We end this together.

Heat bloomed in my chest, our magics entwining even at this distance, twin flames igniting. Pherin trilled from her perch in a nearby tree, her joy echoing mine, while Gavelle’s shadow cut across the square, a dark promise of protection, soaring low over the crowd. People ducked and cried out. He landed on Trew’s shoulder.