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“Stop,” Fletcher croaked. “Blythe… stop.” He coughed a mouthful of blood onto the grass, my stomach twisting violently at the sight of it.

I set my hands on his crimson-slicked back, avoiding the gaping wounds while sensing the depth of the damage. Like flame to kindling, my already-frayed temper ignited in a rush.

“Heal his punishment, and I’ll take both your hands for the insult,” Moros said flatly, his tone bored. I looked around, scanning the crowd and finding few familiar faces. No sign of Adrastos or Marlana, for that matter. Cáit and Will looked on, stone-faced and grim-mouthed.

“He’s just a boy!” I cried.

“And a traitor to the crown.”

“You’re threatened by a child?!”

“He’s fifteen. He’s nearly of age.”

My stomach squirmed mutinously, though I wasn’t sure whether it was horror at that age or the situation I’d just blindly thrown myself into.

“And what could he possibly have done to earn something so horrific?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“He’s my patient. That makes it my concern.”

“Not anymore.” That oily cruelty spread across his face as he leaned onto the arm of his throne, propping his chin in one hand. “You see, per our laws, to intercede in a punishment is to absorb it in one’s own flesh.” That callous smirk turned into a full-on sadistic smile, my blood running cold. “So, I fear you will be in no condition to treat anyone for quite some time.” Those bottomless eyes flicked lazily to the guards beside his stage. “Seize her.”

Fuck. This. Monster.

I flicked up a hand, casting power out and lashing around the three of them as they stepped forward. All fell to their knees.

Moros’ smug smile only grew. “You fight like a Grayshellian healer,” he observed with far too much satisfaction. “I had a feeling the late Commander’s visit to the west wasn’t just to converse with an old friend.”

Slowly, Moros rose from his throne, his pupils devouring his irises, then the whites of his eyes. Black veins stretched across his temples, terror carving into my bones. With every slow step he took toward me, my power over the surrounding hearts weakened. Dread pooling low in my belly, I weighed the options.

I was up against a reaper. Which meant I had seconds to decide whether I was sending these fuckers to meet their maker before he rendered me mortal. I wasn’t sure either outcome improved my chances of surviving this.

Godsdammit.

With a livid huff, I decided to die with at least a shred of dignity intact and released all four men. They gasped for air a beat before the slimy bastard stepped across the gravel ring—the barrier between crowd and spectacle.

“You see, little witch,” he drawled in a voice like smoke and slaughter, “Fletcher here has resisted alternative methods of inquisition for weeks.”

“Inquisition?” I bit out as I was yanked to my feet and away from the boy by rough hands.

“Leave her alone!” Fletcher rasped, turning his battered face toward me. A gasp escaped as I took in the fresh swelling—the inevitable fracture in his cheekbone, the bruising around his eyes, his swollen, bloodied lips.

A child.

They’d beaten a child senseless. Interrogated him for weeks.

“He refuses to divulge how a half-breed like him managed to open the passages beneath this palace.”

“Half-breed?” I balked at the word he’d spat, eyes widening as I was yanked back into a hard chest, my arms wrenched behind me until my shoulders screamed. Fletcher stared at me, burst blood vessels spidering red across the whites of his eyes. I wanted to cry. To scream. But he was looking at me imploringly, a warning in the set of his jaw.

He’d held his silence to… to protect me.

He’d told them nothing about how they escaped that night, and now I’d thrown myself right into the king’s path anyway. Sorrow was a bitter thing to swallow.

“He is tainted by mortal swine,” Moros announced like that was some kind of travesty. Like all souls didn’t share human blood. I spotted Smith shoving his way through the crowd, his expression unreadable as he slipped his hands into his pockets. My attention snapped back to Moros as he said, “And unless you can tell me how he forced passage that night in the infirmary, I am more than happy to grant your request to take his place.”

Request. Gods, this motherfucker. “It just opened for him,” I snapped, standing straighter—well, as tall as I could with my arms wrenched behind my back.