Page 13 of A Tempest of Intrigue
Apprehension plagued my thoughts as I surveyed the town from the shadows. Ellery believed I could bring her back if she started to spiral out of control again, and while I’d tried to portray confidence in my ability to do so, doubt plagued me.
If I was going to succeed in drawing her back from an abyss that could consume her, then I also had to believe I could. But I’d seen the power taking her over as she tried to maintain control, and I couldn’t help questioning my ability to reach her again.
I got through to her this time; will I get through again?
Then I recalled the way she’d reacted to me. While she hadn’t completely calmed, my voice and touch had soothed her.
I can reach her again. Iwillreach her again.
When I was certain it was safe to leave the woods, I emerged from the shadows and onto Nottingshire’s main street. While the buildings I could see remained standing, smoke continued to fill the air from further down the road.
I hadn’t expected Ivan to torch the whole town; not even he was that foolish. Though broken by his heavy tax policies, Nottingshire still put a lot of carisle in his coffers. If he burnt it to the ground, he’d also burn all that money with it.
Few amsirah moved about the oddly hushed street. The ones who did traverse it rushed from one place to another with their heads down and shoulders hunched forward.
They cast furtive glances around the street before disappearing into businesses or homes. None of them looked toward the smoke; they already knew what lay beyond and didn’t wish to see it.
The plume of gray smoke came from the center of town. Ivan had ordered the rebels to be locked into the pillories in the green before we freed them, and now he was burning something there.
The scent of charbroiled meat choked the air as thick waves of smoke wafted down the street. It burned my eyes and limited my vision to only ten feet as it settled between the buildings lining the roadway.
Normally, Nottingshire reeked of horse shit, body odor, cooking pasties, and sweets. While the aroma of meat from the pasties often mixed with the other scents, it didn’t overpower them like it did now. Mixed with the stench of the smoke, the combination made my stomach turn.
A passing amsirah glanced at me before ducking her head and scurrying into the tavern. From inside the large windows of the establishment, amsirah peered at me as I passed. Some of them drank from their tankards, but most either stared at me or remained focused on something else; none looked toward the source of the smoke.
An increasing feeling of unease churned in my stomach while I walked. What was so bad ahead that they couldn’t look at it?
I stopped at the edge of the green to survey the scene. Because the space was wider here, the smoke didn’t clog the air like it did through the confined roadways.
Through the haze of smoke, the broken dragon fountain in the green was a gray, shadowy figure standing testament to better times. The fire that had created so much smoke had mostly burned itself down to the fiery glow of embers.
The pillories remained standing in the center of the green, although it couldn’t be called a green anymore. It was more a charred remnant of its previous vitality as most of the grass had burnt to a crisp.
Made of a wooden exterior, steel reinforced the center of the pillories. That steel, and the charred corpses of the amsirah locked into the pillories, was all that remained.
Judging by the blackened ruins of the amsirah’s twisted faces, they were alive when the fires were lit. Most of them still had their mouths frozen open in a permanent scream, though the fire had stopped devouring their flesh.
Far more amsirah were locked into those pillories than the prisoners we couldn’t save last night. I didn’t know who they were, but Ivan had taken his wrath out on more than the rebels.
There weren’t enough pillories to hold the amount of cadavers filling the green. Instead, they’d hoisted the overflow of amsirah onto metal poles. Those poles pierced straight up through their groins before bursting out of their mouths.
While the poles puncturing them wouldn’t have been enough to kill them, they certainly would have fucking hurt, and so would the flames that laterdiddestroy them. One of the poles stood higher than the others in the center of the green, making the corpse on it more visible.
Holy shit.
I strained to keep my face neutral and my horror from showing as I stood there with smoke wafting around me and the stench of charred flesh filling my nose.
Inwardly, I rebelled against this atrocity. Dozens upon dozens of amsirah had been burned alive, but…who the hell were they?
The crunch of a step on my right drew my attention a second before Samael spoke. “Ryker.”
I glanced at the Sheriff of Nottingshire, a man I’d once considered a friend and now deemed an enemy. At his side stood Gaius; I trusted him less than I did Samael.
I barely knew him, but I’d encountered his type before. Though Gaius’s face revealed no expression, I was sure he’d reveled in the suffering unleashed here.
“Samael,” I greeted.
I didn’t bother to acknowledge Gaius. He wanted to be important and noticed; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
