Lady Eithne’s purse. . .
Oh god. . .
He hadn’t stolen it.
I had.
This was my fault. He shouldn’t be up there. It should be me.
“Stop!” I screeched. The people closest to me turned to stare. I gripped my skirts and shoved forward, squeezing between bodies to try and reach the wooden dais. “Stop!”
The grogoch’s head turned to me.
And he smiled.
“Please! He didn’t do it! He didn’t—”
The executioner kicked a lever, and the grogoch dropped. The rope went taut. A sickening crack echoed through the square.
“No! Please! Please!” They needed to lift him up. Didn’t they hear me? He didn’t do it!
A hand clamped around my arm. A man I didn’t recognize, with orange hair and a vicelike grip, dragged me back through the crowd, away from the grogoch, whose eyes had gone vacant.
“Let me go! They need to stop—”
“Shut up.”
Tears blurred the faces of the men and women who watched me being taken away. Not one person offered to help. I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound caught in my throat. No matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t cry out. The man’s grip tightened, and he dragged me into an alley.
My spine slammed against the plaster wall.
“Have you lost your feckin’ mind?” Piercing blue eyes cut me to my core. “Interfering with executions is treason.”
I knew those eyes. “Rían?”
He clamped a hand over my mouth. “Quiet.” He peered around the corner of the building. “Do not use my name.”
I managed a nod. He removed his hand with obvious reluctance.
“They killed him . . .”Oh god. “They killed an innocent man.”
“Charlie was caught with a stolen purse. There were witnesses.”
Charlie.
The Grogoch’s name had been Charlie.
So simple. So common. Sohuman.
I shook my head, hair sticking to the tears on my cheeks. “You don’t get it. He didn’t steal it. I did.”
Rían’s unfamiliar face paled. He flicked his wrist, and heaviness filled the air. “Tell me exactly what happened.” His voice was followed by the slightest echo.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I confessed to every awful thing I had done that day.
“I asked Eithne about you . . . And she said awful things and made me so bloody angry. So I-I . . . I blackmailed her.” How stupid. How naïve, stealing another person’s coins for something so petty. Why did I think there’d be no consequences?
“I took her purse and gave it to the grogoch—to Charlie. I thought he could use the coins and . . .Oh god. I’m going to be sick.” My stomach clenched and heaved. I twisted, bracing my hands against the rough plaster wall. The acidic taste in my mouth was nothing compared to the bitterness growing in my heart. Why hadn’t Eithne told the truth? Why had she blamed an innocent man?