“Martha is already dead. Her stake is prepared,” Elena said matter-of-factly.
The courtyard had been cleared for the ceremony, framed against the mountain peaks, now shrouded in thick, still clouds. In the center of it all, the fire licked skyward, ending in a tall, gray column of smoke.
Edric’s funeral pyre.
The scent of char and resin curled in the air, mingling with herbs and death. Ash drifted down, settling on shoulders and in hair.
It was not a grand send-off for Edric; there was no weeping or remembrance, only fire and silence. The crackle and pop of splitting wood punctuated the stillness, a reluctant eulogy. Elena’s silhouette cut a sharp edge against the flames, her shadow stretching long and distorted across the trampled snow.
Kael didn’t reply, but his stance shifted and a hint of resistance showed in his tightening shoulders. He had known Martha’s execution was inevitable; there had been no trial. But hearing it spoken so plainly now made it very real.
Elena watched the fire, its glow warming her pale features. “I’m not a monster, Kael. But the sooner we send the message to the rest of the Candlemakers, the better. My father was right. The world will be a better place. So much sorrow now.”
Kael exhaled. “No words for Edric?”
“No. My father would have wanted it that way. Nature was his orator. He is committed back to its laws. I only want to bring him justice, now.”
She faced him then. “And you, do you have the evidence you promised, or should we have Oona join Martha on the stake?”
“You’ll have your evidence,” Kael said, and spun around as the flames licked higher, the heat pressing against his back.
The crowd closed around him, nameless faces blending into the firelit haze. Then, a tug. And he saw her. She was small, half-hidden among the gathered figures, but dressed in finer clothes than he remembered. Gone were the oversized garments, replaced with fabric that fit. Clean and pressed, they quietly declared change.
Sarah.
She had found him. She spoke, barely louder than the wind, after a slight hesitation. “Will she be okay?”
A simple question. A child’s question. He knew she was talking about Martha, but he was thinking of Oona.
Kael’s throat tightened. And then he forced out the lie. “Yes.”
The words left him before he realized the shape of them, before he felt their gravity.
And then—
“Wait here. I’ll be back.”
The moment yawned, a cold sharp grin. He had spoken these words before. In the forest. To his sister. He inhaled, quickly, forcing himself back to the present. This time, he would make it back. Before he could say more, a ripple of movement with urgent whispers swept through the guards.
Elena’s cold gaze slid sideways, absorbing the words without reaction. Kael heard them, too.
Oona had escaped.
Something crossed Elena’s face—annoyance? Amusement? But she did not react beyond that. Her tone remained detached. “We’ll interrogate the Candlemaker and Marcus. One of them must know.”
As Elena made her way through the crowd, she caught Kael. She hardly cast a look at him, words edged with finality. “You’ll accompany me.”
Kael nodded, gaze locked stoically ahead, like he was already hung.
As Kael reached the bottom of the dungeon steps, he saw her.
It was like seeing a ghost.
Oona sat in her cell, on her bench, draped in a plain dress. Her amber eyes, cool and unreadable, met Kael’s before she turned abruptly away. The movement sent a sharp, almost physical pain through him.
The walls glistened with damp; the air was thick with decay and iron. It smelled worse than before, and the weight of the dungeon pressed in on him like a living thing.
As he neared Martha’s cell, Elena had already swung the door open. The guards blinked, rubbing their eyes as if waking from a dream.
“She never left.”
Martha didn’t flinch, and her words didn’t falter when she told the lie, spoken with the ease of truth. Martha’s lie saved Oona. Saved him.
He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t risk giving anything away. Instead, he kept his gaze forward, forcing his face into the same stony mask he had worn through every interrogation.
Elena’s patience was thinning. She turned, locking eyes with Garrick, who looked as if he might shrug.
“You’ll have to answer for this confusion,” she said, her words edged with quiet menace.
Then, casually, like it was already decided, Elena said, “She is dead anyway, isn’t she, Kael? Time’s up.”
With that, she moved toward Marcus’s cell.
Kael stayed in the cell with Martha. She angled her head, studying him, then nodded toward his hands. “You’re touching that pendant,” she said in a hush, meant only for him.
Kael froze. He hadn’t even noticed. The leather cord sat heavy at the base of his neck. He let go of the locket, but the guilt didn’t leave with it. His mind drifted. Sarah. He had left her up there. And now, time was slipping away. Again.
He had said it to Sarah. I’ll be right back. Just like he had said to his sister. His stomach tightened. This time, he swore, he wouldn’t be too late.
“Martha.” He was barely overheard as he reached into his cloak and drew out a dagger, wrapped in cloth. He offered it to her.
Martha took it, turned it over, and slid the blade out just enough to see the dried blood still staining its edge. A slow, knowing smile ghosted across her lips. “You want me to defend myself when they burn me?” she murmured. “You know… silence is a tax on hope.”
Kael didn’t answer.
Martha exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “I’m taking this for Oona,” she said. “Not you. And for Sarah.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Now it’s your turn, Kael. Find her.”
Kael swallowed and arced away, his footsteps cracking against the stone like exclamation points.
He reached the corridor just as Elena was leaving Marcus’s cell. His breath was steady; his decision, already made. He swiveled to Garrick.
“Release Oona.”
Garrick hesitated and Kael repeated, firmer now, “That’s a Crown’s order.”
The hesitation vanished. Garrick straightened, snapped to attention, and moved toward the cell.
Kael shifted, passing Elena without looking at her. “You’ll find the evidence you’re searching for—the murder weapon—on Martha. Search her.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Behind him, Martha let her breath out, slowly. She then carefully tucked the knife into her shawl. She didn’t look at Kael. She stared at Oona. And Oona, silent and still, stared back.
“Sarah.”
Kael whispered her name, barely a breath. He scanned the courtyard, searching.
The pyre still smoldered, embers glowing in the wind, black smoke rising into the night. Sparks lifted into the air, carried away like fireflies. A flake of ash swirled down, landing in a shallow pool where the snow had melted. It spread thin, vanishing.
His footprints marked the stone. And suddenly, he was in the forest again.
The tracks he had made, leading the machines straight to her, were there, along with the mud, gouged with drag marks where she had fought, and where they had pulled her away. He could see the hiding place where she had knelt—where he had left her so many years before.
His vision blurred. He had failed, again.
Suddenly, he felt a hand, light on his shoulder. Kael turned, his breath catching in his throat. Oona stood there, quiet, unreadable. For half a second, she looked at him. Just looked.
Kael didn’t know what he expected. Maybe the softness he had seen before, the healer’s touch. Maybe the same cold distance from the dungeon. But her face told a different story.
And it hit him. This was the same moment, in the forest. “Stay here,” Oona had said. She had said it to both of them when she had gone to scout the path. She had left him in charge of his sister, right before she vanished. And he had left her again.
His sister. Sarah. Oona.
His throat tightened. He had hurt her, too. Leaving her behind. Leaving them both.
Kael shook his head, clearing the thoughts like smoke. No. He wasn’t a boy anymore.
“I’m going to make this right,” he said quietly but firmly.
A pause. Then, in a whisper— “I’m sorry, Oona.”