Ronan finally agreed though with obvious reluctance. He kept hold of her arm, as if to steady her, but she knew it was to restrain her, should she have any urge to rush in and save Guin.
Of course she had the urge. But as she'd lain there crying, the tears had washed away the panic, and she realized he was right. Now, as they moved around the side of the cart, she could see it, too. Guin was chained, surrounded by Alvar's men, with more ringing the crowd. Perhaps earlier, if Ashyn had acted when the crowd rose up, in that initial surge of horror and rage . . .
Perhaps she could have turned the crowd against the false warriors.
Or perhaps she'd have gotten them all killed along with Guin.
While the others fought and wept as the blade came down the line, Guin only stood there. Perhaps it was shock, but it seemed like resolve. She'd been dead before. So she would be again. It was not what she wanted--so desperately not what she wanted--but from everything Ashyn knew of Guin's mortal life, she'd not been a girl accustomed to getting what she wanted. And so it was again.
Ashyn tried to ignore the executions, but that was as futile as ignoring a raging fire if you were caught in the middle. She heard the sobbing of the prisoners and their relatives and friends in the crowd. She heard the thwack of the blade, then the chortles of Alvar's men. She smelled blood and urine and vomit.
She kept her gaze on Guin and kept moving forward. When she was only a few paces away, the young woman noticed her. Her eyes rounded, and her gaze shot to Ronan, head shaking as she motioned for him to keep back, to take Ashyn away.
Ashyn shook her head and motioned that she'd not try anything, but she was staying where she was. She would not leave. Even Ronan seemed to realize that and finally released her.
I'm sorry, Ashyn mouthed as fresh tears streamed down her face.
Guin gave a wry smile. "Don't be."
The leader finished executing the man beside Guin. The girl tensed, fear finally crossing her face. He took a step toward her.
"No!" a voice called from deep in the crowd. "Not the women. Please, my lords. Spare the women."
I know that voice.
She turned to find that Ronan was no longer beside her. It was him shouting from the middle of the throng. A few people moved away from him, distancing themselves, but he stayed where he was, his blades hidden under his cloak, his gaze downcast, his posture servile.
"Please, my lords. Show mercy on the women. Take them if you must. Put them in service of the empire. But spare them."
There was little hope of that. Alvar's men wanted to portray imperial warriors as monsters, so they would kill the women, and Ronan's words could neither sway them nor goad them on. But there was still a chance of spurring the crowd to action. If they rose up, Ashyn and Ronan might be able to rescue Guin. That's what he was trying
to do. Provide a distraction.
While others took up his cry, their voices were low, their tone submissive, begging for mercy toward the two women. And that was all they did. They stayed in their places and they begged.
The leader motioned for one of his men to grab Guin's hair. Ashyn squeezed her eyes shut and spoke new words then. New pleas. To the ancestors and to Guin's spirit itself. Leap free, if you can. Let go.
Take her out of there. She does not belong in that body. Spare her this final moment.
Guin gasped. Ashyn's eyes flew open. The false warrior was wrenching Guin's head up as the leader's sword swung down.
Please, please, please. Release her. That's all I ask. Release her.
Before the sword struck, Guin's body went limp. Ashyn felt her spirit pass in a soft breeze and heard a whisper in her ear. "Thank you." Then Guin was gone and her body lay in the square.
"Come," Ronan whispered, appearing beside her, his hand on her arm. "We ought to get inside."
She turned and stared at him, and when she did, she felt as if it were her body on that stage, empty and cold. She looked at him, and all she could think of were the times they'd fought about Guin, all the times he'd cursed the inconvenience of her. Had she not done the same? Quietly and to herself?
We're finally rid of her, she thought, and began to sob.
They were in their room now, waiting for a chance to flee. She'd wanted to leave right away, but Ronan had said it wasn't safe. The false warriors would be watching for anyone running away from the "lesson" too fast. Indeed, in the short time that followed, Ashyn heard several screams, including a horse's, presumably killed carrying a traveler swiftly from the scene of the carnage.
As they waited, she spoke for the dead, easing their passage and offering one last heartfelt apology to Guin and a prayer that the ancestors would help her find her place in the second world.
Once Alvar's men were gone, the burbling rage of the crowd hit full boil. People began shouting, snarling, fighting. Grieving relatives blamed onlookers for not helping. Onlookers blamed the grieving relatives for raising sons and daughters who'd betray the empire. The anger and the confusion seemed almost a living thing, a dragon lashing through the crowd.
Twice, when she'd heard a scream, she'd marched to the door to tell them what had truly happened. But Ronan dragged her back and blocked the exit.