Jarek and Elisaf chase after me as we rush out the tavern door. The square has been transformed with bodies, blood, and a ring of fire, the flames easily reaching eight feet in the air. High enough to shield the people inside from the waiting soldiers.
They’re the mortals who were trapped in the pillories.
“Fates.” Jarek stares dumbstruck at the display of power. “How are you doing that?” His gaze cuts to my neck, as if to confirm for himself that the slice the barmaid inflicted is still oozing. Of course he would assume it’s me. I should be the only one capable.
In doorways and windows, sheltering beneath wagons, the people of Norcaster watch with a mixture of fascination and horror. Exact truths can likely still be obscured from townsfolk, but after this, there will be no hiding Romeria from the people who matter.
And maybe that’s the way this tide must turn for us to move forward.
A form stands in the inferno’s center, her eyes blazing with a silver-white light.
There you are.
Finally.
“I am not the one doing that. Come. She needs our help.”