Page 9 of The Great and Terrible

This couldn’t be my last few seconds alive. I was supposed to return home, ensuring my dad didn’t spend the remainder of his days missing another woman he loved. Needed to enjoy one last lecture.Rye,he might say.You’ve never truly lived. Stop wasting precious time, get out there, and fall in love.

An invisible metal spike speared my chest. Would the death of his only child spur his?

Jasher shifted.

I braced.

The crowd held its collective breath, waiting with anticipation.

“I’ll pay her debt,” Mr. Green announced, and my lids popped open. He stepped toward us. “But in return for my extreme generosity, she must agree to muck my stable.”

Finally! Something was going my way. Clean a stable? Done.

“Do you accept, Moriah Shaker?” Jasher asked, a thread of warning in his voice.

Upset that he wouldn’t meet his beheadings quota? “Yes!” I scrambled to my knees, my feet. “I’ll work off those silvers, no problem.” Shouldn’t take more than a day, possibly two.

Mr. Green waved to a rotund, bald man, who stood beside a roofless cart with barred walls. A pole separated the cab from the caged wagon, with a gagged redhead tied to it, scarecrow style. She looked young, maybe sixteen years old. A slightly older brunette and two pale hair boys sat shackled nearby.

Baldman reached in and freed Brunette. A little too rough for my liking, he hefted her out. She wore a potato sack, and she didn’t fight him.

Prickles erupted over my nape. Did she carry Mr. Green’s wallet or something?

With a hand on my lower back, Jasher urged me forward. “Go.” His hard baritone welcomed no arguments. “Now.”

Legs shaking, I slowly made my way over. At the same time, Baldman gave the brunette a hard push. She stumbled onto the stage, holding her head high. Defiance glittered in her lovely blue eyes.

As we passed each other, she muttered, “Trust no one.”

At the steps, I paused to cast a worried glance over my shoulder. Just in time to watch as the other woman willingly knelt at the chopping block.

What the—No! “She’ll toss a few silvers on the stump then go on her merry way, right? She isn’t meant todie for me. Right?” The last word escaped as a screech. “I agreed to muck the stable!”

Looking annoyed, Baldman stomped up the steps to clasp my good wrist. “Mucking a stable means dying for your titleholder, you fool.”

I grappled for freedom, attempting to get to Brunette, but Baldman proved too strong and quickly wrangled me inside the roofless cage, using a metal cuff to shackle me in place. Hay provided a cushion, at least, but it stunk.

Realization set in. I’d become Mr. Green’s prisoner—in Brunette’s place. I fought my bonds. The boys reeked of sweat and fear. The teenager fought her bonds. For the time being, I ignored all three, choosing to press my face against the bars and peer out.

Jasher moved behind Brunette. The “substitute.” Provided by Mr. Green, the “titleholder.” The words made sense at last. I only wished they didn’t.

“A substitute has been selected and accepted.” Jasher raised the ax over his head.

“No,” I shouted. “Please, don’t do this.” I hadnotsentanother human being to her death, to pay for a crime I myself had committed. Surely I hadn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

The cart lurched forward as Jasher swung. I lost sight of the dais, but I heard the loudthunk. New cheers filled the air, and I knew. Like the old man, Brunette had lost her head.

My hand flew over my mouth as a spear of guilt pierced my heart. Golden sunlight filled the cart, leaving no trace of the storm. As the celebration grew louder, I ground my teeth. A coincidence, nothing more.

Gears cranked, the pole lowering, bringing the redhead into a seated position. A metal cover unfolded over us, extended the length of the bars and blocking out most of the light.

One of the boys tugged on my arm. When I met his gaze, he pointed to the redhead. I looked her over and realized I could free her arms from the pole. The links attaching my cuff to the cart stretched just far enough to allow me to undo her rope. Which I did.

She crumbled into herself, taking a moment to wheeze before lifting her hands to remove the gag. After huffing and puffing while massaging sore muscles, her pretty brown eyes cleared of discomfort.

She resettled against the hay and met my gaze. “You ain’t from around here, is you?”

“Where am I?” I croaked. “What is this awful place?”

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