Page 87 of Monsters in Love

It had to be a public shaming, followed by a sermon on why leaving was temporarily banned.

Please, Fallen Gods of Gold and Scale, let it be a shaming.

It wouldn’t be the first time the bishop had opened the Harvest Ball with a public shaming, as if to remind all of Windhaven why events at night were rare moments of celebration to be treasured.

Yet her mother’s face said otherwise.

Barely able to breathe, she pushed past her mother and onto the streets. She should have been running for the edge of town, but her limbs were frozen, her feet unwilling to do more than stumble a few steps.

Daylight had fled and the lamps were burning brightly—always bright, especially in the twilight hours, when the demons were most prone to hunt. She felt them scurrying beneath her feet. Claws. Scraping like iron nails against stone. And they all seemed to be going in one direction.

Voices echoed from behind her.

Heart sinking, she turned slowly to the square. She’d barely made it past the edge of her cottage, and she was close enough to the square to hear. And to see. The lights were brighter there, the shadows of many figures stretching along the rooftops as if reaching for the stars.

They’d already gathered.

Picking up her skirts, she ran for the square. Her slippers, made for dancing on the Keep’s polished floors, provided no protection from the jagged cobblestones—Belle didn’t care. She barely noticed the pain as she raced past the tailor and the butcher, gripping the lamppost on the corner to swing herself onto the next street at pace.

Chest burning, she burst into the square in time to see Thomas’ father and a handful of his friends being dragged before the bishop—who stood with not one, but four city guards in full plate mail.

She stumbled to a halt, unable to process what she was seeing.

So many guards? And was Ser Marr in chains?

Dear Gods, they didn’t use chains for shamings. Nor did they let people bleed freely from obvious wounds.

Clad in his gold and white ceremonial robes—Chastry colors, to honor the fallen golden gods and hearken their return—the bishop stood upon a wooden dais, a scroll clutched in one hand and harsh lines framing his mouth. Two guards stood on either side, torchlight dancing across their polished armor.

Set before the Chastry, in the middle of the square, the dais was only used to punish serious sinners. But that couldn’t be possible. Ser Marr and his friends were farmers and tradespeople, hard-working folk who helped keep Windhaven turning from season to season.

This had to be a mistake.

A terrible mistake.

She began pushing her way through the crowd, trying to reach the dais and find Thomas.

“Sedition.” The bishop’s voice sliced through the crowd and silence claimed the square. Everyone around her drew still, as if collectively holding their breath, and even the wind vanished.

Except for the demons.

Their scratching increased, as if the bishop’s pronouncement drew them near.

“Salacious lies,” the bishop continued, words dripping with disdain and celestial judgment. “Roland Marr, you have been found guilty of the grievous crime of luring the good people of Windhaven to their deaths in the woods. There is no future in the woods, no hope. Only death at the hands of the monsters that, even now, draw closer to our village—”

“Liar!” Thomas threw himself at the dais. “Leaving is no sin! My father has done nothing—”

“Silence.” One of the guards slammed the pommel of his sword into Thomas’ head, while two others restrained him. Unarmed and bleeding from a cut above his eye, and it still took a guard gripping each arm to hold him back. “If you want to stand by your father, then you can suffer the same fate.”

“No!” She rushed forward. “Thomas—”

An armored arm caught her middle, driving the air from her lungs. “Be quiet, Belle,” a cruel voice hissed in her ear. Jaston. The captain of the guard. “Or you’ll share their fate.”

“I don’t care.” She struggled in his grip. “Let me go. Thom—”

Jaston clamped a hand over her mouth. “I saidquiet.”

All she could do was watch as the guards forced Thomas to his knees beside his father. Past the townspeople and the guards, she met Thomas’ gaze. His eyes somehow grim and yet full of love, she felt him begging her to stop, to save herself from what came next.

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