Page 144 of Burn

Rhys had gotten to Autumn’s elite guild. When that hadn’t worked, he’d mobilized both the courtiers and town residents who opposed the Crown’s actions and beliefs. He rallied them like he’d done with the Masters, taking advantage of their sense of duty to this nation, their so-called definition of “normal” and the greater good.

Eventually, the propaganda had developed its own heartbeat. It provoked the citizens, dividing them in half—those who supported the monarchy, and those who didn’t—and pitting them against each other until that became its own weapon.

I may have won over the knights. Poet and I may have staged a kinship with Winter. The Royals may have stood with us against Rhys during the roundtable.

But already this uprising had been building, like a fuse ready to blow. When Rhys had said this wasn’t over, he hadn’t meant that he would be the one retaliating. Rather, the king had implied something worse, more hurtful, exceeding the pain of betrayal from the guild.

Like the courtyard battle, Rhys had instigated this outcome. He’d been the spark, knowing it was only a matter of time before the public acted without his interference. All he’d needed to do was get them upset, get them nervous, get them motivated.

In the dark castle, Poet, Aire, and I had taken down the perpetrators who poisoned me and murdered the born soul. But they had been a mere fragment of a greater opposition.

That wasn’t a castle invasion. This was a public riot.

Cries of anger scraped my eardrums. Nobles, servants, harvesters, and crafters collided in a fit of violence.

Pitchforks jabbed. Blades flashed. Arrows nocked into bows. Hammers slammed.

Blood spewed into the air. Houses and buildings sizzled. Cows, mares, and stallions galloped from the stables and headed toward the maple pasture beyond the fields, taking shelter among the resident foxes.

Several figures materialized among the havoc. I glimpsed a frenzied King Basil and a distraught Queen Fatima shielded by their guards. Members of our council rushed about, dodging looters and weapons.

Then a group of other figures skated past my vision. I skidded in place, a shout catapulting from my throat and getting eaten by the crackling flames.

Eliot. Cadence. Posy. Vale.

Poet had instructed our friends to help Mother protect Nicu. If they were here …

The jester saw them too and uttered a harsh noise. In unison, we barreled toward our clan, only to be sucked into a vacuum. Few in this world matched Poet’s reflexes. However, a mass of rioters proved to be another matter.

A wall of bodies crashed into us like a rapid river. Poet growled, his hand clamping onto mine. But the weight of everyone plowed between the jester and me, severing our grip.

“Poet!” I howled. “Poet!”

Wails and hollers smothered the jester’s bellow as his fingers vanished from mine. Muscle and bone ground into me, the girth crushing my ribs. I scrambled for purchase, desperately seeking Poet’s hand.

The mass dragged me along like detritus. Panic cinched my chest. I grunted, wedging my way through until I popped from the swarm and stumbled into the square. Wheeling in a full circle, then spinning the other way, I scrambled for the jester’s outline or any familiar silhouettes. Gripping my hair, I searched and searched and searched.

And found. And my feet shuffled backward.

The ominous figure stood in the shadows near a water well, his view unobstructed. Those vengeful eyes gleamed, blood crusted his ear from where I’d stabbed him, and more crimson speckled his bandaged hand, the latter courtesy of Poet’s dagger.

Rhys’s leer fastened onto me. I froze, momentarily arrested by his gaze before rage curdled my blood. Baring my teeth, I yanked out a thorn quill.

But Summer only narrowed his eyes in pleasure. Then he spoke, his accusatory tone ringing across the square. “The Mad Princess!”

A host of revelers swerved my way, their grimaces stalling my movements. In their features, I saw resentment, treachery, and blame. Although half of the public sided our clan, the king’s followers caught sight of me first. The scales tipped fully, the devastation of their homes, businesses, and kingdom too much for them to bear. They held me accountable.

I could not hurt my people. But if I didn’t, they would hurt me.

Rhys muttered again, this time lower. “Punish her.”

That did it. The mob stormed into motion, charging too quickly and from too many directions. Before I knew it, the quill tumbled from my grip. A hundred hands grabbed and pulled on my gown, my hair, my limbs.

The rioters drowned out my scream as they hauled me across the square. Chants chorused into the air, rising alongside plumes of smoke.

“Burn her!”

“Burn the princess!”

---