numbers steadily filling the lawn until there was no more room, and the last few were squeezed back onto the enormous boulevard. At the sight of the sea of torches around her, behind her, Aislinn’s confidence had doubled, trebled. In the face of such numbers, Elyssa must appear; she would have to.
I learned nothing from my years with Lady Andrews, Aislinn thought ruefully. One gold-plated bitch was just like another. If Lady Andrews had had a moat and drawbridge, the rebellion would never even have gotten off the ground. Elyssa would not come out to treat with them; why should she? No, she would hide in her castle, waiting, testing their resolve.
Very well, Aislinn thought, staring up at the monstrous stone facade before her. We need a rest, and we are certainly well provisioned now. The entire city is behind us. We can wait you out.
She sat down, feeling them all follow: Liam first, then those behind him . . . a vast wave of humanity, all settling to earth. The grass beneath her was slick with dew; Aislinn wiped her hands on her dress. She and Liam were no more than ten feet from the moat, a choice she now regretted, for the water smelled dreadful. Aislinn ignored it, thinking of the city, the people behind her. They had emerged from the alleys, the hovels, their emaciated faces transported as they joined in, following Aislinn’s people to the Keep. There were so many of them! Aislinn closed her eyes and tipped her head back, feeling a pure joy so acute that it made the stench of the moat fade into nothing. The stone facade of the Keep did not intimidate her any longer, for she felt certain that nothing could hold against them, not so long as they all stood together. Even the enormous silhouette of the scaffold behind her, black against the dark-blue sky, could not intimidate her now. The Crown must execute its traitors there, but her people were not traitors. They were demanding only what was right.
“Something’s wrong,” the Fetch said. He had reappeared beside her without warning, his masked face tilted upward toward the Keep. “I’ve been up and down the lawn now. There’s no snow.”
“What?”
“No snow on the ground.”
Aislinn looked around, realizing that he was right. The entire city had been carpeted in snow, save only where foot and horse traffic had melted it on the streets. But the lawn was entirely clear.
“This is a huge patch of grass,” Liam remarked. “It must take sunlight most of the day.”
But the Fetch was not listening, still looking up at the Keep. “Do you smell that?”
“It’s the moat,” Aislinn replied. “The water must be putrid.”
“That’s not the moat.” The Fetch was quiet for another moment, and then Aislinn heard his quick indrawn breath. “Get them out of here.”
“What?”
The Fetch tore the mask from his head, and Aislinn had time to see that he was extraordinarily young, only half the age she had imagined. Then he grabbed her shoulders, shouting into her face.
“A trap! It’s a trap, all of this! Get them off the lawn!”
Aislinn gaped at him for a long moment, wondering whether he was joking. The drawbridge was closed. Her people numbered seven thousand, more than the Tear army. How could it possibly be a trap?
“Get back!” the Fetch screamed, and now Aislinn heard the youth in his voice. The fright. “Get off the lawn! Now!”
But it was too late, for now a fearful scream rose from the sea of people behind her, hundreds of hands pointing into the air. Following their trajectory, Aislinn saw that a line of figures had appeared on the battlements far above. She could not see their faces, but all of them held strung bows. Even at this great distance, Aislinn could see the arrows, because the tips were alight, shimmering with flame.
“Get back!” the Fetch screamed again, but it was like trying to part the sea.
“Aislinn,” Liam muttered. He had squatted down beside her to inspect the grass, and now he raised his hand into the light so that Aislinn could see his palm: glittering and slick with dew.
No, not dew, Aislinn realized suddenly, staring up at the Keep in sudden understanding, sudden horror.
Oil.
A man’s voice shouted high above them, too distant to hear the words, and in unison the bows tilted downward, aiming the flaming arrows at the lawn.
“Run!” the Fetch screamed. “Get off the grass!”
But Aislinn’s people simply stood there, staring upward, openmouthed. Even Aislinn herself stood