Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,20

saltwater gusts coming off the Great Sea.

And their first act on this newly won colony of theirs?

A double execution.

In the center of the crescent, a short distance from me, is Arlen. His hands are tied behind his back. Ankles bound. He’s kneeling before his maker’s enemy, frozen like a statue—a sacrifice—beneath the moon.

Another soldier, one I recognize but can’t place, rests quietly on his knees beside Arlen. His eyes are set on the sky as if he’s searching for the Sun, deep in prayer. They’ll both be Settled tonight. But it’s Arlen who’s not going to go quietly.

He glares toward the Sindaco and then at the moon. “Curse you straight to hell!” he swears at the Night’s god.

The crowd cringes as a whole.

“Blasphemy!” someone gasps.

Arlen leans forward and despite how his hands are tied with a figure-eight of rope, he grabs two handfuls of sand and throws it toward the mumbling, scrutinizing crowd. It only makes it as far as the flames burning in front of him. They hiss and spit at the assault.

The fire’s hot, blazing like midday from a pit in the sand.

My eyes find the Sindaco. Veda’s father. Raevald’s son. His expression is unreadable. Calm. Collected. Completely at peace with the decision he’s made. It’s not a big shock I can’t read him. Raised by the High Regent, I suppose the guy’s learned from the best.

Dorian flanks the Sindaco on the left. I try to decipher his thoughts from his cold demeanor. The way his mouth is pressed into a hard line. How he sits tall next to the man in charge. I try to get his attention. Clear my throat. Forcefully side-eye him. If he notices, he doesn’t lead on.

It’s then I sense someone’s eyes on me.

When I focus back on Arlen, he’s staring straight at me, pure hatred in his glare as if it’s my fault he sits where he does.

It isn’t my fault, of course, but the fire is suddenly uncomfortably hot and my bindings cut into my wrists and sweat beads between my shoulder blades, my wound giving a harsh pang.

Opening and closing my hands into fists, each movement makes the ropes burn deeper. I welcome the pain. Anything to distract my senses from this moment. From witnessing my former friend’s execution.

Arlen continues his assault by fighting his own bindings, thrashing his shoulders back and forth, and kicking up sand, sending granules flying into the fire. He curses those around him, both the Sun and moon, then zeroes in on me once again.

“I’m here because of you, you know,” he shouts at me and me alone. As if we’re the only two people on this beach and I’m the one who’s tied him there. I who will push the blade through his chest. I who am drawing it all out by keeping the moon hidden behind heavy cloud cover.

I shake my head no, avert my eyes, because he’s full of shit. Always has been.

“I volunteered to rescue you.” This catches my attention. “Nico! Look at me!” And I do. Despite every instinct in my body, I lock eyes with him. “The High Regent needs his heir. Bellona deserves its heir!”

Now he’s just talking nonsense. It would take a careless, presumptuous idiot to think he could come down here and rescue me then live to tell the tale and enjoy the spoils.

An idiot.

Outnumbered by the hundreds. Unknowing of the surroundings. A death wish.

But …

Arlen’s certainly never been known for his levelheadedness or humble demeanor.

What if there is truth to what Arlen’s saying? Is he here because of me? Not the way he’s saying—if he volunteered to rescue me, I guarantee it was for his own gain and had zero to do with my well-being. But what if I’d listened to Veda sooner? And what if I’d been able to warn Arlen of the Imperi’s lies and deceptions? Would things be different?

“It should have been me,” he keeps talking, still staring at me. “I should have been named heir.” He releases a laugh. “You don’t deserve such honor.” He smiles. “She always had you wrapped around her finger. And. Now. She’s. Going. To. Die.” I force my eyes to look away. “Guess how, Nico? Do you want to know who will cut her neck? If she’ll suffer or beg to be spared?” My sight deceives me by making eye contact. Sweat-soaked hair hangs over his face, but he jerks his head to the side so he’s got a clear view of me. “If she’ll spill