“Enough!” the woman shouted, but Kylar lost her voice under the shrieking voice of pain. His face was hot, his chained hands couldn’t reach up to protect himself or feel the damage. Soldiers were jostling him, half carrying, half dragging him forward.

Kylar opened his eyes but could only see from his right. His first sight was of his bare foot, bleeding, ruined. It made him light-headed. He looked up, blinking, but blinking sent forks of lightning through his left eye. Blood was filling his mouth from his smashed lips. He didn’t know if he’d swallowed or spit out the teeth, but jagged edges were all that remained.

When Kylar could finally try to make out the details, he saw that the platform was filled with Logan’s retinue, including at least a hundred of Logan’s bodyguards. Numerous other soldiers were scattered throughout the crowd, including along all three bridges, keeping a lane clear. On the far side of the platform, facing the castle, was the wheel. To one side, Logan sat in a gilded chair.

They dragged Kylar before him and a herald read out the charges. Kylar paid no attention to them. He looked only at Logan. Logan’s eyes trailed over Kylar’s wounds and he swallowed, but he didn’t avert his gaze. His eyes met Kylar’s and Kylar saw suffering as great as his own, but no wavering.

The herald finished with the charges with a question. “Yes,” Kylar said loudly. “I killed Terah Graesin, and I’d do it again.”

Logan stood and the muttering that had begun ceased instantly. “Kagé, Shadowed One, whom I knew as Kylar Stern, I owe you my life. You are a hero and I call you my friend, but you have betrayed this country and murdered her queen. I will not be a king who gives different justice to his friends. Kylar, my friend, I sentence you to hang by the wheel until you are dead.”

Kylar said nothing. He merely bowed his head to Logan. Logan sat and made no attempt to quiet the crowd that now buzzed with the confirmation of the rumors they’d heard.

The soldiers dragged Kylar to the wheel. It was slightly taller than a man and open, with only four spokes radiating from the axle, which would be behind Kylar’s back so he could face the crowds. There were blocks for his feet which adjusted at the ankle so his feet wouldn’t slip free, a thick leather belt for his waist, and two sharply-ridged bars for handholds. The rest of the wheel bristled with iron spikes: all pointed inward.

The royal guards who’d brought him from the Maw began strapping him in place.

“Are you really the Night Angel?” Kaldrosa asked quietly, fitting the leather belt around his waist.

“Yes,” Kylar said.