10

EVERY SEAT AT THE Point of Return was occupied despite the early hour, and despite the event only having been announced at dawn. The aisles were packed with standing spectators and the doorway thronged with latecomers jostling for a view. All of them had been told that if they came they would see something special. Few of them, however, believed the rumor that the king would appear here personally. Surely not after the recent attack on him—he’d never risk it.

This meant that when the king, flanked by four guards, entered through the front door and walked down the aisle a gratifying ripple of excitement spread through the crowd. He glanced to where Clarence sat atop one of the decorative carved scrolls that adorned the wall to the right of the stage.

Clarence nodded.

The king let the hubbub go on for a few seconds, then raised a hand and everyone fell silent.

Good.

The king said nothing. Instead he signaled to the doorway that led through to the waiting room and two trolleys were brought out by attendants. They were just like the trolleys used every day here at the Point, with one important modification—thick restraints had been fitted to each one, holding the subject by the wrists and ankles. These restraints were not usually necessary because the occupants of the trolleys were usually dead.

One of the trolleys held Ward, the other held Alyssa.

Alyssa maintained an impassive countenance in the face of the audience’s hushed scrutiny as the trolleys reached the center of the stage—a space the king had now vacated, stepping to one side—and were tilted so Alyssa and Ward were almost upright. Now they had no choice but to face the people.

The king pointed to the people on the trolleys and addressed the audience.

“He is the man who attacked me. But she ordered the attack. And she started the fire.”

For a moment the crowd considered what the king had said. The king took this opportunity to move farther out of the way.

Then the bombardment began.

Everyone, it seemed, in the first dozen rows had come prepared: all had brought bits of old furniture or discarded building materials and they flung it at the criminals. Ward remained entirely passive, just as he’d been since his arrest, and Alyssa did her best to follow suit. She bit her lip, managed not to cry out in pain, and waited for the crowd to run out of ammunition—which, after less than a minute, they did. However, they then started to pull pieces off the seats so they could throw those, and the king’s guards were forced to intervene.

Their rage was a bit disturbing. But at least they cared.

The king held up a hand and walked back to the center of the stage. The crowd fell silent again.

The king turned and gestured to the attendants. This time the furnace doors opened, revealing the inferno within. A wild cheer came from the crowd. Alyssa was unable to see the fire but she could feel its heat. From a distance people might infer from her apparent lack of reaction that death somehow did not matter to her. But the king was close enough, and perceptive enough, to see on her face genuine dread and despair.