If I had a spyglass and climbed one of the tallest trees, perhaps I would spot Jade.

I sped onward, spurred by images of a noose around his neck. Would they hang him at dawn? Or force him to attend Sunday service, preach to him about his sins, and hang him after?

Tears stung my eyes, and my entire body shook in the saddle.

My mother would stop them. She loved my father. How had I ever thought she didn’t? She would save him, and we would sail away.

We would be a family.

The thought was so comforting I let it play out in my head—my father standing at the bow of his ship with his hands on the railing and the wind in his hair, the countess and me flanking his sides and sharing joyous smiles. He would sing off-tune, and we would laugh and join in. The destination wouldn’t matter because we would already be home, together at sea, as we were meant to be.

I choked on tearful laughter and propelled the horse faster. Chest tight and fingers clinched around the reins, I abandoned the fringe of forest on my right and approached the edge of town.

Piers stretched like fingers out to sea, and buildings scattered along the walkways that lined the beach. The sun sat just above the water, and a few townsfolk meandered from one place to the next.

The gaol wasn’t visible from the beach, and I questioned the wisdom in entering the town half-dressed and guilty of murder.

In the distance, a bell tolled, signaling the start of Sunday service. Most of the residents would be gathering there.

With a shaky breath, I searched the buildings for a sign of the countess or her horse. My gaze darted over pathways, faces, shadowed alcoves, and… An ominous structure. One that didn’t belong on the beach.

I urged the horse closer, squinting at the wooden platform that appeared to have been moved from the center of town.

Two uprights towered over it, and something hung from the crosspiece.

Not something.

Someone.

A cold sweat swept over me, and sickening dread muted everything around me.

My mind fractured, and I didn’t recall dismounting the horse. One moment I was in the saddle. The next I was standing at the foot of the gallows, staring up at a dead man.

A tide of tears warped my inspection of his face, so I focused on the feet that dangled at eye level above the platform.

Feet that were covered in deerskin shoes, decorated with porcupine quills and glass beads. And splotches of blood.

Numbness spread across my skin.

The shoes weren’t real.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

None of this was real.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, rubbing away the blur of a nightmare. Then I forced my gaze back up.

Broad shoulders. Wide mouth. Sun-bronzed skin. Gold earring. Red hair.