Padric looked back to where Svala stood in the chariot, eyes downcast, flaxen hair and sable cloak blowing in the wind. She was no more a vessel of sorcery than he, even if she were with child. Fortunately, they had departed Reaver’s Meadow in such haste that the question of his bedding Svala had not again been raised. Heggle had been left behind and without her spying eyes, Padric hoped he could keep from dishonoring the girl just to save her life. But for how long?

Torcan wanted a new line, one unblemished by a life amongst mortals and his patience was thin. The woman would be safer if she carried a child, at least from the Red Caps, but would the Seelie Court pursue the death of an innocent woman and her child just to quell the threat of another sorcerer king? Padric had no answer for that, but the tragic fact remained; Svala’s life was forfeit the moment they took her in thrall. His too. Slouch Hat’s lie had only granted him time, without it he would have been murdered by Acwellen. He could reveal the truth and they would all burn or hold to the lie and survive another day. Day by day. That was all that was left.

Padric looked at Torcan. “What would you have of me?”

“First,” the goblin smiled. “Come and see justice done on our enemies.”

Padric spent the day watching others die and fighting the urge to vomit. Torcan had the former leaders of the city held under guard in a large square near the docks. Padric and Svala were given seats on a hastily constructed platform, so they could view the executions unimpeded by the crowd forced to attend by the Red Caps. The humans were tied to stakes and burnt, they’re screams echoing off the walls of the surrounding buildings until the smoke stole the air from their lungs and they became nothing but slumped, black figures encased in hungry flames. The Fae were likewise burnt, but instead of tying them to wooden beams, Torcan had them impaled on iron spikes tall as a grown man. Padric had seen a few undine in his life and always found their lithe forms, large eyes and sea-colored skin exotic and queerly beautiful. The four which hung in the air, run threw, writhing and choking were robbed of that beauty as their lives slowly slid down the iron which transfixed their bodies.

Five dwarrow were also held in shackles, and when they were led into the square by their Red Cap guards, Svala leaned forward slightly, mumbling a few words in her own tongue that Padric could not make out. Oddly, Torcan ordered their lives spared, declaring they should be made to labor in the mines beyond the city walls. Svala seemed relieved as they were led away, continuing to mutter softy, her hands tracing a pattern in the air in front of her chest.