His look of shock gave way to a thin grin that snaked over a scarred face. His head was shaven clean, but the helmet he held in his right hand was identical to hers. And he, like she, wore a red cape. He was comparable to Johnis only in his smaller size—she could see how they might be confused for one another—wearing helmets hides their features.

“I didn’t know they were going to execute a lass today.”

“They’re not,” she snapped.

“No, you just dressed up like a prisoner for the thrill of it, eh?” Now he was wearing a wicked, yellow-toothed smile that tempted her to slap him hard. Instead, she opted for keeping calm. There were still boots thudding past outside.

Another thought dawned. They’d taken Johnis, thinking he was a prisoner to be executed!

“It’s all a mistake.” She fought to keep her nerves under control. The man’s eyes dropped to her trembling hands. Why couldn’t she control herself in this place cursed by Elyon?

“Yes, of course.” The man angled for the door, eyes steady on her. He smelled like too much drink mixed with a night of vomiting.

“You’re a fighter. I can see it in your lovely little eyes, sweetheart. Gonna take half of them down with you, aren’t you? This ain’t the Dark Ages, you know: 2020 when they just played around. It’s brutal out there. Why don’t you let me have some fun before they kill us both?”

“Why don’t you take your skinny backside out of here before I put my boot up it?” she retorted. But did she really want to leave an unconscious man on the floor for the guard to find? It would only bring more of them.

The man’s grin only widened. “Passion before death and all that. It’s all part of the deal, isn’t it?”

Silvie suddenly realized that he wasn’t intending to head out the door but was circling around to cut off her escape. She needed to distract him.

“Do they execute all prisoners here?”

“Only the ones with the red capes. Unless you manage to kill them all. You see, we have nothing to lose.” His emphasis on the word kill clearly revealed his doubt that it was possible.

Johnis was in terrible trouble . . . A wave of heat spread down her neck. She nearly swatted the bald fool aside and bolted for the door then. But she had no reasonable course that would land her anywhere except in the gallows herself, in no shape to help Johnis.

“Come on, sweetie, what do you say: a kiss before the old death match?”