“Let’s go,” said Broad, steering Savine by the shoulder. There was no violence in it, but there was no resisting it, either.

The Burners pressed in close as they set off across the square. She could see nothing between their bodies but running figures, the odd flash of a terrified face. She could not even tell where Orso was. Somewhere else in this jostling, stinking, red-spattered knot of fanatics. She wished he was beside her. This one last time.

She stumbled, would have fallen if Broad hadn’t caught her arm. Candles sent skittering. Set up as a little shrine beside one of the names carved in the flagstones. The names of those killed to keep the old regime in power, half-glimpsed under her shuffling feet, blurred through the wet in her eyes. The names of those her father had beaten, tortured, hanged so that she could be rich.

Broad had tied her hands in front of her rather than behind. They had no fear she would make some mad bid for freedom. She had sometimes watched the arrested taken away, mute and tame, and wondered why they did not fight, however long the odds. But now she let herself be herded to her death without even—

The children! A sudden pang of dread. She cast about wildly, clutching at her dress, straining at the cords around her wrists. Freid had them. She sucked in a shuddering breath. Freid would keep them safe. And if she did not, what could Savine do? Not a thing.

She had been fixed on becoming a better person for them. Better than her parents had been for her. Their best friend, faithful protector, wise teacher, honest confidante. Now they would grow up without ever knowing her. Not even remembering her. Ever since she was arrested she had been telling herself she was doomed. But it was only now that she really started to believe it.

There was a crash as something hit one of the Burners on the helmet. “This is madness,” someone was hissing, “fucking madness,” his nervous eyes darting, clearly less of a true believer than the rest.

“Keep moving,” came Judge’s snarl.

The sounds of fighting were growing louder. Closer. Leo might be just beyond the edge of the square. Might be cutting his way through to her, even now. A surge went through the Burners and she was shouldered sideways, caught her shoe on something, bit her tongue as she nearly fell. The outstretched arm of a limp body, bloody hair spread across the cracked flagstones.

“Keep moving,” Broad growled, nudging her on.

It had been easy to be brave, in the Court of the People. To play the part of the noble martyr. Now the Tower of Chains loomed up ahead, Savine’s neck tilting further and further back as she stared towards its roof, and the fear began to grip her. The way it had in Valbeck, when she crawled through her own whirring machinery, when she ran through the ruined streets. Her mouth grew dry. Her knees grew weak. Her breath came faster and faster.