It’s nearly sunset. The herald of the last Offering to be held in the Coliseum on the Island of Sol.
After this day the Coliseum will be turned into a memorial to those sacrificed here.
Boats will still travel back and forth.
The inside of the arena will be transformed into a garden—one open to and shared by the entire community. It was overwhelmingly decided the Sun would be most pleased with this arrangement.
But today?
Today the people of Bellona have voted to see justice handed down.
I stand. Not in Raevald’s perch or any other special seat. No, I chose to watch from my and Poppy’s old seats on what was the Basso side of the Coliseum. Nico stands to my right, his hand in mine.
We face this together.
Always.
Salazar volunteered to preside over the ceremony.
He stands on the floor of the arena, Raevald’s golden speaking trumpet at his mouth. “Welcome, Bellona,” he says. The crowd doesn’t erupt into applause or shout out in anger. No one was required by law to attend. But when he says it, Bellona, one word encompassing everyone who lives on this island, there is a definite air of appreciation.
Sure, not everyone is here.
Nico’s dad for one. He chose to stay on the island and continue to work to rebuild their home. Several other Dogio did the same. Their village, being on the neighboring downslope of the volcano, was hit worst next to the Lower. The Lower now lays entombed in lava rock, the Sindaco laid to rest within it.
Other Dogio and Imperi officials flat-out refused to watch the man they followed and defended for so long be sacrificed. Some of those who supported him, helped him with his dealings, currently sit in jail.
The investigations into the truth of what exactly happened to all of those Basso who went missing are ongoing.
I fear we’ll never know many of their stories.
No longer do Imperi flags fly around the Coliseum. And gone are the days when banners promising protection from the Night wave in the wind. The altar sits encased in memorial. And the hourglass holding red sand was destroyed.
“We do not celebrate today,” Salazar goes on. He’s not wearing traditional Dogio black, red, and gold, but a perfectly tailored burgundy suit. “This day, on the Island of Sol and under the Sun and Moon, we honor truth. We honor those who died here unjustly and those who were brutally taken and used as pawns to spread lies and defend a war.” He bows his head as if praying silently to himself, but it’s not for show. Salazar is the most genuine person to ever speak in this Coliseum. And he will be the last. Never again will there be one rule over this island.
The people of Bellona agreed it would be best to form a council of leaders—several people representing all factions on the island. Basso, Dogio, Imperi, Night, workers, fishers, farmers … Each voice is heard. We know we won’t agree on everything—far from it—but we all want the same thing: a unified and peaceful Bellona.
Salazar turns and faces the arched double doors where Raevald will enter. Dorian and an Imperi officer stand guard.
They’re more similar in their dress—both wear black but the Imperi officer wears his red sash; Dorian dons the silver moon pin on his collar, his hooded jacket. The point isn’t to erase who we were, but to respect our united future.
Salazar then motions toward the doors as Dorian and the officer each take hold of the handles. He speaks loud and clear. “For those who can no longer speak their truth, who had no say in their fate—he pauses a beat as the wind whips and whistles through the Coliseum—“justice is served.”
The doors swing open, and for the briefest moment Dorian’s and my eyes meet.
I tilt my head, smile in recognition. In appreciation.
He gives a very slight nod, but I know it’s for me.
Standing tall, Raevald enters the arena.
No guards drag him to the center.
He walks freely toward the raft that will carry him out to the Great Sea.
The day the council handed down his punishment, Raevald was allowed to speak. Grander than ever, showing no remorse, zero penance, he only said this, “I accept my punishment. The people of Bellona have spoken, and so the Sun has willed it.” Then he looked straight at me. “This will be my final honor as High Regent.”
Raevald steps onto the raft.
He searches the crowd until his eyes set on Nico and me.
I’m taken back to my real grandfather’s own unjust Offering and my chest aches, but I don’t look away. I squeeze Nico’s hand more tightly and watch Raevald as he drifts down the canal and through the arch and out to the Great Sea.
And then he’s gone.
There is no celebration.
No special food or music or jubilation.
Instead, the families of those lost make their way to the small canal that runs through the arena and connects to the sea.
Each family sets a lit lantern into the water.
As the lanterns are carried out by the current, the sun has set and is nothing but a fiery line against the dark-blue horizon as countless lights twinkle and bob like stars in the sky.
For the first time vesper bells don’t ring.
There is nothing to fear after dark.