Zosia had been obliged to mess a few people up getting out of the castle, but she didn’t push things further than she needed to. If she got to Gate Square and found Indsorith dead, though, she would teach this town the meaning of the word overkill. She jogged through the hooded mob, weaving around their crackling rushlights and following the river of sparks that flowed through the city. She didn’t stop to ask anyone if the execution had already taken place—hearing she was too late would only slow her down, but it damn sure wouldn’t alter her course. The treacherous representatives of the People’s Pack were going to answer for what they had done to the two queens who had tried to help them.
She and her devil reached the wide plain of Gate Square, one of the few neighborhoods in Diadem open enough that you could see the sky from the street. The darkness was lifting, the heavy grey clouds tinged purple. Ahead, Zosia saw the stream of hooded citizens disappearing into the Gate, and she was so surprised she slipped in the mud and skidded to a stop. What the fuck?
Except no, they weren’t actually marching into the Gate; Zosia’s eyes had just been playing tricks on her. The procession passed by the rim of the Gate, into which everyone cast their rushlights, and then the darkened march took a sharp turn and filed out through one of the other four boulevards that opened onto the square. On the far side of the Gate from where the crowd quenched their candles in the First Dark was the People’s Pack, sitting at a long table like nobles at a garden party. Behind them the rear of the square was filled with heavily armored militia members standing at attention, and in front of them, between Diadem’s new rulers and the Gate, was Indsorith.
Zosia had imagined the worst. The girl screaming her last as the executioner removed another panel of her flesh, or already dead, crucified upside down on the edge of the Gate. Such heavy-handed symbolism seemed inevitable from the People’s Pack. And while Zosia hadn’t been far off on that count, she wasn’t too late, either. Not quite.
Indsorith was lashed to a stake, her arms pulled up over her head. In place of a crown she wore a dunce’s cap, her mouth gagged and her eyes blindfolded. An absurd array of gems sparkled at her throat and across her stomach, at her wrists and fingers, on her ankles and toes, but otherwise she wore only her skin. And as the sickliest yellow sheen bruised the low-hanging clouds overhead they prepared to deprive her of even that—the woman wearing a bear mask who knelt over a black sword to one side of the stake began to rise, as did the dog-faced man bowing over Zosia’s hammer on the opposite side, and then Zosia began to move, too.
As she did, one of the hooded figures nearing the Gate broke from the procession, walking briskly around the side toward the bound queen and the seated representatives. Guards swiftly moved past the People’s Pack to intercept the man as he shouted and waved his hands over its head, and Zosia hesitated. She felt fitter than she had in years, full of fighting vigor and with a powerful devil at her side, but one misstep and the militia could and definitely would execute Indsorith—slitting her throat might be less of a spectacle than the slow flaying they intended, but they would surely prefer that to letting Zosia walk away with her.
“Listen up, Chop …” From the way he was wagging his tail he must have known he was in for a treat. “We act natural, stroll up nice and easy, but as soon as they see through my disguise we rush in, grab Indsorith, and jump into the Gate. You take us through to … shit, the Usban Gate, I guess. Far from here as possible. Trve’s nice this time of year.”
He whined, but she didn’t know if this was a criticism of her scheme on the whole or just the lack of carnage involved.
“If they kill her, though …” Zosia would want to murder everyone in this square if not the whole city, but that was hardly going to give her devil any incentive to help in the rescue. “If she dies, Chop, you and me hop into the Gate, pronto. But as long as she’s alive I’m going to keep fighting to free her, which means you get to eat as much as you want. So let’s go put some meat on those bones.”
Choplicker barked his assent to that part of the plan, at least. Straightening the orange militia tabard Boris has provided over the ringmail shirt she’d stolen on her way out of the castle, Zosia stepped back into the procession and hurried along its side toward the Gate. Up ahead another figure detached from the throng and joined the first, the pair arguing with the guards who were preventing them from approaching either the bound queen or the People’s Pack. As they carried on a member of the council rose and headed over to the commotion …
Not much of a distraction but better than none—Zosia would go around the other side, where there weren’t already guards between her and Indsorith. She waited until she was at the very edge of the Gate and then hoisted the chipped buckler and shitty sword she had taken along with the armor. She started strolling around the left side of the Gate, but Choplicker, capricious monster that he was, trotted to the right, barking bloody murder as he ran to where the huddle of guards was engaging the pair who had cut from line. One of the troublemakers was a Flintlander with big white hair like Maroto’s nephew, but Zosia wasn’t worried about them right now, taking advantage of Choplicker’s addition to the diversion to march briskly around the opposite side of the Gate. Nothing to see here, just another member of the militia working security detail … And just like that she was rumbled, several members of the People’s Pack standing up and pointing straight at her. Oh well. Zosia charged. It felt a lot like old times, rushing in with no real plan against impossible odds. Both of Indsorith’s executioners were on their feet now, their weapons ready, but for the moment, at least, nothing stood between them and Cold Zosia, the Banshee with a Blade.