“I need more time,” I have to shout over the growing din of the crowd. “They’re moving Lady Anne to the scaffold.”
Nico says something else, but his words are lost in the cacophony of shouts and screams around me as Anne mounts the execution platform.
The chaplain goes through the same motions with Anne that he did with Thomas Wyatt.
When given leave to speak, Anne takes a deep breath and looks around, shaking her head in disbelief, as though she still can’t quite grasp the turn of events that have landed her at the end of her short life just as it’s supposed to begin.
She takes a breath, then speaks in a halting voice. “Good Christian people, I am come here to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die for the sins of which I am accused. Yet, I say to you that I am innocent, having never betrayed my sovereign lord, the king. I have ever been a true, faithful, and loyal servant of his majesty.”
She pauses, scans the crowd like she’s looking for something—or someone. The king, perhaps? Or her father or her brother, George? For a moment, her expression is hopeful, like she expects a savior to appear. For a crazy moment, I consider fighting my way through the crowd and rescuing her myself.
Anne squares her shoulders and continues her farewell speech. “I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you. He is a gentle and merciful prince, and I would have borne for my sovereign lord many sons.” She places her hands on her still flat belly, and I wince.
The executioner steps closer to Anne, and she casts an anxious glance over her shoulder at him. Her voice shakes. “And if...if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.”
She kneels on the floor and gives one curt nod to the executioner. Where Wyatt’s hands were bound, hers are unrestrained. In stark contrast to the brutal death of the poet, Lady Anne—because of her rank and station—is given the easier death by beheading.
It feels like the entire assembly is holding their collective breaths.
There’s a warm, moist breath on my right ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Thinking it’s just some louse trying to cop a feel, I spin to my right and come face-to-face with Commander Jackson Carter.
“At least you’re not stuck in the toilet this time” Carter says with a smirk as he grabs my ,arm.
Merde!
The crowd presses forward toward the platform, jostling us back and forth enough to allow me to yank my arm from his grasp. Several larger men elbow their way forward, and I use them as leverage, pushing them backward so that they crash into Carter, sending them all tumbling to the ground.
There’s a narrow gap between two groups of ladies and I dart through it, shouldering my way through people still moving forward toward Anne.
I glimpse Carter, who has disentangled himself from the sprawled bodies struggling to right themselves after the fall. His eyes sweep through the crowd, searching for me. I pull my hood up over my head and melt into the crowd.
At the corner of the scaffold, I stop. I have a direct line of sight to Lady Anne as she waits for her end. She turns her head and glimpses me. I get one more look at those dark, seductive eyes—now fearful and incredulous—before they fix a blindfold over them.
Holy God.
“I’ve lost Trevor.” Fagin’s voice is breathless. Frustrated. “She nabbed a horse and is headed East. Nico, monitor the MicroCams aimed at the Benefactor ship. I think she’s headed in that direction.”
It’s astounding how a minute can drag on forever. Everything feels dreamlike as the executioner raises the ax.
“Nico!” Fagin says. “Do you copy?”
The sword swings upward into the air, then cuts a smooth, downward arc.
Mercy. Have mercy.
Then...
She’s gone.
There are wails. Whimpers. Cheers.
And so much blood.
Someone bumps me. I barely register the hit until a pair of hands seize my shoulders. I feel myself pivot and, once again, stare up into Carter’s face.
He peers at me and curiosity flickers in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with skepticism. Carter says something, but the words don’t register over the shouts of the crowd. He moves closer, his face mere inches from mine.
My hands instinctively raise and land on his chest, but before I can push him away, there’s a burst of motion and Carter is jerked backward off of his feet.
It’s Nico.
Surprise is his best leverage against Carter, who has a good four inches and thirty pounds on Nico’s taut, trim frame.
There’s a sideways scuffle, and then a flurry of fists until Nico lands a punch to the solar plexus followed by an uppercut that connects with Carter’s jaw, sending the larger man tumbling to the ground.
Nico grabs my hand and we push our way through the mob. Once free of the constraints of the crowd, we hit a full sprint toward the gardens.
“If you had listened to me for one damn minute.” Nico says, trying to breathe and talk while running at full speed. “Fagin, I’ve got her. Get to the ship.”
“Be there as soon as I can. I’ve been...detained,” comes the cool reply.
Shooting a glance over my shoulder as we race into the garden, I spot the commander—red faced and snorting like a raging bull—as he rounds the corner of a hedge. Nico glances back, too.
“Shit,” he says in a huff.
Nico veers to the right,
