She screamed, the monstrous shriek rippling through the night, filling the whole arena.

The beast’s jaws snapped shut on the rebel’s arm. And the curled, black horn she clenched in her hand burst from between its eyes. The sound the woman made as the beast slumped and fell aside, taking ribbons of her flesh with it, didn’t sound like it came from a human. It almost seemed as if with each monster she’d slain tonight, with the black blood she’d bathed in, she’d become a beast herself.

Or perhaps revealed the one she’d been all along.

Any minute now, Jac thought with her hands clamped to either side of her head, half to block out what she could of the crowd’s screaming “LIVE! LIVE! LIVE!” and half to steady the rattling of her skull from the way the whole Arena was shaking, any minute now the Arena was going to come crashing down. Destroyed as completely as if the first Earthbreaker had broken it himself.

The rebel fell to her knees, howling, clamping the bloody remains of her right arm. The now steady-falling rain ran streaks through the black blood that painted the skin of her back.

This wasn’t good, and everyone in the box knew it—even Jac, who was usually clueless when it came to politics and performance. All the nobles were wound taut watching the prince, who stood staring at the wailing woman. The Earthbreakers’ relationship with their subjects was, as Belle would say, complicated. There was only one thing Aran wanted more from her subjects than for them to love her, and that was for them to obey her. And there was little Richard wanted more than to please Aran, but he had locked himself into a lose-lose situation.

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To defy the citizens of Broken Earth when they were, for once, wholly, loudly, and publicly united in a single belief, that the rebel should live, would do serious damage to the queen’s reputation, and therefore her ego. She would punish Richard for this failed spectacle, and Richard would take his anger out on none other than Belle—and all this, right before they were bound for Toll.

But to appease the citizens, to let the rebel live—it was unthinkable. The message it would spread, that when faced with rebellion the Earthbreakers didn’t have the will to eradicate their opposition. That Order did indeed bow to Chaos. That would be a thousand times worse.

Richard moved, and the entire box flinched. He released the fists he’d been clenching at his sides, his palms smoking. Still the crowd chanted, and still the rebel howled. There was an intensity burning behind Richard’s cold eyes as he regarded the woman.

He said, “Deacon. Send for a tourniquet. Have it brought to the sands.”

With only a bow and a “Your Highness,” Deacon whirled around and left the box.

“Guard,” Richard turned his attention, and held out one smoking palm. “Give me your sword.”

Immediately, the guard unsheathed his sword. He extended a hand—