The guards came not long after Norrah left, both wearing an alteration of the guard uniform Asher had never seen before. The coats were longer, with twin tails at the back, and a hat with a pointed side, dark blue like the coat. One of them was the bald guard who had accosted Penn in Dalvany’s market all that time ago. The two of them opened the cell with one hand on their rifles, as though Asher wasn’t clearly broken and bruised and weak. It hurt to move his joints, and the ends of his fingers had turned red.

The bald guard fixed metal shackles around his wrists, then both hauled him off the cold floor and into the colder hall. Asher knew it would be too much to ask for a coat. His bad leg wouldn’t move properly; something in it had locked and it dragged as a still, heavy weight across the floor.

The morning sun broke through the buildings as he was pulled out into the street, the light stabbing into his eyes and blinding him. He vaguely recognised the street, somewhere north of the town square where he would move towards Dalvany Manor. He remembered the platform he and Navarre had passed during his first day here, the stomach-churning sight of four bodies swinging from a rope. This time there would be only one. Alone. As the last one.

At least, he could hope so.

Anger flared out of nowhere as faces started to appear around the corner and through windows. Of course someone else would figure it out. Maybe Temperance, who could see the things he could see, or Sara, who found her chance at redemption through this quest. Maybe Clyde, who lost a friend and wanted the chaos to end. In the end, it wouldn’t matter if they did or they didn’t. Anyone who tried would risk this same fate. After all of this, the danger would remain, and the people looking at him, staring openly with curious, fearful faces weren’t any wiser.

They needed to know. They should have known. Something was wrong, and nothing could be done about it. After everything, there was nothing he could do.

The first stone landed when they left the township, striking the side of his head with a dull pain. A crowd had gathered around the platform on the side of the road, a single, empty noose waiting. Neither guard moved towards the person who threw the rock, and soon another struck his shoulder, joined by an angry shout. The faces of the at least two dozen people were angrier here, some showing confusion, but most betrayed, hurt, afraid.

They were afraid of him.

They didn’t know. How could they know?

They should have known.

‘Wait!’ Evelyn’s cry was harsh and shrill against the otherwise silent air, and in a blink his aunt broke free of the crowd and rushed towards him. Her face was missing its usual powder and her eyes and cheeks were stained red, and her wig was missing, showing her grey hair in a frazzled disarray. She reached for Asher, but the bald guard stepped between them, one hand on his rifle.

Are you really going to shoot her? Asher challenged silently. It took will not to say it. It took all the strength in the world not to let the anger show on his face. He didn’t know why, after all of this, with what was going to happen, he was still trying to keep himself in check. He needed to scream, to tell them all what was coming. Even if they didn’t believe him, there was nothing else they could do to him. He had to try.

‘There’s been a mistake!’ Evelyn cried. ‘He’s not a witch! He’s my ward and I know he isn’t!’

‘Get out of the way, Ms Tremboui,’ the bald guard snapped.

‘Ashy, what have they done to you?’ Evelyn demanded. She shoved past the guard and cupped his chin in her hand, inspecting what had to be ugly bruises and swelling. The loose tooth in the back of his mouth stung at the contact, but the rest of his face was numb. ‘You told them, didn’t you? None of this is right! Tell them they’re making a mistake!’

Movement caught the edge of Asher’s eye, and he saw another small platform in front of the hangman’s stand. This one was nothing more than a slab of wood on a set of bricks, and standing on it was Lord Magnus Barque, watching him.

‘He should be the one to hang,’ Asher hissed. Part of him knew he couldn’t say that out loud but he didn’t care. So many people had died, and so many more were going to die. Magnus didn’t even care. Didn’t even realise and wouldn’t listen when Asher had tried to reason with him. He’d already told them, he wanted to tell his aunt that, but it was stamped out by another wave of anger. He wanted the man to see what he had done, what he would do. Asher wanted Lord Barque to see that he was irredeemable.

‘Ms Tremboui,’ Magnus’s voice boomed out, calm and steady. ‘This prosecution is on my order. You do not have the authority to intervene.’

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‘He is not a witch!’ Evelyn cried. ‘I won’t let you kill him, I won’t!’

The pain in her voice was enough to ebb Asher’s anger. This would leave her completely alone, and he hated that this would be her fate. As much as he’d spent his youth hating her, he wanted to tell her that he didn’t mean to hurt her, that he appreciated the time – however short – where they had seen eye to eye. He didn’t have any family left either.

A flash of movement caught his eye as Norrah stepped out of the crowd and took Evelyn by the shoulders. At the contact, the woman burst into tears, her knees sagging as Norrah mumbled small comforts at her. Behind her, glaring at him with burning orange eyes, was Penn.

Penn glanced up at the noose, then back to Asher. Doorway, he mouthed.

Asher’s heart leapt, and the relief sent a wave of dizziness over him. Before he could respond, Penn’s cloak flicked around and he disappeared into the crowd. He wasn’t going to die today. He wasn’t going to leave these people to their fate. Not Norrah, not Evelyn, not the people who had helped him up to this point.

The chains around his wrists rattled as he reached towards the older woman. He caught her hand and squeezed it as tight as his aching fingers would allow. ‘It’s okay,’ he mumbled.

Evelyn didn’t respond. She might not have even heard him.

Asher turned to Norrah. He didn’t know how Penn planned to do this, but there was one door he was guaranteed to have a shot at, and if Penn had a plan, he needed to get to it. ‘Stay with her?’ he asked her.

Norrah nodded. Then, with a more forceful grip, she pried Evelyn back into the crowd and held her firm.

The guards pushed Asher onwards.

He locked eyes with Magnus as he was dragged past, and Asher glared, feeling that moment of sympathy burn away under the heat of his anger. It took effort not to spit at the man, standing on his platform, watching with a face of smugness, with a mind that thought it knew everything and silenced anything that said otherwise. How many had died who weren’t even witches?

‘You have lost your chance to repent for this,’ Magnus said. ‘Do not watch me like you expect something.’

Asher glowered. ‘From you?’ he spat. The guards shoved him forward, towards the stairs leading up to the platform. With that tiny release, anger turned to seething, a struggle to hold it down as it bubbled under his skin. The crowd looked on, angry, betrayed, waiting for the moment when his neck would snap. Aside from Evelyn’s sobbing, they were silent.

Cowards. Asher hated them. He hated looking at them. He hated how even now they couldn’t get that this was bigger than him, bigger than the politics or the need to keep things as they were. They were all going to die.

A lone figure in a black hood stood by the noose, which hung over a simple square hole cut into the platform. Aside from the supports holding the poles in place, balancing the beam that would hold his weight, the space was empty. Made for so many more than him. He passed over a latch that showed another opening, for another noose, another neck, and he swallowed down the pang of fear. He trusted Penn. He would not die today.

He was pulled to a stop in front of the hole, the noose hanging menacingly in front of his face. Through the loop, he caught the glowing eyes of his friend, watching him intently. Asher glanced down at the hole in front of him, then back at Penn. Penn nodded, understanding.

The hangman stepped forward, and Asher found himself tilting, ready to take that step, but something stopped him. The eyes, all the people watching. They needed to know.

‘Asher Wulverman,’ the hangman said. He had a rough, raspy voice. ‘You stand accused of the crime of witchcraft, of high treason, and of creating a public panic resulting in injury and death. Your rank within the Ralkauda City Guard has been stripped, and your sentence is to hang by the neck until you are dead.’

Evelyn wailed somewhere in the crowd. Another rock came sailing towards him, striking the edge of the platform and falling away.

Public panic. He, who was supposed to keep the peace. The anger bubbled over. If they wanted panic, he would give it to them.

‘I would like to say something,’ Asher said. His voice came out in an angry growl.

‘A request for last words has been denied,’ the hangman said. ‘The crime of witchcraft does not permit you to—’

‘Wait.’ Magnus held up his hand. ‘Allow it. I would like to hear what he has to say for himself.’

Asher took a deep breath. This didn’t have to be perfect. He only had to get his point across, and if he did this right, then the only aim was to have them realise this was wrong, that everything was wrong. He wanted them to see his anger, to see what they were doing. What they had let happen.

‘The truth is,’ Asher said. ‘I am a witch.’

Gasps rose through the crowd, but they quickly quietened as he continued.

‘I am a true witch. A real witch,’ he said. ‘And the truth is, you cannot catch and kill a real witch!’ A crow called out from somewhere, and the thought of Hadley gave him strength. ‘Every. Single. Person you have persecuted out of fear, hung for these same crimes, was innocent!’

Silence met his words, but the crowd was still staring. A few of the faces he had seen around town, just familiar enough to make this personal. ‘You’ve all seen what happened. The Underlands are opening up on your doorstep, and no-one will protect you. No-one will stop it! That is what’s happening, right here and now. If you don’t stop this, you will all die!’

Asher shifted and glared at Magnus, who was watching him with a furrowed brow. Waiting for some punchline maybe. The same look had been on his face during the interrogation. He still didn’t get it.

He would.

‘Everything that happens next…’ Asher said. He held Magnus’ gaze, the words pointed. ‘All that’s about to happen. That’s all on you.’

Magnus opened his mouth to respond, but Asher stepped forward and dropped into the hole at his feet. There was a bright flash of white against the back of his eyes as the crowd disappeared and the scene vanished.