Sevensworn

XXI. To Ashes

The sun rose and brought with it the smell of smoke. As the light began to seep through the trees Ronan was shaken awake by Zia, who was speaking frantically long before his mind had managed to comprehend the reality of the world around him.

"Wha..?" he pushed himself up on one elbow. "What're you..?"

"Ronan." Zia gripped his shoulders. "They're reading his last rites."

Ronan's eyes shot open, the chill in the air along with the muffled words carrying on the steady wind jolting him awake with an alertness he had not been prepared for.

"Already?"

Zia nodded. "Quiet. We have to bide our time."

Marikei was the one speaking. Contrary to the desertion they had seen the night before, the camp was now strewn with onlookers⁠—there couldn't have been less than thirty, all clad in black cloaks emblazoned with the sigil of Ashtei. Ronan, still slightly bleary, did his best to catch Marikei's words over the rising sound of the wind in the trees.

"⁠—of flame we are wrought, and to flame we will return," he was saying. "The purest form of justice is found in fire. We were pulled from it in the beginning, from a single flame, by the gentle hands of the Three, and we stand now on two legs, nearly able to pull things from the flame ourselves, to create what even the gods could not."

Ronan shot Zia a look. "By the Void, what is he talking about?"

"I don't know."

"This man, with his violent acts and unjust ways, is hindering our advancement to that stage. He seeks to set us back, to⁠—"

"Oh, shut up."

Ronan's eyes widened. He knew that voice, knew that edge of cockiness that had been missing from it for so long.

"No one likes these sermons, you know. If you're going to kill me, at least do it quickly so that I may be spared the agony of listening to you speak."

Marikei shifted, allowing Ronan to see what he'd been looking for so frantically. Acaeus was tied up on a wooden stake, his arms and feet bound, his chin up defiantly. He was a few feet above the unlit bonfire he and Zia had seen the night before and suddenly it all lined up.

They were going to burn him. They had been speaking literally.

"You are not in a position to speak, prisoner." Marikei sneered. "Or have you forgotten our laws so soon?"

"The handbook was boring," Acaeus muttered with a dry laugh. Ronan's hand came down to rest on the hilt of Amon'Llyra. "Your entire organization bored me, in fact."

"Is that why you thought it was acceptable to murder our former Speaker?"

"No, but I suppose only you would know about that, wouldn't you? Care to tell us your own justifications, High Speaker?"

Marikei's nostrils flared. Someone near him in the crowd leaned forward and murmured something into his ear. He nodded slowly and resumed his speech even while Acaeus started to hum an old sailor's song behind him.

"There's not going to be an opening," Zia said suddenly. She nodded past the crowd toward two hooded figures that carried a lit torch between them. "They're going to do it now." Ronan's blood ran cold. Acaeus, still feigning nonchalance, stared directly at the torchbearers with a steady calm. The two holding the flame had their unoccupied hands open, ready to cast the spell that would cause the pyre to ignite with unnatural fury.

"What do we do?" He whispered. "How are we supposed to⁠—how do we stop this?"

Zia's face, grim and determined, was fixed on Marikei.