Read Online Jeweled by Anya Bast - Free Book Online

throat and pricking at her eyes. And anger! Hot anger poured through her, made her want to scale the iron fence she was pressed up against and charge the stairs, free him from this fate.
    But she could do nothing. Helplessly, she watched the executioner force Tadui’s head down to the chopping block. Tadui’s eyes searched the throng desperately—looking for a friendly face?—found her and locked his gaze with hers as his head came to a rest on the platform that was sticky with the majordomo’s blood. His gaze was vacant, confused—shocked—yet he recognized her. She read that clearly in his gaze.
    Unable to stop herself, wanting to try and share his pain if she could—she tasted his emotion. Cold terror slammed into her. Fear of what would happen to him after his head rolled. Was this it? Was this the end forever? What would happen after he died? How could this be happening? Questions and confusion roiled through Tadui during these last moments of his life. Her face was a comfort to him, his only one.
    Knowing she was taking a risk, she cast out into the crowd, swimming through the nausea-inducing elation and excitement, searching for . . . calm. Finding it in some faceless person at the back of the throng, she drew a thread and exchanged it for Tadui’s horror. Immediately, Tadui’s face slackened with peace.
    The stained brown blade hoisted high, the small clean part gleaming in the bright sunshine. Evangeline drew a shaky breath, vowed not to turn away, but to hold Tadui’s gaze until it was over. She owed him that much.
    The blade dropped. Wet chunking noise.
    Tadui’s head rolled and then came to a stop. His gaze still held hers, but now it was dead.
    Her gorge rose.
    She turned, hand to her mouth and pushed her way violently through the crowd, forcing people to move. People made way for her, not wanting to wear her breakfast—little of it she’d had—on their persons. At the perimeter, she bent over and retched into the gutter. Someone touched her back. Anatol.
    Closing her eyes against the sting in her throat, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and forced herself to stand. A distance away, some of the peasants were watching them a little too intently. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t.”
    He took her by the upper arm and guided her away, calling out behind him with a smile, “Too much celebrating last night. Girl can’t take all the excitement.” His accent was dead-on perfect to pass for a low-born.
    They walked down the street, leaving the press of the crowd and their gruesome festivity behind them. The fragrance from a vendor selling smoked turkey legs made her stomach rumble and her gorge rise in quick succession, and Anatol turned, leading her down a narrow alley instead.
    “You used magick, didn’t you?” His voice was a low, angry whisper. He shook her by her upper arm as they walked. “Didn’t you?”
    Mute, overcome with heavy grief, she could only nod.
    “Hey, hey you!”
    Anatol squeezed her arm until pain shot up it. “Keep moving,” he growled.
    “Hey, stop, you two!”
    Footsteps running toward them. Men’s voices. This was the second time in twenty-four hours they were being pursued by a gang of men. They weren’t doing so well on the streets so far.
    Anatol cursed loudly, dropped her arm, and turned. Evangeline stopped and turned as well.
    There were three men in front of them, all of them working class. Two brunettes, one blond—all of them dressed in ratty clothes and hats with holes in them. She would give any amount of money to never see a working-class lout again in her life and here she was surrounded by them.
    The blond smiled, revealing rotting teeth. “Where do you think you’re going with such a sweet little thing like that? Even with that black eye she’s pretty. How much does she cost?”
    Evangeline opened her mouth in indignation. He thought she was a whore! She may have had sex with individuals to obtain something material in the past—all