The crowd watched in mute fascination. Petro couldn’t believe it. He didn’t think this was right, but he couldn’t understand why no one else did anything. The duke wasn’t a bad man. People often talked about him, and how good he was to his people. Yet no one spoke up. No one said this was wrong.
The Duke’s wife was brought forward next. She cried, begged, and pleaded. Her head rolled.
The son cursed the priest and all who worshipped Annis. His head rolled. The other nobleman muttered and chanted a prayer to Mithras. His head rolled.
And Suzanne was alone. A guard guided her toward the block. Her lip was twitching and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound. The priest watched, a smile curling his lips.
“She isn’t a heretic!” someone yelled. No one moved. A second slipped past and Petro realized it was him. He’d shouted.
Oh God, he’d shouted!
“Who said that?” the priest asked, his eyes scanning. Petro felt someone roughly shove him forward. He stumbled and landed in the open area before the priest. The sand and dirt underneath him was wet and his hands came away sticky and red. He stayed on his knees, staring at his hands, too afraid to speak. Would the priest kill him now? Would he be next, after his friend, to have his head chopped off?
Someone touched his shoulder. “Arise, child,” the priest said. Slowly, Petro stood. His knees where shaking. He took off his hat—a faded ragged old thing he’d found in a refuse pile years earlier—and held the brim in his hands, rubbing his sticky fingers across it like he did when he was nervous. He stared at the priests legs.
“Look at me,” the priest said. Petro’s eyes climbed up and finally found the priest’s face. He looked stern, but not overly angry. “Please repeat what you said.”
Petro was terrified. He didn’t want to speak, but he was even more afraid of not doing what the priest told him to: “She isn’t a heretic,” he said, then added, “She’s my friend.”
“Heretics come in all shapes and sizes,” the priest said. “What if I told you that she was found by knights while carrying a book? A terrible book that proves her guilt.”
Petro looked back at the ground. “She can’t read,” he said softly.
The priest was silent for a long moment. Finally he crouched down and lifted Petro’s chin so they faced each other once more. “She is your friend,” he said. “Will you vouch for her? Will you accept the responsibility of what she is if she is in fact a heretic, even if it means your own death as well?
“Will you die for her?”
Petro was silent for a long moment, staring at the priests face. There was a sudden spark of remembrance. He remembered a time a few months ago after one of his father’s worst beatings. Petro wasn’t able to walk for days. He’d crawled to his alley hiding place and passed out, delirious and incoherent. Days slipped past with him in and out of consciousness, and whenever he’d woken there had been food and water next to him. He ate, he drank, and he gradually recovered.
Only once he’d spotted Suzanne, crouched behind a box and watching him. He knew she was the one leaving food and water for him, the only one keeping him alive. The only one who cared.
He’d never even thanked her.
“Yes,” he said, looking straight into the priest’s eyes. He felt a sudden burst of courage. Of surety. He was just a wretched broken little thing, unworthy of being loved or taken care of. She had taken care of him. “Yes, I will die with her. I will die for her, if you will let me.”
The priest studied him for a long moment, and then nodded. He stood. “Very well.”
A guard grabbed Petro by the shoulder. The priest walked over to the platform and climbed atop it once more. Suzanne stood near the guillotine flanked by guards, waiting. “This young man,” the priest said, “has told me that his friend here is not a heretic. He believes that she is incapable of such evil. I, however, am less convinced. It is my duty to ensure that all evil has been wiped clean from this duchy and that a new beginning may come.
“The courage this boy shows for standing up at all and speaking out makes me think that he might have been sent by the Lord to ensure His Grace is seen by all. Could this child, caught carrying a Dark Tome, be worthy of a second chance? Could even she be worthy of forgiveness?
“I am but a humble servant of our Lord, unworthy of such a decision. I ask you, good people, if this boy’s courage will grant this girl’s forgiveness? Can we forgive them and welcome them lovingly back into the light?”
A roar echoed through the crowd. Several people cheered, many people clapped. Everyone shouted for forgiveness. The priest let the din wash over them for a few moments before raising his hands once more. Silence descended. The priest smiled.
“I believe the Lord has spoken. Through you all and His Grace, even this heretical child can be granted forgiveness.” The priest turned back to Petro, who stood transfixed and confused. The priest knelt, placing his hand on Petro’s cheek. “Young boy, the Lord of Light has listened. Sometimes it is from the mouths of babes that we have our greatest insights. Take your friend and cherish her. You, like me, are a servant of Annis. May you live long and happy lives.”
The crowd cheered again. The soldier guided Petro over to Suzanne, who was staring at him in awe. She threw herself into his arms, and he held her close. The crowd cheered even louder.
“Thank you,” she muttered into his shoulder.
A soldier ushered them off the stage to the ground below, back to the left side and the gathered commoners. Petro felt himself get patted on the back several times as they moved through the crowd and everyone was smiling. Suzanne never once let go of his arm.
