I am not a violent person—not to mention, in the Commonwealth, wrath is forbidden—but when the High Priest comes into view, marching Ari Westergaard toward the whipping post in Clockverk Square, it’s all I can do not to break free from the crowd and put a fist through the Priest’s face.
The sky is the color of a fading bruise as I make my way out of the forest, which is fitting. Everything hurts: My right arm, from where the Bastarour dug in its claws; my chest, from where it pawed at me as I struggled to reach my backup stash of tranquilizer darts; my heart, which aches like a black-and-blue mark that I’ve pressed my fingers into again and again.
In the Commonwealth, friendship was not allowed. Still, Kilían Bryndísarson had never been able to deny the pull he felt toward Kennett Gundarson.