Cling, clang, the bell chimed. Connie had misbehaved that day. She had gone to see the “ex-e-cu-tion” against her father’s orders. She’d explicitly been told not to go, but she snuck out of the mansion and made her way to Saint Mark’s Square. To make matters worse, she’d taken Kate with her. The leafy plaza usually served as the perfect playground for Connie and Kate. They would play tag or hide-and-seek and sometimes sneak into the town hall and make mischief there, too, but the good-natured workers never scolded them. That’s why Connie thought it would be fine—because nothing scary ever happened in this place. But on that day, Saint Mark’s Square was different. To start with, the crowd! It seemed every person in the capital had turned out for the event. The only other times she had seen such a gathering were at Christmas and the Astrology Festival. But the gleam in the eyes of these people was different from at a normal event. There was something horrible about the excitement in those eyes. That awful gleam must mean an “execution” was something bad. Connie remembered what her father had said: “It’s cruel and inhumane.” He’d looked unusually stern when he said it. But six-year-old Connie hadn’t understood what he meant. Cling, clang, the bell chimed. Swept along by the jostling crowd, Connie was soon separated from Kate. The instant she realized what had happened, the blood drained from her face. After all, the plaza felt strange that day. Suddenly anxious, she pushed through the sea of people, screaming her friend’s name, but her calls were drowned out by the even greater frenzy of the crowd. What do I do? What do I do? She pushed farther and farther forward, calling out, “Kate!” Suddenly, she found herself at the front of the crowd. There, at the center of the plaza, stood a platform she had never seen before. Had it been put up for the “execution”? It distracted her for a second, but then she shook her head. No—Kate came first. Where could she be? Aside from the strange platform, the plaza itself looked the same. On the left was the statue of the hero Amadeus, founding father of the kingdom, and on the right was the statue of Saint Anastasia. Off to the side, looking down on everything, was Saint Mark’s Bell Tower. Just as Connie was about to turn around and continue looking for Kate, the crowd exploded with shouts. The gate leading to Moldavite Palace had been unlocked to admit a horse-drawn wagon into the square. A young woman wearing a black hood emerged from the wagon, together with several men. The men varied in age from young to old, but all were dressed formally. In contrast, the woman was dressed in a hideously plain gray dress that was fraying at the edges. No sooner had this group appeared than the cries of the crowd grew more heated, changing to jeers and angry shouts. Strange words that Connie had never heard before flew around her. She found herself unable to move, her legs frozen by the oddness of her surroundings. The young woman who was the target of all the terrible hatred, however, seemed not to care at all. She stared straight ahead without a glance at the uproar around her. The formally dressed men led the young woman toward the platform at the center of the plaza. Which is to say, they were walking straight toward Connie. The young woman drew closer. Connie noticed that a wooden block was fastened around her wrists. The crowd’s excitement seemed to have reached a peak. Some people were pointing at the young woman and screaming, while others clapped and leered. Cling, clang, the bell chimed. Connie hadn’t noticed the thick black clouds rolling in over the plaza. Raindrops began to stain the ground. One of the men gave some kind of command, and the young woman listlessly shook her head. The motion caused her hood to slip off, and her shiny black hair spilled out. Finally, she turned her face toward Connie. Connie gasped. She was the most beautiful creature Connie had ever seen. Her skin was white as snow, and her lips were like ripe red fruit. And her eyes—her eyes sparkled like caged amethyst stars. The phrase divine beauty must have been invented just for her. Connie couldn’t have been the only one thinking that, because the noisy heckling vanished into silence. Each and every person in the plaza was gazing at the young woman as if bewitched. She did not flinch under their rude stares. To the contrary, she looked slowly around like she was making note of each of their faces. Connie could see them flinching under her gaze. The young woman narrowed her eyes and snorted. “Curse you,” she said slowly. Although she hadn’t spoken at all loudly, her voice rang over the plaza. “May every last one of you be damned!” Connie could have heard a pin drop. Next to her, someone gulped. Of course, curses weren’t real, but the young woman’s particular confidence had shaken them.
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“Wh-whore!” someone shouted suddenly. The voice was shaking slightly. Still, the insult brought the rest of the crowd back to their senses, and people started jeering again. “Harlot!” “Devil woman!” “Murderer!” Connie trembled in fear. At the tender age of six, she had never before witnessed human malice. She glanced around in terror, unsure what to do. Her eyes met the eyes of the young woman. The pair of jewellike irises pulled her in. They blinked, maybe because their owner was surprised to see such a young child there, and then suddenly, she smiled. Yes—smiled! Connie widened her eyes. Her heart began to pound. What was happening? What was this? Had she seen something she shouldn’t have? This, this— The young woman grinned with what looked like satisfaction, then whispered something. For better or worse, Connie didn’t catch her words. The rain began to pour, pricking Connie’s skin. The wind howled. Black clouds swirled overhead. The executioner commanded the woman to get down on her knees and raised his sword above his head. That very second, a loud boom shook the ground. There was a flash of light. The world in front of Connie went white. She couldn’t see a thing. As she shaded her eyes and squinted, something warm splashed her cheek. The smell of rusted iron choked her. By the time color returned to the world, everything was over. The man with the sword was holding up something round and dripping with red liquid. Cheers ripped through the crowd. “See! She’s gotten what she had coming!” “Serves the whore right!” “She’s dead!” “She’s dead!” “She’s deaaaaaad!” Connie stood rooted to the ground. She couldn’t even scream. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Someone whistled, and the crowd exploded in excitement. The shouting spread across the masses like a contagion. The circle of celebration widened—but it did not last long. “Look out! Fire!” someone yelled suddenly. They were pointing to the town hall, which was in flames. “It’s been hit by lightning!” someone else shouted. The flames crackled loudly. The crowd was silent for a moment, then erupted in chaos and screams. People pushed one another aside and collided in their mad rush to escape. Angry shouts came from all directions. “Out of my way!” someone yelled, knocking Connie to the ground. The hard earth slammed into her chest, knocking the wind out of her. It hurts. It hurts, and I’m scared. Someone—someone help me! Every inch of her little body throbbed with pain. Unable to stand, she looked up and saw someone else who had fallen. It was a woman with black hair. Connie started to reach out her hand, then snatched it back. It was missing. Her body is missing. The instant Connie realized what she was looking at lying there on the ground, she screamed. Her father’s words flitted across her mind. “It’s cruel and inhumane.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Above her, blown by the violent wind, Saint Mark’s Bell was ringing as if it had gone crazy. Cling, clang, cling, clang.