It had been three weeks since I pulled off that fake death stunt. Looking back, I could still feel the sting of the blade sliding through my chest, the fire in my veins when blood spilled onto the floor. But as I stood here now, breathing fresh air, hidden among the crowd that moved without fear, I knew it had been worth it.
Auren stood on the edge of the stone monument in the middle of the bustling plaza. His eyes were fixed on the statue before him, a towering figure carved from white granite.
The sculptor had captured the infamous scene perfectly, or at least as the world remembered it. Austaire, now Queen, stood tall and regal, her blade thrust into his back.
The image was frozen in stone: Auren, the Freak, on his knees, a twisted monster's face carved in place of his own, fangs bared as if he were some feral beast and screaming while a sword stabbed him from the back through the hands of Austaire.
For the people, it was the symbol of triumph.But lie in the first place.
