Iris was startled awake by loud, heavy footsteps. She slowly picked herself up from the cold ground. Her whole body was aching from lying in an uncomfortable position on the hard surface for several hours. She grimaced and trembled. She hoped maybe she wouldn't wake up, but here she was again.

The clomp rang louder, and the light entered the dark dungeon. Iris let her eyes slowly adjust while her surroundings turned from blackness to murky grey. She could already distinguish the shapes of bars and a huddled figure sitting in the next cell. The beggar was not sleeping. He just sat there with his eyes fixed on her. She frowned, but the Inquisitors had already entered the dungeons. There were a few of them by the sound of it.

The keys jingled while they were unlocking the cells.

'Out!' barked one of them, opening barred doors. Iris stood up, leaning heavily on the wall. Her legs were weak, trembling from being stuck in the same position for so long. The shackles on her wrists seemed even heavier than yesterday. When she was up, she felt dizzy, and the world kept spinning around her. She didn't know exactly how long she spent in this cell, but they never gave her water or food, and her body was still exhausted. The Inquisitor was not the patient type, so he walked into her cell, grabbed her arm harshly and pulled her with him. She stumbled, but he didn't care.

Two other knights were waiting in a prison hall, while another one was dragging the beggar out of his cell.

'Easy there, lad,' groaned the old man. 'I ain't as nimble as I used to be when I was your age!'

'Shut up and walk!' snapped the knight, and they moved towards the stairs. 'You'll be in the cage soon enough, so then you can rest all you want.'

When they started ascending on the stairs, Iris was shaking so violently her chains were rattling. It was so cold. Her fingers and toes were completely numb, her teeth clattering. If only she could use just a little bit of magic to warm herself up. The Inquisitors were carrying torches. Just a tiny fraction of this light would do. But she was too scared. They would notice for sure. What if they beat me? What if they break my fingers? she thought. Iris wanted to be brave, but the truth was, she was terrified – of pain, violence, and those intimidating men clad in iron.

'Say, what a strapping lad like you is doing in Inquisition?' blurted the old man, his voice very loud. She gave him a glance over her shoulder. He was talking to the knight next to him, but his eyes met hers. He nodded as if he wanted to tell her something.

'Shut up!' snarled the Inquisitor.

'Oh, come now! Those stairs are awfully long. Why ain't we enjoy a little chat while we are at it? There's no harm in that, eh?'

'Save your breath, old man,' growled the knight who was still clutching onto her arm painfully. 'If you can't walk the stairs, we will drag you!'

But the beggar kept talking nonsense, taunting their guards. They were getting more annoyed with every passing step. Distracted, she thought. This is my chance. She slowly opened her hand, focusing on the torch in front of her—just a tiny little bit. The flame flickered but didn't die. And she felt blessed warmth inside of her. She closed her eyes, letting the light wander inside her body, slowly filling all her limbs with comfort and chasing the cold away. The Inquisitors haven't noticed anything because the beggar was still spatting nonsense at them.

Finally, one of their guards must have lost his patience. Iris heard a dull thump, and the old man gasped in pain.

'That will teach you to shut up, you old fart,' growled the Inquisitor. The beggar got silent indeed. Iris couldn't be sure, but she suspected he provoked the Inquisitors on purpose to allow her to do what she needed. She was still hungry, thirsty, and lightheaded, but at least she was not trembling from cold. She was incredibly grateful for that little bliss.

They reached the end of the stairs, and the knights shoved them out to the street. There was a waggon with a cage waiting. It was big enough to contain up to five people. There was already an Inquisitor sitting at the front of the cart holding reins of two horses. Before Iris could see more, she was pushed into the cage together with the beggar. The Inquisitor locked the cage and gestured to his companions. There was a sharp tug, and they moved forward.

The cage was empty except for a little old straw padding. She sat down because her legs still felt weak, and a swaying cart would surely make her topple over sooner or later. The beggar was already sitting, leisurely leaning his back on the bars and looking around with a bored expression. Iris sighed and gazed around too. Their escort consisted of five Inquisitors in full armour, riding large battle stallions. She let herself admire the graceful animals. The noble creatures were a rare sight and belonged only to a regular army or Inquisition, as even wealthy merchants could not afford to buy such a precious horse.

Iris was shaken out of her thoughts by a commotion in front of the cart. There were shouts, but she couldn't distinguish any words yet. She craned her neck to see what was happening. They approached Whitshire's centre, and there was a crowd of people on the main square. But it didn't look like the regular market day. The closer they got, the noisier the shouts got. Iris was watching with growing anxiety as the angry faces drew nearer.

There were more people on the square than she's ever seen here. It seemed that half of the town came here to witness how they shipped her to her death. It was terrifying peering at all those angry faces, full of hate and contempt. It was as if something evil suddenly got a grip on the whole town and changed them into those zealots, demanding the death of someone, who only yesterday was one of them.

Iris noticed the people held something in their hands just before the first rotten vegetable splashed on the bars next to her face. She jumped up in surprise, but then the rest of the mob started throwing things at the cage too. Most of them were using some stinking, rotten food, but there were stones too.

'Better shield your head, lass,' shouted the beggar over the clamour of the crowd and huddled himself too, cowering his head between his arms. She did as told, trying to make herself as small as possible. Still, she felt a sharp pain when few projectiles hit her, but luckily nothing strong enough to do actual harm. But she couldn't filter out the hateful shouts.

'You monster!'

'You cursed us all!'

'Kill the monster!'

She was trembling but not because of the cold. Never in her life, she felt so much hostility. And for what? she thought. I didn't do anything wrong. I saved a child from certain death. Surely everyone would do the same. How could they treat me like that? What human being could treat anyone like that? The racket was slowly dying down when they left the main square. Iris cautiously lifted her head again. Luckily, most people did not follow them, and the Inquisitors were intimidating enough so that no one dared to get too close to their cart.

Iris took a deep calming breath and looked around again. She was surprised to discover that everything looked completely different for her now. She used to think that Whitshire was a sleepy little town, full of friendly, hardworking people. Everyone went about their business, exchanged smiles and kind words with their friend or shared a laugh now and then. But now, it seemed as if someone lifted a veil from her eyes.

She saw people that were cowering behind their stalls when their caravan passed them. They peered at the knights with fear, darting their eyes away whenever the knights glared their way. Also, there were Inquisitors everywhere. Iris was amazed that she never even noticed that. Not all of them wore heavy armours, but you could pick them up from the crowd without a fault. They have this air of self-confidence and superiority around them. They looked down at people in search of the slightest flaw, the tiniest signs of rebellion.

Iris heard a scream and turned her head. An older woman was kneeling in the mud. Her stall had been smashed, and the vegetables were rolling everywhere, crushed by boots and hooves alike. A large man stood over her, a thick wooden staff in his hand, looking at her threateningly. Next to him was the Minister, his face impassive and uncaring. The woman cried and hid her face in her hands. The official nodded to his muscled companion, who ripped off a pouch from the woman's belt, and they calmly walked away, leaving her with her despair.

'The Church and their taxes are crushin' most folks,' said the beggar, noticing her stare. She looked at him, surprised. He was looking at her with those knowing blue eyes. 'You were lucky ya lived in Dawson's estate.'

'How do you know where I lived?' she asked, frowning.

'I don't. That's where Inquisition caught you, eh? You look like you're seein' all this for the first time.'

'I... never realised how bad it was,' she admitted. 'How is that possible?'

'Human mind is a feeble thing. We don't see things we don't want to see. We pretend everything is fine to get ourselves through yet another day in hell.' His weird accent was all gone now, and he was talking like a scholar.

Iris narrowed her eyes. 'Who are you, exactly?'

'Oh, wouldn't you like to know?' he smirked. 'It matters not who I am right now. I'm in the same situation as you. What are you going to do about it?'

'Do about it?' she scoffed. 'Like there is anything I could do! We are prisoners! And they are shipping us to Amberguard to execute us! I think we are far beyond the point of doing something now.'

'So, what? You'll just go to the slaughter without even trying to put up a fight?'

'What's the point? I'm alone. Even if I managed to escape, I would have nowhere to go. You saw that mob. Everyone hates me!' she felt tears falling down her cheeks. She knew it was over but saying it aloud was even more crushing. Like there was a stone on her chest making every single breath nearly impossible. 'Is this world worth living in?'

'Maybe it's time to change it then?' the beggar asked, his face unreadable.

Iris scoffed and turned away from him. 'I'm not talking to you. You are mad if you think that you can change the world.'

'I probably am,' he muttered under his breath. 

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