The crowd stood up from their seats, cheering and clapping, as she entered the arena together with the General, right after Queen Crystal and Lana. A hot rush coursed through her veins, and not just from the heat radiating from her armour.

She followed the General's staggering pace, the result of a recent battle wound from his misfortune in the mountains. Men, women, and children alike were pointing at her, temporarily making her forget her sluggish, limited movements. Without all the worries swirling around in her head, she would feel as heroic as the people whose statues now stared down at anyone passing by in the castle's Hall of Heroes.

No, this was her moment. She pushed the thoughts of an uncertain future away and tilted her head, waving back. Making history.

Lana and the Queen parted from the group, each going to a separate shield from behind which they would follow the execution.

More oh's and ah's came from the stands as Alex remained with the men. Silly—as though her iron uniform hadn't been shiny enough for them to realise that she was one of them. And nobody could take this moment away from her.

King Thomas halted a good twenty yards from where a sturdy iron pole had been planted into the sand. Four wooden stakes, as well as a plethora of chains, kept the pole from falling.

"Sundale!" King Thomas bellowed.

As the crowd quietened down, Alex stopped waving. She lifted the helmet over her head to slide it down without making a noise. The heat drummed down on her iron shell. Gods, she was sweating so much.

"Sundale," the King repeated, fierce yet stately. "Did you enjoy the first summer games?"

A heartbeat of silence, then applause and joyful whooping reverberated from all sides. There came some shouts, mostly comments about the fighters, and one greying man on the right lower ring hollered, "My ass is rock-hard and baked, though!"

"So is mine, my friend," the King returned the banter. He gesticulated at a merchant on the stairs in between two rings. "Please, give that man an ale to soothe his sore—you-know." He scratched his throat before continuing, "I'm well aware the arena is far from finished. Allow the God of Patience to bless the builders. By next summer, I promise a more comfortable seating arrangement for all of you. A market right outside. More ale and wine. And more men defending the honour and glory of this country!"

Applause and long salvos of acclamation came in reply.

"But!" He waited for the mass to stop their deafening noise. The atmosphere shifted from bantering triumph to silent seriousness. "But, there is one last thing to do before I invite you back into Sundale for a continuation of this summer celebration."

The King put an armoured arm around Seb. "Today, I was reminded again of the northern threat, of the forces of Sin that wish to destroy everything we are, everything we stand for. Three seasons ago, on a lazy Sunday afternoon not unlike today, a magician came to Laneby. He burnt the town to a crisp, including my brother, my sister-in-law, my nieces, and all of their beloved friends and their families. Three escaped the inferno, two of them are standing with me today. And one, one was sent by the Gods to prevent a similar massacre from occurring right here in Sundale. He was here, the monster of Laneby, and she stopped him." He paused and turned to her. "Alex, come here."

She strutted towards the King's outstretched arm, her stomach leaping into her chest. Scattered, hesitant applause that broadened. Ten thousand pairs of eyes followed her, then gasps of awe rippled through the rings as he enveloped her into his embrace.

"She's your saviour, Sundale. Keen eyes, a cool head on very young shoulders, and a killer instinct. You'll see." He patted her on her backplate, then stepped forward, his arms behind his back. "Bring the magician out. We're gonna execute him."

Jeering and hissing came from the stands as Patrick yanked at a chain, pulling the black-haired Fire Magician into the arena. Blood seeped from the spikes pierced into hands. Fetters bound his feet together.

He stumbled over them as the Lieutenant moved faster than him. Head-first, he landed into the sand. He didn't get back up. Already defeated.

Patrick had to drag him along, leaving a trail of blood and stirred up sand.

Small children clung to their mother and father's side, though Alex didn't understand why. There wasn't a trace left of the cocky man she had knocked out cold in the streets of Sundale. She could hardly believe he was the same beast who had butchered Mother, Ben, and baby Charlie and had ordered her to run to Sundale, like the silly, frightened girl she was.

Patrick, assisted by Michael, snatched Katla from the ground. A third Lieutenant—whose face she did not recognise—bound the shackles and fetters to the pole. 

The bruise on Katla's jaw stood out starkly, paling his olive skin. There was a certain fear in his dark eyes, which made him resemble that desperate man she had seen in Whitecliff Bay, willing to give up his savings in exchange for safe passage to the Islands, away from the clutches of the Silvermark crown.

Before sinking the Kraken's Kiss, Fox had allegedly killed the King of Silvermark. A virtue or a sin, she couldn't tell. Who was good and who was evil? Maybe the Gods couldn't tell either.

"Who do you think is responsible?" she asked the King. She waited for him to turn his good ear towards her. "King Ariel or this man—who is truly responsible for Laneby?"

"That's irrelevant," King Thomas said. "Ariel is dead, and Katla will soon join him in the Seven Hells."

"But what do we gain from it?"

He gave her a pinched expression. "I thought you wanted closure, Alex, revenge. I'm giving you all you ever wanted. Don't crawl back now—you'll embarrass us all."

"I won't," she said sharply. "I was just thinking."

"You're a better fighter than a thinker. That beast deserves no mercy, Alex. He killed your family."

She nodded. "He corrupted Fox too."

The King no longer heard that, too focused on General George raising the bow and nocking a long-headed arrow onto the string in between his top and second finger. The bolts would cause thin, deep wounds that prolonged Katla's suffering. The execution was as much a show as the rest of the games.

"Anything you wish to say, magician?" King Thomas roared.

No answer.

George looked at the King, who nodded.

The General pulled the string back, aiming, then released the arrow in one swift motion. Ten thousand mouths appeared to hold their breath as it cleaved the air, then lodged into Katla's left leg, mere inches above his knee. The magician threw his head back, his teeth gritted as he winced in pain.

"Do you think I care?" Katla growled. "Bring it on, Half-Ear! I'm not afraid."

Someone from the lower northern ring threw their wooden cup at the magician. "Shut up, you'll burn in all of the Gods' hells."

"I'll love it. I'm a Fire Magician!" Wrath dripped from Katla's words. The cup had missed its target.

"Old sources from Socota told me he used to be an actor. He's gonna make a scene," George whispered as he handed the bow to the King.

"Let him do that. We have the audience on our side," the King said. He accepted an arrow from Lieutenant Peter.

"Thomas, he might—"

The King interrupted him. "It doesn't matter. Nobody believes the desperate words of a man about to be executed, especially not when uttered by a magician."

"Aren't you jealous, Half-Ear?" Katla continued. "Jealous that I raised your second nephew, thought him to despise your kind the way our kind has been despised since the beginning of time?"

"What is he talking about?" Alex asked Seb.

Seb glanced at her, speechless.

The King fixed the arrow onto his bow and stretched the string. He took his stance, taking more time than the General. Alex couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose or if the magician's screams were distracting him.

"Or don't you consider little Harry your nephew, Half-Ear? Your brother's shame—I know you wanted the boy dead. Too much of a reminder of who old Bran was. What he was. He was one of us. And—"

The arrow flung from the bow and into Katla's stomach. Around the fletching spread a crimson bloom, drenching his cream-coloured shirt. He was groaning, gasping for breath. Agony dominated his features.

As the King handed the bow to her, Katla heaved, a horrible garble of a sound. He retched, spat out sanguine liquid. The revenge of watching him suffer like this was neither sweet nor satisfying.

She turned to Seb as the magician's words dawned on her. "Fox is your... brother?"

Seb looked at her, warily. He nodded softly. "Silvermark has him, which means they can use him to steal my throne. I sent an assassin to try and stop him—I'm sorry, Alex."

"Your assassin failed," Alex said. She almost didn't want to utter the next words. "I wish he hadn't. Fox is... he's not the same Fox anymore. He's..."

"A bastard," King Thomas muttered under his breath. "A demon boy born out of Greed and Wrath. You can never trust a magician. Wherever they go, they leave a trail of death and pain behind. You should know that too, Alex."

"I saw at Whitecliff what Fox is capable of. He's—"

"I'm not talking about Fox." His head cocked towards the magician who was writhing and twisting in his chains. "Nor about him."

Something clicked in her brain. "Father."

"Bran," the King confirmed.

The mishap at the winter hunt all those years ago that had cost Father his life. There had neither been an accident nor a bear—Lord Brandon had killed him. It explained the guilt in his green eyes every time he had looked at her. Had all of his gestures after that been empty shells, attempts to bribe her, to never figure out what powers he truly possessed? The man she had wanted to honour by killing this brute—was all of who he was a lie?

"I hate magicians," she said. Through her grief, the God of Wrath descended on her. She wanted them dead—all of them. For all the misery and agony they had caused. For all the tears she had cried. For all the lies she had believed. Damn all their souls for all eternity.

George handed her the arrow. "Aim for the windpipe, but do not kill him."

Swiftly, she nocked it and pulled the string back, her aim fixated on Katla's throat, just below his adam's apple. Her grip was calm, relaxed, while she was not. She wished he would stop twitching and turning like someone about to soil themselves. He would in a few moments... everyone does when they die. Soon his corpse would stink as much as the breath he had breathed on her on that fateful day in Laneby.

"The seeds of the present reap the harvest of the future," he muttered. He was struggling to speak. "... hate you. He'll..."

Alex was sure now. He deserved none of her mercy or compassion. Death and eternal suffering was all he deserved. For Mother. For Ben. For Charlie. For stealing Fox and turning him into a monster who could no longer be saved.

Releasing the tension in her fingers, her chest expanded, her shoulders tensed as they came together. Her arrow whizzed.

Blood poured from his throat, then came the gurgling, choking noises. His chains rattled as he jerked, his skin greying and cracking. The light in his eyes fading.

She gave the bow to Seb. He was staring at the dying magician, shaking and nailed to the ground. His eyelashes quivered. Sweat followed the edges of his helmet and leaked down his face.

"Seb, it's your turn," she said.

"I thought I would be happy to see him die," he murmured.

"Yeah, I thought so too. Doesn't mean he has to live."

"Yet you want us to collaborate with the pirates, who have caused us as much tragedy as the magicians, not just to us personally," Seb said.

"It's different. They're different."

"Are they?" He grabbed the arrow from Peter.

"They are," Alex assured him. "I'm a pirate, and I'm by your side. If that doesn't convince you, then I don't know what will."

"Fox—"

"Is not here. He can never be here. Don't feel sorry for what you had to do, and what you have to do. You're my Prince, Seb, my future King. I bow to nobody but you."

Seb lifted the bow and arrow, set his fingers, and drew the string. At the pole, Katla was convulsing like a crushed worm in a pool of his own bodily liquids. "Feel that, magician. This is how a little girl of five felt when she died a hundred miles from Sundale, away from any help. I curse you to feel this pain forever!"

As the arrow pierced the magician's heart, the crowd surged to their feet and roared. More wooden cups flew into the arena to the tunes of nearly twenty thousand hands erupting into thunderous applause.

Three more times he thrashed before going limp, the chains around his wrists and feet keeping him from falling to his death. Though blood still oozed from his wounds, his chest neither rose nor fell. The last stir came from the ring swinging loosely on his necklace.

Then that stopped too.

Alex looked at Seb, and he stared back at her. He dropped his head, his eyes briefly facing the ground, then seeking her out.

"We did what we had to do," she mouthed at him.

"Then why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

The answer came with King Thomas' booming voice shouting an order at Peter. "Take that ring—make sure Caracal receives it. Next time he sends a magician across the Horseshoe Mountains, we'll be at war!"

George stepped in between her and Seb. "That means we're willing to talk to the pirates."

"You'll have to negotiate with a woman," Alex said.

"Don't think we have no experience with that. A married man always does."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not married, not anymore."

"Neither are you. And I'd say you won't for a very long time to come."

"I like where this bargain is going."

"Oh, it has only just begun, Boyar Alex."

She bowed at him, well aware that they were far from truly being equal. But it was a start, a good start for her and her country. She didn't need the memories of Laneby—they were tainted with lies and deceit. No, she would make new ones of her cleaving the jade waters, chasing rogue pirates and malicious magicians, opening a path many Greenlander girls to come.

She was the first, but in the name of all that was holy, she would not be the last.