No shining proof of her innocence would be allowed. Not that Adelyn believed her guilt or innocence was at all relevant.
“Take her away.” The chamberlain’s peg-toothed sneer reflected in the blank screens of stolen smart phones strung around his scaly neck. “She is nothing to us now.”
As one, the courtiers in all their phae glamour furled their wings or tightened the luxurious falls of their cloaks or closed their eyes. Shutting her out. Their whispers chased to the far edges of the hall like the distant hiss of a retreating tide.
As if the terror wasn’t bad enough. For a musetta like her—desired for her power of inspiration that compelled thoughts and dreams to dizzying heights—such rejection burned worse than iron.
Hands reached for her, but she strained away, tearing the spider silk of her veils. She had wrapped herself in the fluttering scarves—an age ago, it seemed—to emphasize her dusky-skinned, dark-haired beauty. Now the pale veils only served as a stark backdrop for her blood. “You can’t send me away!”
“Silence,” the goblin barked. Everyone knew the last words of the condemned held particular power.
Drawing in a deep breath, she forced down the pain of her scorched wrists and the humiliation of exposing her knack of jeweled tears. Every reluctant eye was on her now. Musetta inspired music and poetry, art and science, the wildest flights of fancy.
But she could also inspire fear.
Adelyn took no pleasure in the stark faces, but she would not let them pretend as she had pretended she was untouchable. She swept her gaze around the hall, slashing at the phae with a glare as edged as a shattered jewel. “Any of you could be next.”
Adelyn had time for nothing else as she was pushed into the dark corridor that led to her death.
Her tears—mere water now, her knack drained—blinded her. Unbalanced by her bound hands, she stumbled. The rip in her veils dipped forward over her breasts. Stupid gilded slippers had no traction.
A sudden burst of illumination flared beyond her tears.