"Pardon, sir," said Miranda, dipping a curtsy with concern on her brow. "But it's cold. Please, sir. She can't go out in nothing but that."
Lord Baker paused and glanced around the room. "Fetch that red cloak. Scarlet fits the witch well. She won't be cold for long anyway."
He stormed out, the gentlemen following in his wake. Two vampires gripped her arm while a third unshackled her ankle. Miranda popped over and draped the cloak around her shoulders, clasping it at the neck, then lifted the hood over her.
"I'm sorry," whispered the girl.
Sienna smiled at the poor maid who felt pity for her when she was the one who was a prisoner of this vampire mansion, used repeatedly as a bleeder and a slave.
"Thank you, Miranda. Good-bye."
The Legionnaires jerked on her arms and ushered her roughly into the hallway and down a dark corridor. It opened up into a foyer with a crystal chandelier casting prisms on the walls by dawn's light seeping through the window. They shoved her out the door into the bitter cold, her feet scraping on the stone as she stumbled. Two black carriages awaited them at the foot of the steps. The Legionnaires pushed her in the second one. Lord Barker and his men loaded in the first.
Upon entering the dim cabin of the carriage, she realized that Volkov's partner Boris sat on one side. She took the seat opposite him. He simply glared at her in silence. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her one source of comfort. The windows were curtained so there was no place to look except at the beast sitting across the short aisle.
"Did Volkov die?"
The vampire, his appearance more feral than the other Legionnaires, muttered hoarsely. "Oh, he'll be all right, witch. He's a might upset knowing you're going to your death." The creature leaned forward, black eyes glinting like a demon's. "He wanted the pleasure of watching you burn. Now that pleasure falls only to me."
Sienna turned away and closed her eyes. The vampire laughed low in his throat. Sienna sought a place of peace within herself as the carriage rattled on. Her mind drifted …
She stepped lightly under the great black oaks of Silvane Forest, luminous sable leaves shining silver by the morning light. Then she rode atop Duchess, who sped through a meadow, her brothers and her mate keeping chase with playful yelps. Sienna laughed, her head back and hair flying in the wind. Then she was in her cottage with a cozy fire crackling in the hearth. She smiled as she poured two cups of tea and walked to the sofa. She handed one to her friend Arabelle, who smiled back. Arabelle faded, replaced by the handsome form of Nikolai. Her lieutenant. Her protector. Her lover. Her love.
The carriage jolted to a stop. Sienna held his image in her heart before opening her eyes. The carriage door swung open, and the sounds of a murmuring crowd hit her along with a biting wind. The sea of accusing faces parted as the Legionnaires marched her roughly along the cobblestone to a platform at the center of the familiar town square, a place where she'd walked and shopped as a young girl. Upon the platform was a separate raised dais with a solid shaved trunk jutting toward the sky and encircled with a stack of fresh-cut pine for a fast burn. One of the Legionnaires jerked her arm to twist her about and face the crowd once they stood upon the platform.
Lord Barker stood forward and to her right with his lackeys in a line. The icy wind billowed the hem of her cloak and sheer gown, chilling her bare feet. She stared out at the horde who'd gathered in the cold to watch a witch burn. Her arms and legs trembled from the cutting wind and the fear and the hatred, but she held her head high nevertheless.
Lord Barker cleared his throat. "I hereby condemn Lady Sienna, formerly of Worley House and now of Silvane Forest, for witchcraft." He emphasized the last with a loud bellow, letting it echo through the square.
The horde watched in wide-eyed silence.
Sienna wondered who among them might have been planning to join the cause of the Black Lily, for she saw no allies among them now. Only the faces of a blighted people who had been choked by fear too long, seeking one to blame for their misery in this frightful world.
She bit her lip to hold back the well of tears. Regret was a bitter beast, a solid stone in her chest. It had all been for naught. Nikolai had begged her to relent and surrender the search for more recruits, but she had convinced him otherwise. If she had listened, they'd be back in her cottage among the black oaks, safe and sound. Even so, she held on to the belief that they had to try. Despair and surrender only gave the wicked more strength. She had to hold on to hope, even as she looked on her own death.