Cinder glanced around the cart. A guard was staring down a skinny man with sickly pale skin. Despite the gaunt bent to his body, the man stood before the guard with clenched fists.
“I will not return to my home in recognition of curfew,” he said. “Threaten to report me all you like—after a video like that, the queen and her minions are going to have their hands full rounding up people guilty of much bigger crimes than staying out a few extra minutes.”
Two other guards stopped ushering the people away and moved toward the man. Their gloved hands tightened on their clubs.
The remaining workers stopped to watch. Curious. Wary. But also, Cinder thought—angry.
The first guard loomed over the man. His voice was muffled behind the mask, but his arrogance was clear. “Our laws are for the protection of all people, and no one will be exempt from them. I suggest you go home before I’m forced to make an example of you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of making an example of myself.” The man snarled at the guards that were converging around him, then at the people who had hesitated at the edges of the square. “Don’t you get it? If the other sectors saw that video too—”
The guard wrapped his free hand around the back of the man’s neck and shoved him down, forcing the man onto his knees. His words were cut off with a strangled grunt.
The guard raised his club.
Cinder pressed a hand over her mouth. She reached out with her gift, but she was too far away to stop it, too far to control him.
The other two guards joined in, their clubs falling onto the man’s head, back, shoulders. He fell onto his side and covered his face, screaming from the force of the blows, but they wouldn’t relent—
Cinder gritted her teeth and took a step into the road, but another voice cut through the man’s cries before she could speak.
“Stop!” a woman screamed. She shoved her way through the crowd.
One of the guards did stop. No, he froze.
The other two hesitated, seeing their companion with his club held halfway through a swing. The woman’s face was contorted in concentration.
“Unlawful use of manipulation,” bellowed another guard. He grabbed the woman and pulled her arms behind her back. Before he could bind them, though, another miner had stepped forward—an elderly man with his back bent under years of work. His gaze was sharp, though, as he raised one hand.
The guard’s body turned to stone.
Another civilian stepped forward. Then another, their expressions made of grim determination. One by one, the guards dropped their clubs. One by one, their bodies were claimed by the people.
A young boy rushed toward the man who had been beaten. He lay limp on the ground, groaning in pain.
The woman who had stepped forward first snarled at the guards. “I don’t know if that girl was Princess Selene or not, but I do know she’s right. This might be our only chance to stand together, and I, for one, refuse to be afraid of you anymore!” Her face was strained, full of resentment.
As Cinder watched, the guard she was controlling reached for the knife at his belt and lifted it, pressing the blade against his own throat.
Horror cascaded over her like ice water.
“No!” Cinder screamed. She ran forward, releasing the glamour of the plain girl. “Don’t! Don’t kill them!” Barreling into the center of the crowd, Cinder held her hands toward the gathered civilians. Her pulse was racing.
She was met first with rage, the remnants of years of tyranny and yearning for revenge turned to disgust at her interruption.
But then, slowly, there was recognition, matched with confusion.
“I understand these men have been the queen’s weapons. They have abused and degraded you and your families. But they are not your enemies. Many guards were removed from their loved ones and forced into the queen’s employment against their will. Now, I don’t know about these guards, specifically, but killing them without offering a fair trial or showing any mercy will only further the cycle of distrust.” She met the eyes of the woman who held the guard and his knife in thrall. “Don’t become like the queen and her court. Don’t kill them. We’ll take them prisoner until further notice. We might still find a use for them.”
The guard’s arm began to lower, removing the knife’s imminent threat. He was watching Cinder, though, not the woman. Maybe he was relieved that she’d intervened. Maybe he was embarrassed at his lack of power. Maybe he was plotting to kill all of these rebellious citizens the moment he had a chance.
It occurred to her that this same scenario could be playing out in countless other sectors, without her there to stop it. She wanted the people to defend themselves from Levana’s regime but she hadn’t considered how she might also be sentencing thousands of guards to death.
She tried to tamp down the sting of guilt, telling herself this was war now, and wars came with casualties. But it didn’t make her feel much better.