“Burn the child! Burn the child! Burn the child!”
The chant thundered through the crowd like drums of war. Tamara’s ears rang with the venomous voices of her people—voices that once cheered her name, voices that had sung praises of her as their Luna.
Now those same voices demanded the death of her blood.
She knelt in the center of the circle, the dirt beneath her knees damp and rough. Her wrists were bound, and her body battered, but it was her heart that was breaking into pieces. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she screamed, “Please! Please, she’s only a child!”
The crowd was merciless. They pushed forward with torches, lighting the heap of wood that had been piled high. Flames licked upward wildly.
Her daughter—her little girl with golden hair and the brightest smile was wrenched
