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While Kilbride had been leading the ceremony, Alice had given up on the tie around her wrist. Instead, she'd been attempting to loosen the arm of the throne. It was made of sturdy wood. Yet time always had its way. She sensed a tiny bit of give. And worked it side to side, as subtly as she could.
The arm loosened. And so did the tie. She pulled her hand backward, almost in slow-motion. Her skin burned, as if on fire, but Alice couldn't afford to flinch or grit. She flexed the back of her hand, creating an extra centimeter of space.
"Throne-bearers, prepare the offering table," said Kilbride, hastening Alice's attempts at escape.
Lyle fixed the head of his costume on his shoulders. He loped beyond her, over to the truck. He and his fellow throne-bearer heaved a long, flat piece of wo
