CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ceres stumbled in blackness as they marched her toward the prison ship. Around her, she could hear the jibes and insults of the people she passed. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear their sudden hate and contempt, pouring over her like water in a storm.
Ceres flinched as something struck her, bouncing off her breastplate. It might have been a piece of fruit or a stone, she didn’t know which. Unable to see it and held in place as she was, there was no chance for her to dodge it. Her breastplate and kilt offered some protection, but really just meant that she was easier for the crowd to identify.
“Murderer!”
“Slave!”
The hardest part was hearing the anger in voices that had been calling her name in the Stade just a little while before. Ceres knew that the royals
