The 7th Lie

by Tamara Grantham

  Wind and sand battered my cheeks. We must’ve been in the desert. Where was my knife? And Morven? Had they killed him?

  Surely they hadn’t.

  Please don’t let them kill him.

  My skull throbbed, and my consciousness ebbed. The blackness took me again.

  * * *

  “Wake up,” a gruff voice barked. A sharp kick dug into my ribs. I cried out, opening my eyes to a dimly lit room. Rough stones comprised the walls and floor. A man hunched over me. He ran a hand over his slick, bald head. A nauseated stomach and a bitter taste in my mouth added to my pounding headache.

  I tried to sit up. Ropes bound my wrists and ankles. I managed to prop my back against a wall behind me. Slime coated the stone, soaking into my shirt. Water dripped in the distance. The dampness burrowed in my bones.

  “Where are we?” My dry throat rasped as I spoke.

  “Beneath the palace.” His rough voice rumbled from a barrel chest. He knelt to be eye-level with me.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s MacDowell.”

  He kept his hands clasped in front of him, his skin covered in green soot, his fingernails caked with the same substance. A miner.

  “What do you want with me?” I asked.

  “You’re collateral.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re our guarantee the prince does what we ask. If we’ve got you, he’ll do what we say.”

  “What do you want him to do?”

  “Simple. Kill his aunt. Give us the throne. Stage his own suicide. If he doesn’t cooperate, you die.”

  Fear ran cold through my veins, but I didn’t want him to see me afraid, so I sat tall, meeting his gaze. I had to play it cool if I wanted to get out of this. “I think you’re underestimating the prince’s stubbornness. You’ll never get him to do what you want.”

  He grabbed my neck, jerking me toward him. Rough hands constricted my windpipe. “You will not talk to me that way,” he seethed. “Do you understand?”

  He gripped my neck so tightly, stars spun in my vision. “Do you?”

  “I...” Black spots crowded in.

  “Answer me!”

  I choked. Didn’t he know I couldn’t breathe? How did he expect me to talk? Bootsteps thudded as another man approached us. “We’re ready.”

  MacDowell shoved me against the wall, finally releasing me. I gasped as he gave me one last glare, then stood and marched away, talking quietly to the other miner as they left the room.

  I rubbed my neck and inhaled deeply, trying my best to remain calm, though I’d seen the look in MacDowell’s eyes. He would have no problem killing me.

  How long would they keep me down here? I closed my eyes, resting against the wall, trying to think of a way to escape.

  Did I have my knife?

  I tucked my fingers into the top of my boots but felt only an empty sheath.

  A stone dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I’d lost Mima June’s knife. A hard knot in my throat made it hard for me to swallow. I’m sorry, Mima. I didn’t mean to fail.

  After a deep, stuttering breath, I sat up and pushed my regret aside. Escape was my only thought as I worked my hands back and forth, the ropes rubbing through my skin. Hot blisters formed, but I moved faster, ignoring the pain. If I didn’t get free, I’d have more to worry about than blisters.

  Heavy boot steps came from the corridor ahead. MacDowell and several other men ducked into the room, hat brims shading their faces. I froze as they walked into the firelight. Wolfish, hungry gazes locked on me. Dirt-smudged shirts and coveralls formed to their heavy frames.

  MacDowell pointed at me. “She’ll come with us.”

  Two men grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet. They dragged me into the corridor to a metal door at the end. Rusty hinges squealed as they opened it and tugged me into a room where the prince lay in a heap on the floor. Blood covered his forehead and streamed down his cheeks.

  My breath hitched. “What did you do to him?”

  Without answering, the men shoved me to the ground. I slammed onto my knees. Someone kicked my back, and I pitched forward, smacking my face on the rough paving stones. Stars spun in my vision as I attempted to sit up.

  Someone grabbed me under the arm and jerked me upright. The iron taste of blood seeped into my mouth where my teeth had cut inside my cheek.

  MacDowell’s face loomed in my vision. “Convince him to do what we ask. I’ll let you imagine what will happen if you fail.”

  He stood and exited the room with the others behind him. When the door banged shut behind them, I scooted toward Morven. His eyes fluttered open as I drew nearer.

  “Thank goodness you’re alive,” I whispered.

  A hint of a smile ghosted across his face.

  “What did they do to you?” I asked. “You look awful.”

  “I suppose they beat me, but I don’t remember most of it.”

  “They want you to kill your aunt,” I said.

  He sighed. “Yes. I know.”

  “I don’t get it. Why don’t they do it?”

  “It wouldn’t work in their favor.” Wincing, he worked his jaw back and forth. “For them to legally take the throne, the royal family must be deemed unfit to rule. A parliament would then be formed, and the monarchy would be put on trial by the people. If I were to kill my aunt, then they could classify me as a danger to our kingdom. But they wouldn’t want me to stand trial or the truth of what they’re doing would come out, which is why they want me to stage my own suicide. It’s a fairly solid plan, except they’re all idiots, so it won’t work.”

  “Why won’t it work?”

  His eyes darkened. “Because they’re dealing with me.”

  “Still overconfident, I see.”

  “It’s not overconfidence. It’s reality. They wanted things to change now. Once I became king, I would’ve done everything I could to fix their situation, but they weren’t patient enough. They should’ve waited.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “I’ll start by escaping this cell.”

  I eyed him. He laid flat on his stomach, and he hadn’t moved anything but his mouth since I’d been thrown in here. “Escape? Can you even sit up?”

  He sighed, closing his eyes. “No. To be honest, I can’t currently feel my legs.”

  “O-kay,” I drew out the word. “That would be a problem.”

  “My strength will return. It always does.”

  I pursed my lips. “How many times have you been beaten by miners?”

  “Never, unless you count just now,” he answered. “But that’s beside the point. Will you help me sit up?”

  “I would.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Except my hands are tied.”

  “Good point.” He nodded to his legs. “Look in my boot. There’s a knife in there.”

  “A knife?” I glanced at his shoes. “The miners didn’t take it?”

  “No, they’ve been in a thoughtless rush this whole time. They’re making mistakes because they’ve never done anything like this before. We’ll use that to our advantage.”

  I scooted toward him. Maneuvering my hands to his boot, I reached inside and fished for the weapon.

  My fingers brushed over wood and steel. I grabbed the handle and pulled it out. Holding the knife as best as I could, I worked the blade over the ropes, up and down until one snapped.

  My shoulders ached, and wrists burned as I tossed the rope aside, but at least I could move again. I turned to Morven who still hadn’t shifted an inch.

  Grabbing him under the shoulders, I hauled him upright and propped him against the wall. I sat facing him for a moment too long, just enough to set my insides on fire the way they always did when he was near. The square line of his jaw and his full lips danced in my vision. If I only leaned a little, I could kiss him.

  A mischievous grin lit his face.

  “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

  He shrugged, upturned lips revealing his amu
sement. “No reason.”

  “You’re being threatened with your own death yet you’re smiling.” I shook my head. “I’ll never understand you.”

  I scooted away from him, distracting myself by untying the rope around my ankles.

  “What?” he questioned. “You never pictured us growing close to one another while locked in a cell awaiting our death? Some would say this is quite romantic.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. This whole situation has gotten out of hand. We’ve got to escape.” I picked up Morven’s knife, its blade barely longer than my hand. It didn’t compare to Mima June’s. Heaviness weighed on me at the loss of my weapon—as if I’d lost my last link to her.

  Morven leaned his head against the wall, the color drained from his face, streaks of dried blood standing out against pale skin.

  I scooted toward him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  His eyes shone with pain. “I’ve been better.”

  I glanced at the low stone ceiling overhead and the rusted metal door barring our path—the only exit from the room. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “In the dungeons beneath the palace. They tunneled their way inside. Probably took months. But they are miners, after all. The guards haven’t come down here since we sealed off the dungeons decades ago.” He sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Last week, they snuck inside my room to capture me when I was asleep, but I wasn’t around.” He laughed quietly. “They went back to Edenbrooke to come up with a new plan, and I came to them. Fell right in their laps.”

  “That’s convenient,” I said with sarcasm.

  “Yeah.” He barked a cheerless laugh.

  I crawled to the door and grabbed the handle, rusty metal flakes sticking to my sweaty palms, then I pushed the lever down, but the door didn’t budge.

  “What are you doing?” Morven asked.

  “I hoped someone left it unlocked.”

  “They’re not that careless.” He rubbed his neck. Pain shadowed his eyes.

  Yells echoed from the hallway. I backed away from the door as MacDowell burst inside.

  Standing, I blocked him, holding Morven’s flimsy knife between us. Rage burned in my chest.

  “Not another step,” I seethed. “Do not touch him.”

  MacDowell laughed. “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll regret it.”

  “Is that so?”

  My training came back, as if I were in the facility again, as I tightened my grip on the handle. In one swift motion, I lunged for him. He sidestepped, but I spun around, slamming the blade into the flesh of his shoulder.

  He howled, rounding on me, madness in his eyes as he grabbed my hair. Pain shot through my scalp as he yanked a clump from its roots. I bit back a scream and thrust my knee into his stomach, hard enough to rupture his kidneys.

  MacDowell fell back with another scream. I ran to Morven, tugging his hands to help him stand, when more miners entered the room.

  “Get her!” MacDowell yelled.

  Three men rushed at me. Two grabbed my arms, squeezing painfully tight, dragging me backward. One of them pressed the cold metal of a steel blade to the back of my neck.

  “Don’t move,” he growled in my ear.

  The other man yanked Morven to his feet. When the prince stumbled, the miner socked him in the stomach with a tight fist, the loud punch echoing through the small space.

  “Don’t hurt him,” I shouted, rage burning through me.

  “Or what? He’s killing himself anyway.” His laugh grated in my ears. Morven collapsed. Another man came forward, grabbing Morven’s other arm. The two men held him between them.

  MacDowell got to his feet. He ripped my knife from his shoulder with a ragged scream. Spots of dark blood dripped to the floor from the blade. Menace lit his eyes. “You... will regret that.” With the knife, he pointed to the door. “Take them!”

  They marched me out of the cell, the men holding Morven following us.

  Glimpsing behind me, I saw Morven’s eyes focused on the ground, his face paler than it had been in the cell, his feet dragging.

  The tunnel’s dim light revealed stones slick with slime. Its moldy scent lingered. Sweat clung to my skin, and my hair stuck uncomfortably to my neck.

  We made it to a narrow staircase. The men gripping my arms pushed me up. With the knife pressed to my back, I had no choice but to climb. Heavy footfalls followed behind us. The sound of Morven’s body being dragged up the steps made my rage burn like wildfire through my chest.

  I set my jaw, focusing straight ahead.

  Morven was right. They would pay for this.

  When we reached the landing, we stepped into a hallway. The men holding my arms shoved me through an open door and into another passage. We climbed more stairs until my legs burned, and my scalp ached where MacDowell had ripped out my hair. Sconces burning with blue cerecite shimmered from the walls. We passed the hallway leading to the kitchens, then approached the stairs leading to the bottom floor.

  “Where are you taking us?” I asked.

  “Throne room,” was his only answer as he marched me down. After making it to the floor, we stepped into a hallway that ended at a wooden door set into an alcove.

  A miner opened it, revealing a staging area behind the throne room, a curtain taking up the back wall. Clutter crowded along the walls—tables and chairs alongside buckets, mops, and stacks of folded banners and tablecloths. Muffled voices came through the curtain.

  One of the miners shuffled to the curtain and peeked through. When he returned to us, the miners moved us out of the staging area, back into the hallway, shutting the door.

  “The queen isn’t on the throne yet,” the miner said. “Could be a minute or two before she’s seated. I counted five guards inside.”

  MacDowell clenched his jaw. “Fine. Once the queen regent’s seated, we’ll move the prince behind the curtain. He’ll stab her then.”

  “I won’t...” Morven breathed. “I won’t kill my aunt.”

  MacDowell whipped his head around. “Like hell you won’t.”

  “Monster,” I spat through clenched teeth.

  Cold metal chilled my neck as the man holding me pressed the blade to my throat. “You shut up.”

  “Kill your aunt or she dies,” one of the men holding Morven said. “Your choice.”

  “Then I choose... neither.” Morven shifted on unsteady legs.

  “Not an option,” MacDowell replied. He pulled out Morven’s blade, thrusting it in Morven’s hand. “Kill her with this.”

  “But he can’t even walk,” I pleaded.

  The man holding me slapped my face with the flat of his blade. My ears buzzed. I blinked to make the room stop spinning.

  “Stop,” Morven said, his voice a quiet warning. “Don’t lay another finger on her or I swear I’ll never do what you ask.”

  “You really want me to stop? Then do what I say,” MacDowell barked. “Kill your aunt, or I kill the girl.”

  “Morven.” Panic strained my voice. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “No.” He stood straight. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill her. But you can’t lay another finger on Sabine, or I swear you’ll regret it.”

  “Morven, no!” I demanded. “I’m doomed anyway. Don’t do this.”

  “Sabine.” He looked at me, his dark eyes glittering with stern acceptance, yet I saw a glint of something else there. “I’ll do it.”

  “Fine,” MacDowell ground out. “Get him to the curtain. He can crawl to the queen regent if he must. I don’t care how he does it if he gets the job done. I want everyone to see it was him who killed her. And whatever you do, keep her quiet.”

  Someone shoved a gag in my mouth, tying it so tightly behind my head, my jaw ached. The coarse fabric tasted of sour sweat.

  A miner opened the door and two men dragged Morven into the staging area. They kept me close behind. The carpeted floor muffled our footsteps, and the darkness closed in around us as the miners shut the door behind us.

&
nbsp; Sticky blood stuck to my neck where the blade had cut me. My heart pounded with each footstep as we crowded inside. Unintelligible voices came from the other side of the curtain.

  Morven clenched the knife, his knuckles white.

  My hands trembled. He wouldn’t seriously go through with this, would he? But how would he ever get out of it?

  MacDowell grabbed Morven’s arm, dragging him to the curtain. The miners holding me kept me against the far wall, away from Morven.

  MacDowell shoved Morven to the ground.

  “Do not move.” The miner holding me pressed the cold blade to my skin. Stinging pain punctured my flesh, making tears spring to my eyes. Warm blood trickled down my neck.

  A miner stood at the curtain, parting it to peek through. Morven’s aunt’s voice carried from the other side. The miner gave MacDowell a single nod.

  “Go,” MacDowell hissed, shoving Morven forward.

  Morven crawled to the part in the curtain.

  The light glowing from beneath the door highlighted the fear in Morven’s eyes. He separated the curtains and peered through. His chest rose and fell as he knelt. Sweat beaded on his brow. Pale skin contrasted with the dark metal of the blade.

  Please Morven. Don’t do this.

  “Go,” MacDowell urged. “I’ll give you three seconds before I slit the girl’s throat.”

  Morven clenched the knife. An unspoken warning sparked in his eyes.

  He pulled something from his pocket and smashed it in MacDowell’s face. Glass shattered, pungent smoke exploding in a yellow cloud. Noxious fumes choked the air. Violent coughing racked MacDowell’s body. Tears streamed down his face. He fell to his knees, gagging and sputtering.

  Morven sprang to his feet. He grabbed me and tugged me outside, though the miner holding me didn’t let go. In the hall, Morven slammed the door shut on MacDowell and two others inside. Only the miner holding me remained, and he tightened his grip on my arm, knife held at my neck.

  “Not any closer,” he shouted at Morven.

  Gargled screams came from inside the antechamber when the door burst open. Miners fell to the ground, choking on fumes that billowed in a yellow cloud.

  In the hallway behind us, the queen’s guards sprinted to us. “What’s going on?”

  Morven pointed to MacDowell and the others. “They’re trying to take the throne. Take them!”