by L. P. Dover
“You still have claim to the throne,” I whispered.
Kye laughed. “Not here. Not in this country. All I have hope of is stopping my father from destroying our people.”
His vehemence touched me. Bastard son of a king he may be, but he'd taken up his people's cause, watched innocent people die, and bore the scars of the trauma he'd faced on his skin. At twenty-one turns, he'd been carrying a dying nation on his shoulders.
I thought of him at the rebel camp, his shirtless torso, and the scars that shone silver in the moonlight. Lies. He lived on lies. I'd lost Aigneis, my home, and the Archives. But I knew who I was. Even the prophecy didn't change that. Kye, on the other hand, had no true identity.
My hand snaked beyond the bars.
“Kye.”
His hand met mine in the space outside our cells, my fingers entwining with his.
“I know what the king has planned for Sadeemia.”
His fingers tightened.
“Hush, Sax. Speak now, and you'll get yourself killed before morning.”
He was right. I knew that. There were ears in the dungeon, even if we couldn't see them. The king's plans were burning holes in my brain, but speaking them now would cause more harm than good.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
For a long time, he didn't speak. When he did, I wished he hadn't.
“We die,” he answered.
Chapter 32
Kye's hand stayed clasped with mine long after we'd fallen silent. It was much more than an intimate touch. It was reassurance, a lifeline in a dark world where the marked, and those who helped us, died lonely, painful deaths. The clasped hands meant we weren't alone, meant there was someone out there who cared if we lived or died.
I felt myself sagging against the bar, listening as the mice ran back and forth along the back of my cell.
“Quick, quick,” the mice called out. In such a hurry, these creatures.
My hand must have started going limp in Kye's because he squeezed my fingers gently.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “I'm afraid to,” I admitted.
He squeezed my hand again. “Sleep.”
It was almost as if my body were waiting for his permission. One moment, I was clasping Kye's hand, the next there was darkness. Sweet darkness.
But in darkness, there are nightmares. In my dreams I saw Aigneis again, first smiling and then screaming as fire overtook her. Ash. Fire. Aigneis. And then I saw the king, his feral grin watching as more fires were built, more people I knew led to slaughter.
“No,” I mumbled.
There was a cry in the darkness. It was a male cry. It was Kye, and it woke me. The cells were dark, the torches extinguished. My hand was no longer in Kye's and there was a figure outside the bars; a broad, hooded figure, eerie eyes staring at me from the dark.
“Are you ready to die, little boy?” the figure asked.
I squinted. Kye pounded on the bars.
“We're to be hung together,” Kye protested.
The figure stood. “Are you so eager to die, prince?”
The sleep fog had worn off, and the voice sounded familiar. Phantom cold fingers caressed my skin. This voice I would know anywhere.
“You're stooping low, Neill, if a man of your position must amuse yourself in the dungeons,” Kye said.
The captain laughed. If he meant the darkness and hooded cloak to be intimidating, he'd succeeded.
“No lower than a prince who will hang in front of his people. First, the boy.”
I pulled myself up on the bars even as Kye pounded again.
“Together, Neill. We hang together.”
Neill paused.
“I'm increasingly intrigued by your interest in this boy,” the captain said. “What is it about him, prince, that has you so defensive?”
Instead of answering him, Kye spit through the bars, the spittle disappearing inside the cloak's hood. The captain lifted his hand.
“You will pay for that,” he growled.
Kye was calm when his next words came.
“Then make me pay.”
Captain Neill shouted and several guards came running down the corridor, torches raised high. It illuminated the cloak Neill worn, and he pulled back the hood slowly.
“This prisoner here,” Neill gestured at Kye's cell, “take him. Forty lashings. Make him bleed, gentlemen, and then hang him to die beside the young one.”
Kye's cell door creaked as it was opened, and I gripped the bars hard. No!
“Hide the wounds when you are finished,” Captain Neill ordered.
Kye was thrown onto the prison corridor beyond before one of the guards gripped him by the neck, dragging him upward. Kye's surcoat had been stripped off of him and replaced with a coarse, grey wool tunic and black leather pants. He wore no shoes.
Captain Neill leaned in close, his eyes staring directly into Kye's.
“You're going to get your wish. You'll hang alongside the boy and others as well.”
Spit hit Kye in the face, but he didn't flinch. I pounded on my bars.
“Please!” I begged. “He meant no harm!”
The captain looked over his shoulder, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“There's something about you, boy. I'm not sure what, but I'm going to enjoy watching it choked out of you.”
With that, he turned and marched away, two words floating on the air behind his back, “Flog him!”
My eyes met Kye's only briefly. There was no fear in his gaze, only resignation. I was hysterical now, and when the guards began pulling him away, I screamed.
“No!”
One of the guards kicked Kye, and he went down on his knees.
“Keep making noise, little boy, and we'll make it worse on him!” the guard called.
I stuffed my fist into my mouth, crying around my hand as the torchlight moved away. At the end of the corridor, they stopped. I could tell by the way firelight danced on the stone in the distance that Kye was to be an example, not only to himself and to me, but to the rest of the prisoners incarcerated. There was the sound of chains, and I heard Kye cry out. I couldn't see what they did, but I knew they were chaining him to the wall. I was biting my fist now, tears coursing down my cheeks.
No! I couldn't stand by helplessly anymore while someone else I knew, someone I was beginning to grow fond of was tortured or killed.
I pounded on the bars.
“Please,” I begged. “Punish me instead.”
There was a laugh from beyond.
“For that, boy, the first lashing will be for you.”
A whip sounded, followed by a scream. It was an ungodly scream full of pain. I jerked on the bars, my nose and eyes dripping. I couldn't cry hard enough for the agony I was feeling.
For me! People were always being punished for me! Another lash. Another scream.
I began kicking at my cell.
“Silveet!” I cried. “Forest, please!”
Another lash and another. The scream that followed was no less loud, but it was weaker.
I swallowed convulsively, going to my knees on the stone, my hand against the rock.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please help me.”
I didn't know who I called to. I didn't care. All I cared about were the lashings at the end of the corridor. All I cared about was trying to stop them from murdering the prince.
I pounded on the stone.
“Quick, quick!” I heard, and I turned abruptly, my tears cold on my face.
Behind me on the floor, hundreds of piercing eyes stared at me. Mice and something smaller . . . roaches maybe?
I stared at them.
Another lash. Another scream.
“Attack,” I said, my voice cold and even, calm. “Attack.”
I closed my eyes as the rodents ran past me.
“Quick, quick. Attack, attack!” they muttered.
Another lash. Another scream.
And then, �
�Bloody hell!”
“By the gods!”
There was screeching, screams, and shouts. This time it wasn't Kye. I pulled on the bars again.
“I need out!” I cried.
Scurrying feet moved along the prison corridor, the sound of metal rubbing against stone. Two mice appeared, dragging the large ring of keys the guard had used to lock me within the cell. They dropped them at my feet and scurried away.
I blocked out the horrified, painful shrieks from beyond as I leaned down and swept the keys into my hand, desperately going through them as I fitted each one into the lock.
“Below!” I heard a man yell from above, and I knew the guards' screams had garnered attention. My hands flew through the keys, my heart pounding. When the wonderful click finally came, I almost sagged with relief. There was no time.
I jerked the cell door open, my feet pounding against the stone. At the end of the corridor, I stopped, my heart plummeting. There was Kye, shirtless, his back covered in criss cross gashes. Blood dripped from the wounds, winding its way to the waistline of his pants and beyond. They were deep gashes, and he wasn't moving.
There was more blood and silent guards lying along the stone. I didn't look at them. I didn't want to see what I'd done. The mice and bugs were gone, although I could hear the faint, “Quick, quick” as they scrambled away.
I moved to Kye, slipping once in the guards' blood before finally gripping Kye's leg.
“Kye!” I sobbed.
He turned his head, his weak eyes opening as he looked down at me. I pulled on him, but the chains were strong.
“Move it!” I heard someone shout, and I knew I didn't have long.
I looked frantically around the corridor, my eyes catching on the glinting metal of a nearby sword. I grabbed it, raising it high before bringing it down on the chains above. Sparks flew.
“Again, Stone,” Kye said, his voice faint. “This metal is weak.”
He pulled on his arms as I hit it again. More sparks.
“Is there a key?” I asked.
Kye shook his head. “No. Try again.”
It was all he could say, and I put everything I had into hitting the chains. One broke loose. I cried out but didn't give myself time to celebrate more. I moved to the next.
There was the sound of boots against stone when the final chains fell, and Kye collapsed. I caught him against me, his blood on my hands.
Instead of pulling away, I hugged him, placing my palms firmly against the wounds on his back. Kye gasped. My hands burned instantly. I could feel the flesh beneath my palms closing, and I gagged against the feeling.
Kye's breath was against my ear. “We won't make it,” he said.
I could hear the boots directly behind us now.
“No,” I answered him. “But you won't be hung in blood now.”
And with that, I swept the scar on his temple with my lips just as I was grabbed roughly from behind. Kye fell to the floor.
“By the gods,” one of the men holding me exclaimed.
I held my head high, my heart bleeding inside my chest. I'd saved Kye, but I'd killed men in the process, men with families.
“What are you?” a guard asked.
I didn't answer him, my stare straight ahead as soldiers bent to look at the men on the floor. Kye was in custody now, a shirt forced over his head as they held him securely by the arms. One of the soldiers on the floor looked up.
“He was a friend,” the man growled. “His wife just had a baby.”
The tears I hadn't wanted to shed burned the back of my eyes. My gaze met Kye's. His eyes were full of understanding and something more, something deeper. Hair swept his forehead, the stubble on his cheeks stark against pale skin. He'd lost a lot of blood. Even my healing couldn't replenish that.
“Go!” the guard on the floor yelled. “Take them and hang them!”
The guard next to me stuttered, “B-but sir, shouldn't we—”
“Take them!” the man ordered again. “Captain Neill's orders. Do it! And hang the others, too.”
With that, I was dragged backwards, my feet against the stone. My head hung.
Chapter 33
The sky was a light grey brushed with pink and yellow when we stepped out of the castle. We were once again in the courtyard we'd entered when we'd first arrived, but it had transformed from the mud-covered stomping ground of horses and soldiers to a public arena. Hastily built scaffolding sat in the center of the yard with a line of barrels rolled beneath it, at least twenty in all. Villagers crowded into the area, their faces pale and quiet.
There were no cheers as we were dragged through the mud. No one called for our deaths or spit in our direction. No rotten food was thrown. There were only lowered heads in the crowd, many of them avoiding our gaze.
Upon reaching the barrels, the guards lifted us, placing a noose around our necks before backing away. The rope was coarse and rough against my skin, sharp in places, and I fought hard not to wince.
I looked to Kye where he stood next to me. His shoulders were back, and his head was high despite his weakness. Dark, purplish shadows rested under his eyes. And still he stood tall, his gaze fixed on the castle walls. My gaze followed his, and I froze.
There on a balcony just above our heads sat King Raemon, Captain Neill, and a group of other noblemen and women. My father, my stepmother, and my half sister were among them. Taran was whispering something into another woman's ears while fanning her face with yellow silk-gloved hands. Beside her, my half sister peered down at Kye and I, her eyes narrowed. I stared back.
Mareth's eyes widened. I looked away. Out of all of my family, it hurt that Mareth was the only one who may have recognized me. I didn't care if she had. There was nothing to be done about it. I was going to die anyway. I bore the mark of the scribe.
“Ho! Make way!”
The guards' voices caught my attention, and I looked down into the yard to find a group of the king's soldiers leading a bevy of marked prisoners through the mud to the barrels beside us. One of them was Jule of Rendoh. I gasped.
“Kye,” I breathed.
The old woman's head came up, her gaze meeting mine before slipping away. She'd been treated roughly. A bruise bloomed along one cheek, and she walked stiffly as if she'd been beaten.
“By the gods,” Kye muttered.
I turned my head, my pain filled eyes mirroring the gaze that met me. Kye glanced back up at the balcony, his face hard.
A kek,kek filtered down to me from the sky, and I looked up, my eyes searching.
“Be strong,” Ari called down.
Her words held something beneath them, her tone odd. A promise maybe? Stay strong. Much easier said than done. Even if I called out to the forest for help, I wasn't sure it would come in time.
A drum began to beat. I wanted to reach out and take Kye's hand in mine, to feel one final connection to another human being, but our wrists had been tied together in front of us. I looked to the sky. Blue, pink, and yellow. Such beautiful colors.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, memories of those I'd lost and memories of those I'd killed flashed through my mind. I'd wanted more out of this life. I'd wanted to do something more, but I didn't regret where I was now.
If I'd never left Forticry, I never would have met the rebels, the dragons, or Kye. I'd never know what it was like to be one of them, to be part of something, to be connected to someone by a mark even if I didn't know their name. I wouldn't know what it was like to love a country I'd only thought of as a place before rather than a home. I wouldn't know the truth behind the Archives. I wouldn't be able to put images with words I'd only studied before. And I never would have known Medeisia had a prince who was willing to die a martyr for the minority.
The drum stopped beating. I opened my eyes.
Before us stood a black hooded man, the white of his eyes the only thing visible through his headpiece. His hands lifted.
“By order of King Raemon, these men and women are criminals of
Medeisia. Bearing the mark of the shamed, they will hang here today an example of what we should strive not to be.”
I, like Kye, held my head high. I was a girl. I was a young woman. I was a child who had once run through a manor with hidden pens beneath my dresses, crawling under dressers and tables to draw my name on the furniture or secret codes in Sadeemian I knew only I could read. I was a mischievous little imp who'd stolen cakes from the kitchen only to split them with Ari in my room or pass them under the table to a novice scribe in the Archives. I was Drastona Maree Consta-Mayria of Medeisia. I was the illegitimate daughter of Garod Consta-Mayria, once ambassador of Sadeemia. I was Aigneis' charge and Aedan's pupil. I was not the mark I bore. I was not ashamed.
The drums beat once more, and then silence. I squeezed my eyes shut. The first barrel was shoved away, the sound of gagging audible from where I stood. The scaffolding shook as the victim struggled. My eyes burned.
“Stone,” Kye whispered.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was gazing at me, his lips parted when the shadow fell over the courtyard, a large shadow that blocked the early morning light. People screamed.
Kye's eyes widened, and we both looked away, our gazes going to the sky. There, his beautiful body glowing almost bronze in the soft hues of dawn was Lochlen. His scales gleamed as he dove, his wide mouth open, smoke curling from his nose.
There was shouting everywhere.
“Shoot it!” Captain Neill yelled.
“Dragon!” a woman shrieked.
“Run!” someone cried.
Arrows were loosed into the air, but Lochlen merely shook himself as they struck his scales, rumbling laughter filling the courtyard as he landed.
“Amateurs,” he roared. “You've forgotten how mighty we are.”
And with that, he spit fire at the scaffolding. I felt my noose break free, the ends of the rope burning as it fell. I felt the burning fibers against my tunic.
“The mud!” Kye shouted.
I jumped to the ground, landing on my back in the sludge below, and the burning rope was extinguished. Soldiers ran toward us, swords pulled. Lochlen swung his tail, sweeping many of them out of the way.