Silent Kingdom

by Rachel L. Schade

  Jennah was ahead of me, her tall, slender form striding confidently from an alleyway onto the main street to join the crowds. She never shirked from the attention she drew, her gold-tinted complexion shining, her eyes flashing, her steps poised and her smile sure. Her Alrenian heritage was clear and she was unashamed. She welcomed the looks from Misrothians, attempting to draw attention from me while I slunk several yards behind her, doing my best to be lost in her wake.

  The change of the crowd’s mood was perceptible in the very air around us: the breeze faltered, leaving the world heavy and still, and the people’s murmurings became troubled. Ahead of us, Layk froze with the crowd gathering just outside the square. Benor, Gare, and Ellok drew up close behind him and Jennah and I followed, pushing around women covering their children’s eyes, men muttering in disgust and anger.

  Standing on my tiptoes, I managed to see over the people’s heads into the square and my blood ran cold. The stand was soaked in blood, the executioner still hovering over the chopping block with his dripping axe, and guards tossing corpses into a pile at the foot of Eldon’s statue. They had started the beheadings early, but that was not what horrified the people.

  Standing in rows before their bodies, a dozen heads were speared atop pikes, their wide-eyed stares matching ours. My stomach clenched and I choked on bile rising in my throat. I recognized one of the faces: Murvek, one of the rebels I had met with just the night before.

  “They knew our plans,” Layk said, his voice low yet sharp as steel. “We’ve been discovered—or betrayed.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Jennah stifled a cry, raising a hand to her mouth. “If they know about the meetings, they could be at the shop now.”

  I could see the horror transforming to anger and resolve as she thought of her girls in possible danger. Her eyes flashed and she set her jaw, the concerned mother becoming a powerful Alrenian in an instant.

  “Wait, we don’t know…” Gare began, reaching out to grasp her arm, but she was already shoving past the people, forcing her way back down the street.

  “It’s a trap,” Benor muttered.

  Despite his warnings, despite my own sense of danger flaring in my own brain, horror clawed at my chest as the dead faces continued to stare us down. I imagined Jennah’s family there in their places and my pulse raged. I pressed through the crowd after Jennah. There was a ringing in my ears, muting the voices around me. The pale, shocked faces of the Misrothians looked distant, as if they were staring at me from a vast distance. My footsteps pounded the cobblestones like war drums and cold air bit at my face, tore at my cloak, and brushed my hair into my eyes. Even as the crowd thinned and I was able to increase my pace, the streets seemed endless—I couldn’t run quickly enough, couldn’t swallow the distance in time. What if it was already too late?

  I rounded the corner onto Jennah’s street and it felt like a knife pierced my chest. Shouts and the clang of steel on steel shattered the night: Jennah was surrounded by guards swarming outside the shop, holding her ground with her sword raised high as several mounted an attack against her.

  The breeze whispered in my ears, making the hairs on my arms bristle. I yanked my bow from my back and drew an arrow. Panting, Benor drew up beside me. “Wait—” he began.

  I let my arrow fly, piercing one of the guards in the chest before he could slice his blade toward Jennah’s neck. He tumbled to the cobblestones in a pool of blood, and his comrades raised angry eyes toward Benor and me. Before I could release another arrow, three guards were upon us both.

  One smashed the pommel of his sword on my head, knocking me backward. Sparks of light splattered across my vision and warm blood spilled down my temple. The men heaved me roughly to my feet, their fingers digging so hard into my skin I cried out. A third man lifted my bow from the ground and slung it over his own back, sneering at me.

  Dizzy, I surveyed the street to see Benor had already been overpowered and disarmed as well. The men dragged us toward the building, where they were still restraining Jennah. Light from the guards’ torches glared in my eyes, but I could see more guards approaching from down the street, pulling Gare, Ellok, and Layk toward us.

  Then another man rounded the corner, his cloak fluttering around him like a shadow clinging to his presence. Narek. I stood frozen, staring at him as he studied his men’s handiwork in one smooth glance: an entire band of rebels captured in moments. I remembered the way it had felt when Narek had carried me away screaming as a girl and dumped me over the side of a cliff. Without remorse. My stomach tightened and I found it hard to breathe.

  “Burn the place to ashes,” Narek ordered. “Let it be a message to all who seek to defy the king.”

  I swallowed. Where were Kam and the girls? Were they still hiding in the living quarters over the shop? Had they managed to escape?

  Thrashing and kicking, Jennah screamed. “No, no! There are children—my children are inside!”

  Two men punched through the building’s glass windows and began dumping oil inside. When they stepped back, several of their comrades tossed torches through the yawning voids and leapt back. Light flared in a brilliant burst and smoke billowed through the windows. Despair shredded my heart, making my body feel numb and empty. They were murdering Jennah’s family, destroying her whole life, and we were helpless to stop them.

  Jennah’s shrieks of horror ripped at the night. “You monsters! They’re my children!” She tried to wrench herself away from the guards, thrashing and kicking and screaming, but to no avail.

  The two guards restraining Ellok released his arms and stepped back. He pulled his arms across his chest and surveyed the destruction dispassionately while Narek approached him. “Thank you for the tip,” the captain said, plucking a bag jingling with coins from his cloak pocket and tossing it to Ellok.

  I gaped at the old man, at a loss for words.

  “You,” Jennah snarled, sounding more feral than human. She was on her knees now, fighting with all she had against the men who held her back. Smoke surrounded her like a swirling extension of her cloak and the golden flecks in her eyes shimmered like miniature fires of her own. She flung a series of filthy curses at Ellok, her voice raw with fury and desperation.

  Ellok’s countenance was unmoved as he stared back at her, his beard so white in the surrounding darkness it hurt my eyes. His face was lit from the raging flames, revealing his wrinkled countenance scrunched up in distaste. “I am an old man, ready to rest in peace. I am not about to endanger my own or my family’s wellbeing for a foolhardy cause,” he spat. “One way or another, against a king who wields an entire army, against a kingdom that has done next to nothing to protest his rule, you and the rest of the idiot rebels will die.”

  With Jennah still flinging insults at his back, he shoved the bag into his cloak and turned to slink into the night, his form melting into the blackness.

  As Narek turned, his eyes settled on me. A crease settled between his brows and he strode toward me, pausing to stare into my face. He had been a young captain four years ago, and he still looked young now, but even the oldest of his guards gazed at him with deference. He was near enough that I could see the stubble lining his jaw and the recognition that sparked in his eyes. “Halia. You’re alive,” he breathed, smiling slowly until the hair on my arms prickled. “How nice to see that the princess has returned to her family. What a reunion this shall be.”

  Cringing, I turned away, avoiding his gaze. None of the guards or the rebels betrayed any emotion, and I realized Narek had spoken too softly for anyone else to hear. I was ashamed to realize I was relieved. If they discovered who I was now, my rebel friends would probably hate me for holding onto my secret this long.

  Narek looked at the guards restraining us all. “Take them to the castle dungeons.”

  The guards wrenched us forward, guiding us through the shadowy streets even as crowds gathered at windows to peer out in fear. One of the men slammed his sword hilt into Jennah’s temple to stop her resistance. H
er screams died on her lips as she fell unconscious, and the guard slung her unceremoniously across his shoulder. The rest of us remained mute and shuffled along without fighting. We were hopelessly outnumbered.

  Slowly, the buildings around us fell away and the cliff loomed near, until, far too soon, we were standing at its base. The guards yanked us onto a winding path that zigzagged to the top of the peak, where the castle sprawled in all its stark glory. Soon snow began falling so thickly that the world turned blindingly white and I could only see a few feet in front of me. The men shoved me forward if I slipped or if my strides failed to match theirs. At first I shivered in the wind, but as we climbed higher, sweat broke out on my forehead.

  At last we reached the top and the castle stood before us. A lump formed in my throat at the familiar sight, the focal point of so many nightmares, of so much longing and pain. We swept through the grounds, now mostly barren beneath snow and ice, past guards opening the main gate to us, and into the courtyard. Grim statues stared back at me and made my heart ache with their familiarity. There was no returning home without the bitter pang of childhood memories. Everything that was once dear was now a reminder of horrors, past and future. I tore my eyes away and stared at the ground. Two men threw open the castle doors for us. The guards led me through the great halls where I’d once lived, played, and laughed. Now I passed through as a prisoner, a criminal, a stranger. The same paintings and banners decorated the walls; the same rugs softened the floor beneath my feet; the same wide windows afforded views of the grounds stretching out beneath the darkening sky. If not for the men at my sides I could have almost imagined myself a child again, wandering the halls in search of my cousin. Everything was the same, yet different—wrong, cold.

  My heart throbbed, pounding in my ears so that even my thoughts seemed muffled as I prayed for help.

  The guards dragged us through a heavy wooden door and down a stone staircase, into the deep recesses of the castle, a place I had never been allowed to go. The air grew cold and heavy; it felt like the weight of the upper floors pressed down on us. When we paused before a second door, leading to the dungeon corridors, my hands were clammy and my mouth was dry. The guards positioned on either side of it checked us for any remaining weapons, stripping my companions of knives and daggers. Then they shoved open the door and stood aside for us to pass.

  The dungeon corridors were long and narrow, with only flickering torchlight to guide our way. Damp and cold, the air reeked of years of foulness. Most of the cells we passed were open and empty, but a few of the doors were shut and padlocked. I was thankful that the grates were set high in the doors, high enough that I could easily look away; I did not want to see the hopeless faces of the prisoners we passed. I did not want to ponder my fate or the long hours and days that stretched before me until I received my sentence. Until I was brought before the king. My heart pounded in my chest as if it were a prisoner too, screaming to be set free.

  After a few twists and turns through the dimness, my eyes began to adjust to the light. A guard halted beside one of the open cells, secluded from the occupied ones we had passed earlier, and gestured to the men clutching my arms. Without further ceremony, they shoved me inside and slammed the door. I heard the lock click into place and the retreating footsteps of the guards and my comrades as they were led off to their own distant cells.

  The quiet settled around me so thickly I could scarcely breathe. The space was so narrow that I could cross the width of my cell in three steps before my fingers brushed against cold rock. It was only a little deeper. The torchlight from the corridor outside sputtered and my heart skipped a beat. Soon it would go out, and when would another patrolling guard bother to replace it? I would be left in complete darkness.

  I had never been afraid of the dark, but the thought of having nothing but blackness, of emptiness, to stare into for hours—even days—made me panic. My mouth went dry. Please, please don’t let the darkness last long… I’d hardly thought the words before the torch sizzled out and darkness settled around me. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to draw a deep breath and exhale slowly. Once, twice. It’s fine. It is only darkness. It is nothing.

  My head throbbed. I touched the wound near my temple to find that the blood had stopped running, but the cut stung. I winced and drew my fingers away. Disregarding how filthy and cold the rough stones were, I collapsed to the floor and curled up in a corner of the cell.

  Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. After all, I was inside the palace like I had wanted to be.

  But what can I do as a prisoner? I thought bitterly. Speak the truth so they can execute me properly this time?

  My stomach dropped. The words the Life-Giver had spoken to me seemed so distant and unclear now. Had he really meant for me to return home and join the rebellion? What was I doing? The sense of purpose that the encounter had granted me was fading too. Avrik was right: I was mad. And now I was going to die.

  I thought of my friends, somewhere in the royal dungeons also, awaiting their own death sentences. My strong, courageous friends willing to risk their lives to ensure their families and their people could someday be free of my father’s oppression. They had remained in the city and built a rebellion when I had fled. Yet despite their nobility, they would suffer the same fate as me.

  Closing my eyes, I could still see Marke’s shop burning, the smoke blotting out the stars. Jennah’s screams still echoed in my ears.

  The king and his men were monsters, and I felt powerless to stop them.

  I realized my hands were shaking, so I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, clasping my fingers together tightly. Where was the Giver of Life now, when I’d agreed to use the gift he’d given me? You gave me my life and a purpose. So give me my mission. Now what?

  My only answer was silence.

  CHAPTER 15

  I slipped in and out of consciousness for hours, praying and thinking with no further clarity. Often I closed my eyes in an attempt to shut out the dark. The cold air kept me shivering even as I pulled my cloak close about me, pulling up the hood and shoving my hands in my pockets. Over the sounds of my heartbeat and breathing, I occasionally heard water drip and distant skittering—probably rats. I cringed at the sound.

  Eventually I heard another noise: first, approaching footsteps echoing along the corridors, and then voices. As they drew nearer, I realized that one belonged to a woman. Light pierced the blackness, casting shadows on the wall opposite my cell door. The voices were coming toward me.

  To give me food rations? My stomach growled at the thought, reminding me that it had been a long time since my last meal. But anxiety, fear, and sadness still wrestled within me too, pressing down on my heart and twisting in my stomach until I felt sick. I wasn’t sure if I was interested in food, but I needed it.

  “Here we are, Your Highness,” came a guard’s voice outside my prison door.

  I almost gasped aloud. Your Highness?

  “Visitor!” the guard shouted gruffly, and he went about unlocking the door as noisily as possible. He swung open my door and stepped aside.

  Scrambling to my feet, I blinked against the light streaming in through the open doorway. At first she was just a dark form standing there, still and solemn. Slowly my eyes adjusted so I could see her face, shrouded in shadows. For a few breathless seconds the queen’s expression was void of any signs of recognition.

  Why had she come?

  Then her stern face softened and her eyebrows lifted: she knew me. With a deep breath, I dared to span the distance between us until I stood directly in front of her. Neither of us spoke as we studied each other in the dim light.

  I was startled to find that after years of having to stretch my neck to look up at my mother, I was now gazing down at her. Everything about her frame looked fragile and small. I was dismayed to see what changes four years had wrought upon her: her face was creased with wrinkles, her dark hair streaked with grey, and her eyes dim and sad. Even her posture wa
s less powerful and poised. She looked stern and hard, yet fragile, like the smallest shove could loosen her grip on herself and she would finally give up and shatter.

  Without warning, my throat burned with tears, but I held them back. I saw the queen glance over her shoulder, toward the guard.

  “Leave us,” she ordered him.

  He walked down the corridor to give us space, his heavy boots thudding dully on the stone floor.

  The queen turned to me. “So the news I hear from the guards is true. You came back.” Her voice was soft and low. Was she relieved? Accusatory? Prepared to watch me be sentenced to death a second time?

  Her eyes. They are so dark. At first I could not respond for fear of crying and my mouth trembled. Angry, I bit my lip to keep it steady. How can you stand there and do nothing when your daughter is in prison? I swallowed and managed to speak. “Yes.” My voice was surprisingly firm.

  She lifted her hand…slowly, slowly…and reached out toward me, as if to touch my cheek. At the last moment her hand wavered and her fingers brushed at my hood, sliding it back. Her eyes weren’t as bright as they used to be; they were a faded green that reminded me of seaweed when it washed ashore and began to lose its color. She let her hand fall back to her side.

  Our silence stretched on for minutes…hours…years.

  Something inside me snapped and I dared to open my mouth, if only to whisper. “Mother.” The word tasted foreign on my lips, sliding around on my tongue like a bittersweet flavor. I stopped, not knowing what to say next.

  Her body stiffened and she stepped backward. “How dare you use that term to address me.” Tears sparkled in her eyes and her lips quivered as they twisted into a scowl. “My daughter, the princess, was banished four years ago when she chose to slander the king’s name.” The last word came out in a fierce whisper. No matter how angry she had been with me when I was a girl, I had never heard this much fury packed into her voice. “You are not my daughter. She would not betray her own father or plot with a band of rebels to murder him. You are nothing but a criminal.”