Silent Kingdom

by Rachel L. Schade

  My mind was numb, my mouth dry. I dropped my eyes to the floor, unable to meet her hard gaze any longer. The familiar pain of betrayal returned, coursing through every vein in my body, squeezing through every organ, threatening to consume me. I could not speak or think or even breathe; I could only feel.

  Vaguely I was aware of my hands trembling at my sides while my mother spun on her heel and marched from the room. I forced my lungs to work—sucking air in, out, in, out—as I listened to the departing footsteps, as the light slowly drifted down the corridor. Leaving me in darkness again.

  I sank to the floor, leaning my back against the stone wall and becoming increasingly aware of the emptiness surrounding me. A thousand thoughts and emotions whirled through me, the most prominent being anger. She doesn’t believe the king is a murderer. My mind reeled. She does not know. She does not know the king tried to execute me.

  But she had still betrayed me. She stood by the king when he “banished” me, and she didn’t even question my imprisonment or execution now. She would let me die. No mother should treat her daughter this way. I squeezed my eyes shut against the blackness. This isn’t right. The emotion grew—a raging fire towering higher, higher, higher—until it overwhelmed me and erupted in a scream.

  My own voice sounded strange in my ears, piercing and wild and desperate as it echoed off the walls. My lungs gasped for air and my raw throat begged for relief before I finally let my cries fade into nothingness. After all my years of silence, my wordless shriek expressed more than an entire book could have. Yet at the same time, it said nothing. It did nothing. I was alone and helpless, without an escape. Still, the sound continued to ring in my ears, pierce my heart, and keep me company long after the quiet settled around me.

  Exhausted, I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Whether I did it to try to shrink until I disappeared into the emptiness, or to pretend to hold myself together, I was not sure. Slowly I gave into tears. I let the sobs rack my body until I couldn’t breathe and thought I would be ill. After what felt like hours, I curled up in the corner of my cell and managed to sink into a restless sleep.

  It was impossible to tell how much time passed. In and out of nightmares, I opened and closed my eyes to the same unending blackness and stillness. Sometimes my dreams taunted me with visions of my mother returning to my cell and having compassion on me, as mothers were supposed to. Other times Avrik was my rescuer, regretting his decision and rushing to my aid like the heroes in books. But no matter what sleep brought, my greatest nightmares were my waking thoughts.

  The pain of loss and abandonment was quickly driving away my fears until my worst fear was not to be executed, but to live. Where was the Giver of Life in this living death? Had he healed me in the woods just to lead me here, into isolation and despair? What good was I doing locked in a cell?

  As time dragged on and the tears came and went, I began to hate myself, too. Despite the truth I carried, I had held it in all these years. When I could have spoken and perhaps spared others pain, I’d been silent. What good are words if no one believes them? I argued with myself, but I knew I was still to blame. What good is a voice if I do not speak?

  In my prison cell I saw myself for what I was: selfish and cowardly. Maybe I deserved to suffer, like my people had. Maybe I deserved to be abandoned, just as I had abandoned my family and my kingdom. Maybe I deserved to die.

  At great intervals, a guard would break the silence with his distant footsteps. I watched flickering torchlight dance along the walls outside my cell to herald his arrival. Without ceremony he would shove a tray through the gap beneath my cell door and stride away, leaving my ears ringing from the unusual noise.

  I left the first few trays of food untouched. I felt sick to my stomach, not hungry. Burrowing my head into my cloak, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to escape into unconsciousness again.

  At some point I drifted off into a dream that was half-nightmare, half-memory. The details were as vivid as they had been the day the events happened, but some were wrong.

  In my dream, I walked with my father along the beach, far below the palace, and listened to his stern voice rise over the sound of crashing waves. It was a day not long before my uncle’s death, when whispers had begun to echo through the palace corridors about the possibility of a new king.

  “There is a chance that you and I both will soon be holding a more prominent position in the public eye,” the man before me was saying.

  My breath caught in my throat and I stopped in my tracks. It was one thing to hear servants gossip together; it was another to hear my father say the words. Overhead, the gulls’ cries sounded mournful, like notes to a tragic song. Even the sea and the wind spoke of loss. A thousand questions spun through my mind and slipped away just as quickly, vanishing into nothingness. There were no words.

  I couldn’t find my voice.

  “It will be imperative that you obey me as both your father and sovereign, Halia,” he went on. “I will be ensuring you learn proper behavior for someone of royal blood, someone who might take the throne someday.”

  I frowned as my father looked down at me. “Your cousin will be king when he comes of age,” he explained, “as long as disaster or sickness does not strike him as well.” His brow crinkled and he reached out to pat my shoulder. “These circumstances are not pleasant to consider, of course, but they are necessary to prepare for. One can never be too careful.”

  Aware of trembles running through my frame, I hugged myself in an attempt to keep warm until I realized I wasn’t cold. A solitary tear crept down my cheek but I swiped it away. Father was not one to give way to expressions of weakness, and I knew he would think crying during a discussion about matters of state would be inappropriate for one of “royal blood.” I hated to disappoint him.

  I closed my eyes. In a few moments, I would be fine. Don’t think about it. Your uncle will be fine. Everything will be fine.

  But when I opened my eyes, the dream shifted and the memory transformed into a nightmare. The king was still looking down at me, but his expression was wrong. Instead of his usual firm gaze, he wore an accusatory one. His countenance was hard and unwavering, like the day I realized he was a murderer.

  “How dare you betray me,” he said. “How dare you speak words of treason against your father and sovereign! Who do you think you are, that anyone would ever listen to your wild ideas? You are no one. You’re disowned, an outcast—you’re less than a beggar on the streets. Your accusations are nothing but the imagination of a child, the words of a young brat against those of a king.”

  I tried to protest, but my throat filled with seawater. It burned my throat, my mouth, and my lungs. I was mute; I was dying. When I opened my mouth to scream in anger and fear, nothing but water poured past my lips.

  I woke gasping and coughing. Instinctively my fingers flew to my lips, but my mouth was parched and my throat felt like sandpaper. How long had I gone without drinking?

  Slowly I settled back against the cold wall and tried to curl into a comfortable position. Rats skittered across my cell, exploring the tray of old food. Was it the third tray I’d ignored, or the fourth? I shivered, but the sounds of rats gnawing at my rations in the overwhelming quiet were impossible to ignore. There would be no more sleeping again for a long time.

  Instead I lay motionless, staring into the darkness and hoping the rats wouldn’t decide to gnaw on me next. Giver of Life, do you also give death if someone asks for it?

  Memories came and went: moments with my father as he scolded me for behavior unsuited for a princess, hours with my mother as we read by the fireside or discussed my future. The memories were so far removed from me now they felt like they belonged to someone else. They’d occurred lifetimes ago, during a time when I’d known security. When I’d looked to the future, I looked to it with hope and purpose, knowing that as part of the royal family, I would be able to play a role in Misroth’s welfare and maybe make my parents proud of me. Maybe even
earn their love. There was no anticipation of the nightmare I was living.

  Where was that important royal woman now, when I was on the floor of a prison cell, waiting to die?

  ~ ~ ~

  Another age passed until I heard the guard’s distant footsteps returning. As the torchlight flickered outside, the rats scattered.

  “Push me your tray,” a gruff voice demanded.

  I lay there several moments, wondering if I cared enough to move. I could lie here and never move again. I could refuse to give my father the pleasure of executing me; I could stay here until death carried me away and I could stop feeling pain.

  But the anger I’d felt in my nightmare still burned inside. How dare my father steal my life from me? How could I give up now, when speaking the truth was my only chance to give my short life some purpose before it ended?

  I used my anger to strengthen me and push myself to my knees. Crawling across the rough stone, I shoved the tray through the gap beneath my door and received a new one. In a way it was good that my chunk of bread was hard and chewy, because it forced me to eat slowly. Even so, the beggar’s meal disappeared all too quickly. My stomach felt emptier now than before I’d forced myself to eat.

  But the weight of my despair had eased. Before my inevitable execution, I would make the world hear my voice. I didn’t know how, but I was sure that somehow the Giver would offer me one last gift: an opportunity to speak.

  ~ ~ ~

  I was sure days had passed when I finally heard two sets of footsteps approaching once again. Had they come to lead me away? Would they bring me before the king, or march me off to be executed immediately?

  My heart pounded as I scrambled to my feet and waited for the torchlight to announce my visitors’ arrival. When the steps stopped outside my door, I had to blink and squint to adjust to the light and make out the forms before me. One was a palace guard I did not recognize, holding a torch aloft. The other was the Captain of the Guard.

  The guard opened my cell door and he and Narek entered. I remained at the back of the cell, pressed against the wall, refusing to move. I wanted to punch Narek’s face, to force the smirk from it, but I knew I would be no match for him in a physical fight, so I glowered instead.

  “Come,” Narek said. “The king desires to see you.”

  An icy feeling coursed through my veins as he and the other man shackled me and led me out of my prison cell. Our boots thudded dully on the slick stone and the torchlight cast eerie shadows along the walls.

  I kept my posture straight and tall, walking like a true royal, as my father had always wanted me to. No matter what, I would never let the people who wanted me to break see how much damage they had inflicted.

  Narek kept a heavy hand on my right shoulder as he guided me forward. I glanced toward him. “You have been slack with your interrogation responsibilities lately.”

  His face remained impassive, but his eyes were sharp. “Your father has not ordered for you to be interrogated. Yet.”

  As we wound through the corridors, uneasy thoughts coursed through my mind. Though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see my imprisoned friends or not, I didn’t hear a sound or see a sign of occupants in any of the cells we passed. Fear scratched my throat, my heart. No, they can’t be dead. They can’t…

  Anger fired through my veins. “How does it feel to have so much innocent blood on your hands?”

  Narek clenched his fists, but didn’t deign to answer. Still, that slight response was enough to make me smile in victory. In some small way, I had unsettled him.

  We ascended the steps and the guard threw open the door, letting daylight pour into the stairwell and sting my eyes. I squinted against it while the men guided me through the palace, toward the Great Hall.

  Guards stationed outside the Great Hall’s double doors swung them wide and we swept in. My throat constricted as I took in the huge space. The marble floors sparkled beneath multiple chandeliers, and the ceilings were covered in dozens of hand painted murals depicting Misrothian history. Against the far wall, the king’s and queen’s thrones of elaborately carved dark wood gleamed in the blinding light. Adorned with the dragon Vehgar, set on a blue backdrop with a scarlet border, Misroth’s flag hung behind the thrones. The right wall was one large window overlooking the palace gardens, full of only a few living plants layered in snow and ice.

  Standing in a row before the thrones were the rebels, their wrists shackled and guards flanking each of them on either side. I could scarcely embrace the relief I felt, knowing it would be short-lived.

  Narek brought me forward to join the row and face the thrones. The queen’s was unoccupied, but my father lounged in his. His grey eyes were as piercing as I remembered them; his face, if more wrinkled, still held his typical strong, unwavering expression. He raised a shaggy eyebrow at me when I halted next to Jennah, the chains at my wrists clinking together.

  “The prisoners, Your Highness,” Narek announced, pressing his fist to his heart and bowing his head.

  King Zarev nodded, studying us each thoughtfully. I dared to wrench my eyes from his face and turn toward my companions.

  My heart froze as I took in their ragged appearances. Their faces were gaunt, with dark circles under their eyes and pain ravaging their expressions. A jagged, bloody line traced its way from Jennah’s left temple to her chin. Gare’s hands were fists, but he was missing two fingers from his right one. Benor had a bloody bandage wrapped about his head to cover his left eye, and tears in Layk’s shirt revealed burns marring his skin.

  Bile tingled along my tongue, but I choked it back, refusing to let the king see my reaction.

  My father’s lips, usually set firm and unyielding, twisted into something that almost resembled a smirk. “The motley rebel band, prepared to risk their lives to stand against the king. How bravely you withstand interrogations and refuse to compromise your fellow rebels’ locations.” He scratched his chin, where his black and grey beard shadowed his face.

  His stare flicked to me. “And the long-lost princess, returned home at last, as a rebel.”

  I could feel the eyes of my companions boring into me. Drawing a deep breath, I clenched my jaw and tightened my fists in order to keep my body from trembling.

  “I suppose we can’t hope to glean any information from you, if you have withstood our attempts this long,” Zarev mused. He turned to Narek and waved his hand dismissively. “Schedule a public execution. Make them an example to the people.”

  The guards began dragging the rebels from the Great Hall. Narek grasped my arm, pulling me back toward the doors with them, but I continued to stare at my father. “You monster,” I growled. “How dare you, how dare—”

  Narek backhanded me across the cheek, making black spots dance before my eyes. I stumbled backward, with only the captain to hold me up on my feet.

  “Silence,” he hissed, and dragged me from the room.

  My cheek smarted and my eyes watered as he led me back through the halls and down into the dungeons. When we arrived at my cell, he removed my chains and shoved me in so roughly I fell onto the stone floor. Pulling myself up, I grunted in pain and glared at him over my shoulder, but he slammed the door. The keys jangled as he locked me in and stormed down the corridor.

  The cold, dank space enveloped me once more. Away from the king’s and captain’s prying eyes, I allowed myself to release the tears that burned my throat.

  ~ ~ ~

  More footsteps jerked me from a shallow sleep. A night could have passed, or days, for all I could tell. I shielded my eyes against the torchlight as a guard unlocked my door and swung it open, letting Narek enter.

  “The executions are scheduled for tomorrow morning,” he said, without greeting or ceremony. His face was as stony as ever.

  I swallowed, trying to fight the rising panic. The silence settled heavily in the small space until he spoke again.

  “You should prepare yourself.”

  He took a step back, and his movement returned me t
o reality.

  I raised my head and met his stare again. “So it will not be drowning?” My voice was low, full of all the anger that fueled my strength. “Like the way you and my father tried to murder me when I was thirteen?”

  Although his face remained a mask, he blinked and hesitated before his eyes narrowed. “No. These days we publicly execute our criminals, but you already know that, since you and your comrades were so eager to stop our executions of late. As the king said, you will be an example to the people.”

  I looked away, staring off into the shadows of my cell.

  Narek withdrew and his man shut the door with a clang. Without another word, they left, abandoning me to darkness.

  The emotions rose up to greet me, my only companions in the blackness. Sadness. Anger. Fear. They pressed in from all sides, and I shut my eyes tightly, as if that could block them out.

  Giver of Life, give me words. Don’t let me die without speaking.

  If I had to die, I would die for my kingdom.

  CHAPTER 16

  I waited for death. It felt surreal, pacing the cell floor, thinking a million thoughts. What would life have been like, if Truth had never come to me? If I had remained ignorant of the king’s crimes all these years? Would I be married through a royal arrangement by now? I shuddered at the thought. Would I have discovered what the king had done…and would I have kept that dark secret to myself without a curse that forced me to speak?

  My mind drifted to the new path my life had taken. What if I had stayed in Evren, never to return? Once I’d believed I would live there the rest of my life, nestled in a lonely valley far from the king’s reaches. I found joy in the freedom of wandering the hills alone or with Avrik, unaccompanied by guards and unrestricted by the rules of royal conduct. I had responsibilities, but there was something wholesome about a hard day’s work of cooking, cleaning, or planting. There was the possibility of peace at home and adventure in traveling, because I’d dared to dream of someday helping Avrik trade goods in other cities.