I wondered what it would feel like to die. Would it hurt much? Would the stranger, the Giver, come for me again and lead me to the mysterious world that lay beyond death? My head pounded and my hands grew clammy as I rolled these questions around in my head, inspecting them from every angle.
In the long hours that passed, I prayed and feared. I walked in circles; I paced; I huddled in a corner. I let anger consume me, followed closely by anger’s shadowy cousin: despair.
The people I left behind didn’t even know who I was, and now I would never have the chance to explain. I longed to be able to tell Lyanna and Rev goodbye, to see friends like Bren and Shilam one more time. I ached for the familiar places of Evren that I would never see again.
When the guard finally brought my next meal, he announced it was my last. I rolled the bread between the palms of my hands as I considered this would be the last food I would ever taste. Cringing, I pushed back the fear that tugged at my stomach and forced myself to chew a couple bites until I realized there was no point in choking it down. I wouldn’t need food where I was going.
Exhausted, with no more energy left to feel or think, I huddled against the wall and waited.
~ ~ ~
It seemed like moments later when footsteps stopped outside my cell again. Keys jangled as a guard unlocked my door and swung it open. I squinted as torchlight flooded the tiny space.
“Up, prisoner. It’s time,” a gruff voice announced.
I had no reason to resist. Brushing strands of hair from my face, I stood. Two guards stepped into my cell to grasp my arms, chain my wrists before me again, and lead me out. I frowned at their unfamiliar faces. Where was Narek when I wanted to punch him in the face before I died?
They guided me through the dungeon passageways and up the steps toward the main floor of the palace. When we reached the top, they shoved the door open, and the daylight was almost blinding. My eyes watered as we traced our way through numerous hallways, toward the palace grounds. We passed servants who averted their gazes or stopped and stared, and I wondered if they had any idea who I was. Each time I stared openly at them, studying their features to see if I could find any familiar faces among them, but I knew no one. Whenever they met my searching look, they quickly lowered their heads and my vague hopes disappeared. Had my father hired an entirely new staff in the past four years? My stomach plummeted when I imagined what had happened to the previous servants.
As we drew near the main doors, one of the servants stepped out in front of us to block our path. He hesitated and cleared his throat, forcing the men behind me to stop. “Her Majesty requests to speak with the prisoner.”
The guards’ grip on my arms tightened. “This is highly unusual,” one muttered.
“Do you wish to disobey your queen?”
Grunting, the guards followed the servant’s lead, pushing me through a doorway to the right. I knew the room immediately: one of the dozens of small studies open to anyone in the palace, unlike the king’s large personal library. There before me were the floor-toceiling windows overlooking the sea that gave the illusion one was standing directly over the water, the view that had made me giddy as a child. Near the back of the room, by the windows, was the door that led to further rooms deeper in the palace: sitting rooms, conference rooms, endless rooms and hallways. On my left and right, the walls were covered in shelves, filled with books I’d spent hours browsing through, to my cousin Gillen’s ultimate boredom. Here before me was the old desk I’d hidden under more than once in our games of hide-and-seek. And right beside me was the old statue of Berye, one of the past kings of Misroth, that Gillen and I pretended was a villain with his sword extended to attack us.
As the guards paused, still clutching me tightly, I turned back toward the windows and the silhouette gazing out at the tranquil sea, its waves awash with the pale light of dawn.
I blinked against the light as the servant stepped forward, bowed, and announced, “The prisoner, Your Highness.”
“Leave us alone,” the queen ordered without turning. Her rich blue dress fell in silky folds about her feet, glittering with hundreds of silver stars embroidered into the skirt and bodice. As always, her hair was pulled back in elegant plaits and her head was lifted high. Yet for all her usual poise, the dress appeared to swallow her small form and, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders stooped.
My heart beat heavily in my chest, making the men’s footsteps and the clang of the door dull in my ears. I waited until the queen turned to me and then I forced my legs to move forward. It wasn’t until then that I realized I’d been holding my breath; I exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension inside.
Once again, the silence was oppressive. The queen’s face was pale and her eyes—dare I believe it?—seemed softer than before. There was a light in them that I remembered from years ago, a light that had sparked in her gaze whenever she looked at me. Was my mother still in there, somewhere?
This time I had to speak.
“How can you stay here?” My voice broke with the tension of a hundred unshed tears tightening my throat. “The king is a tyrant. Do you not believe your own daughter? You have to do something and save the kingdom…save me.”
The pain on her face transformed into anger, and then confusion. She searched my expression like she could find answers there, and it seemed that the wrinkles on her face multiplied. She shook her head, slowly at first, then more insistently. “You are wrong. You still spread treacherous rumors.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.
I could have thrown myself at her feet. How can you believe his lies? Why don’t you see? I wanted to scream my questions, but I could not cause a scene for fear of the guards overhearing, and I couldn’t anger her for fear of losing all chance of reasoning with her. All I could do was repeat the truth, feeding it to her in small doses. “You are not content,” I insisted. “The king is using his power to oppress our people, and he is publicly executing innocent citizens in the streets. He has begun a war to extend his kingdom and his power, and Gillen is risking his life because of his greed. All of this suffering is unnecessary, wrong! We need to stop this. You can stop him.”
Her arms hung limply at her sides and her face was empty. As she took another step toward me, her brow furrowed and her eyes glistened. I watched her mouth move soundlessly, and she reached her hand out to touch my arm. This time, she would not hold back from me. Would she?
Her hand hung in the air, fingers shaking as indecision overtook her once more.
“Even if you believe the king’s lies—that I hate you and have joined criminals in order to murder you both—remember Gillen’s goodness,” I pleaded. “No one has accused him of betrayal, yet look at the price he is paying. He is serving in a needless war, when he should be here, claiming his throne.”
The queen’s face was pale, her eyes wild with conflicting emotions. “He is fighting to protect us! He is serving his kingdom.”
“Please…” My voice was almost a whimper, and I hated how it sounded in my ears. “I am your daughter. Does that mean nothing to you?”
Her lips trembled. No—her whole body was shaking. “You ask me to choose between my husband and my daughter?”
Anger blazed in my heart. “No,” I said, my voice firm. “Your husband already forced that choice on you when he sentenced me to death! I ask you to choose between his lies and the truth!”
My mother’s eyes widened, flickering with pain and confusion. “Sentence you to death? No, he would not kill you, no matter what you did.” She shook her head as if trying to convince herself. “H-he told me you are being escorted out of the kingdom, to be banished. Exiled as you were before…” She gulped and her voice began to tremble as her confidence wavered. “He would not…lie to me?”
I stared at her. He had been feeding her lies all this time, lies she still believed. How many long years had he used and manipulated her? If I could encourage the doubt I had instilled in her a bit more…
A sound jerked her away and snapped m
y eyes to the back of the room, to the entrance near the window. With a rustle of robe and a stride that beat out a perfect rhythm on the floorboards, the king appeared.
My heart dropped. He heard.
“Halia,” he greeted. A grin spread across his face—a grin that said, Here you are, at last. “It has been so long…” He stopped behind the queen and reached with his left hand to grasp her shoulder. “Ryn, my dear, after your support and faith in me all these years, how can you summon this traitor to listen to her counsel? Now she will be late to her own execution.”
She turned to him, a protest forming on her lips, but her eyes widened and her body stiffened. A small gasp escaped her lips as blood seeped through the front of her dress, drowning the silver stars in red. The king wrenched his right arm back and I saw the curved dagger he clutched, long and dripping with blood. With a careless toss, he let it clatter to the floor while the queen toppled forward.
Chains clanking around my wrists, I caught her in my arms. Trembling, I kneeled and cradled the woman who had once cradled me. Her body was as light as it looked, a limp form bleeding out onto my clothes. As she stared up into my face I felt tears collecting, blurring my vision until one splashed onto her cheek.
A gurgling sound rose from her throat; her lips could hardly form whatever words she was trying to say. “I…I…” Her voice faded and her mouth moved soundlessly in a message I could not translate.
My breath caught in my lungs and I couldn’t speak. There was nothing I could do but watch the life slip from her eyes. With one final spasm, her mouth ceased fighting to move and her gaze became unfocused, looking through me to somewhere far beyond. I couldn’t rip my eyes from her, even when more tears blinded me, even when the sight made me want to vomit and scream all at once. Her form was pitiful, limp and faded where once she had been beautiful and regal, like a wilted flower abandoned and trampled.
I laid the queen down on the cold floor. The blood pooling beneath her made my stomach churn, but I brushed her eyelids closed and stood, drawing in a deep breath and bracing myself. I felt my fingertips, warm and sticky with my mother’s blood, tremble at my sides, ready to strike. Ready to fight back.
A shadow moved between the white light streaming through the window and the queen’s form. I lifted my face to stare back at the king, the man I’d once longed to make proud, the man I’d wanted to love me.
“It’s a shame to have to kill her; she believed everything I ever told her.” His gaze rested emotionlessly on the queen’s face before settling on me. “But once you are dead, the rumors of your return will spread beyond the palace walls and the entire kingdom will hear of the hapless rebel princess. Do you think perhaps your mother loved you enough to consider defying me, once she realized I’d killed you?”
With a shrug, the king kicked the dagger with the toe of his boot, sending the blade skidding beneath the desk.
I snapped.
Snarling, I lunged like an animal, colliding with him squarely and forcing him off his feet. We toppled to the floor with my knees lodged in his chest. Even with a chain dangling between my wrists, restricting my movements, I still felt stronger than the aged man beneath me. He opened his mouth to choke for air and I pressed my knees in harder. Let him know what it’s like to suffocate, a voice inside me prompted. As I gazed into his wide eyes, I imagined that if I only pressed my weight down harder, I could crush his body. I could break him. My fury was so hot and thick I could taste the sweetness of revenge on my tongue, and it was intoxicating.
With one deep gasp, he caught his breath and gained his voice. “Help! Murder!”
Guards threw open the doors and dashed toward me. One of the men wrenched me from the king while two more restrained me.
Others rushed to the king’s side to help him up. He gasped, brushing off his robes and glaring at me. His voice feigned fury. “This wretch has murdered the queen!” he announced to his men, stabbing a finger toward the body. “She stole my dagger and, like the animal she is, she slew my wife. Take this prisoner to her execution, immediately!” He flung the words at me like he could pierce me with them. As if he could destroy me again.
“No!” I screamed with all the rage of betrayal, with all the fear of imminent death, with all the horror and sadness of loss. Tears streamed freely down my face and loose strands of my hair clung to my wet cheeks. “How dare you…how…” My words were lost in sobs while I broke down, my whole body shaking as I collapsed to my knees again.
“She’s a lunatic,” the king said, his eyes turning cold and his voice becoming low and even once more. “Take her away.”
This was not how I was supposed to die. I was supposed to stand up against the king and speak the truth. I was not supposed to let him win. But my mind was consumed with emotion, and all I could do was try to wrench myself free of the guards.
I looked up and met the king’s eyes: they were ice, silently daring me to say more. I hung my head, biting my lip; this was not the audience I wanted.
The guards led me from the room and stormed down the hall, pausing at the front to wait for two men to open them. We pounded through the main courtyard, through the gate, and into the grounds. The sun was creeping over the horizon, glaring down at me and sparkling on a fresh blanket of snow. The cold air snapped me back to my senses and stopped my tears.
The guards’ grasp on my arms dug into my skin as we wound our way past empty flowerbeds and the skeletons of leafless trees, by stone statues weatherworn and solemn, by a few brave flowers pushing through the snow and stretching toward the sun. The descent into the city was a blur.
Time was running through my fingers, out of my grasp. No matter how empty I felt, no matter how much I had longed for death in prison, I did not truly want to die. Not yet. The longing to survive and the fear of death pulsed through my veins with every step I took. Feverishly, I begged the Life-Giver to hear me once more. I suppose it’s too much to ask for another miracle, but if you could give me my life…
The walk through Misroth was eerily quiet. There was no recognition on the faces of the citizens lined along the streets when we marched through the city. They were cold and silent, watching me with eyes almost as lifeless as my mother’s had been. I shuddered and shoved the thought away, closing my eyes to block out the memory. If the people hated the king’s sentence on my life, no one was protesting. If they agreed, no one was celebrating. There was a calm familiarity with the proceedings. I was merely one more execution in a long string of public deaths. If the king had his way, I would be forgotten by sunset.
We rounded the last turn and the execution stage, resting in the shadow of Eldon’s statue, came into view. Near the edge lay the chopping block where I would soon be resting my neck. The executioner himself stood nearby, leaning on his axe and gazing at the eastern sky, alight with brilliant shades of orange and pink. As the first rays of sunlight leapt past the horizon and glanced off the rooftops, I was nearly blinded.
I averted my gaze and concentrated on my boots as I took each step: one, two, one, two… I tried to forget what I was walking toward.
“Move aside!” the guards shouted, their voices ringing harshly in my ears and echoing in the stillness. We began wading through the gathering crowd, the people moving to give us a wide berth.
As we pressed closer to the stand, I noticed a row of prisoners, bound and despondent, lined beside it: my rebel friends from Marke’s shop. Jennah caught my eye and shook her head as if to say, “I’m sorry we failed you.”
The crowd murmured around me, hundreds of Misrothians whispering about the rebels’ upcoming deaths. I glanced up and saw an elderly man nudge the woman at his side and point to something behind me. When I tried to look over my shoulder, the guards slammed their hands into my back to knock me forward.
“Mother, Mother, is the king coming?” a boy to my left asked.
“King Zarev himself at the execution? Is this girl someone important?” a man asked. “Are these five important leaders of the rebelli
on?”
So that was what had captured their interest. The king had come to watch me die.
I tightened my hands into fists. With a deep breath I lifted my chin and stared straight ahead, refusing to flinch at the sight of the chopping block. The king would not see me cower at the thought of death. I was not the timid little girl he remembered.
The talk around me continued as the crowd parted, staring back at the king and then at me, but I refused to remove my gaze from the stand. With each step I took, the executioner eyed me with an intensity I couldn’t read: was he eager to slay the rebel traitors? Did he enjoy his work? I met his gaze without wavering, holding my jaw firm.
I knew there were tracks running down my cheeks from where my tears had mingled with smudges of dirt. I knew my hair fell in tangles past my shoulders and my dress were covered in prison filth and dried blood. I knew my form was thin, my face pale, and my eyes shadowed by dark circles. I knew I probably looked wild and unintimidating, but I refused to look weak.
The wooden steps creaked as I climbed my way to the top of the platform. My heart throbbed in my ears and my legs trembled when I stopped and the guards spun me around to face the crowd filling the city square. Far in the back, the king’s procession approached. First came his escort on royal stallions, led by Captain Narek, followed by the king himself and several more guards bringing up the rear. They pressed through the people and paused near the back of the crowd, overlooking the whole scene.
The king needs a royal seat for the show. The thought made my anger flare into rage, but I would not lose control now.
All around, the voices stopped and a breathless quiet descended like mist upon the square. I scanned the people’s expressions in vain for a sign of sympathy: there was only curiosity and fear. The only sounds I heard were the horses stomping and snorting impatiently and the wooden planks groaning as one of the king’s guard, a heavyset man, ascended the steps and faced the people.
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