“Good citizens of Misroth!” His voice was piercing in the stillness as it echoed off the surrounding buildings. “We are here today to witness the executions of several highly dangerous criminals and enemies of the state.”
Highly dangerous. Maybe my fear was turning into hysteria, but the idea of being highly dangerous amused me. With layers of dirt and sweat on my cheeks, it took an effort to smile and felt like my skin was cracking.
The man’s voice droned on. Were they truly planning to behead me, or was my punishment this long, dull speech? I smiled to myself until my gaze fell upon the king. He stared back at me, his eyes silver and merciless, and my stomach dropped.
I cannot let him win. Even if I must die today, I can’t let my father win.
But my time was growing short.
Hands on my shoulders jerked me back into the present. The guards shoved me across the platform, toward the chopping block. I wanted to shout that I was innocent and the king was evil, but I felt like my breath had been stolen from my lungs.
All of my stubborn thoughts of dying with dignity melted away. Dignity was for the resigned; I was full of fury. Even though I knew I wasn’t strong enough to resist the men, I froze and planted my feet, digging my heels in. They squeezed my arms tighter and dragged me forward.
Leaning on his axe, the executioner’s face was impassive. Even though I didn’t want to look, morbid curiosity pulled my eyes away from his expression and to the blade he was using as a cane. It seemed smaller than I expected it to be. What if it doesn’t cut through the first time? Will he have to…chop again? Bile rose to my mouth.
Behind me, the guards kicked my legs, forcing me to my knees. The boards groaned under my weight, a weary sigh. Maybe they were tired of the king’s tyranny too.
I wondered how just a short period of time could feel like an eternity. The crowd was motionless, as if every person in the city was holding his or her breath with me. Are there any rebels left willing to intercede? Doesn’t anyone know this is wrong?
But the people before me were strangers, bystanders refusing to stand up to the king the way the rebels and I had. No one was here to save my friends and me. We were alone.
Wind rushed against my face and blew wisps of hair into my eyes, and the guards shoved my head down until I was sprawled out uncomfortably on the chopping block. It was cold against my cheek.
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine away this place. In my mind, I was back in Evren with my real family, the ones who loved me. I was gardening with Lyanna, or preparing dinner with her as I waited eagerly for Rev to come home for the evening. I was practicing archery with Avrik, trading competitive quips as we fought to outdo each other. I was…
My thoughts shattered when I heard the executioner’s heavy trod, listened to the guards step back, waited as my heart crashed against my chest. It thudded out the seconds I had left to live.
Fight, Halia. It wasn’t a voice; it was a thought. But was it my own, or was the Life-Giver speaking to me again at last? I couldn’t tell.
If I tried to escape, I would never make it far. I knew the armed guards stood directly behind me. And I imagined that the execution would be less painful than what the guards’ wrath could inflict if I defied them.
I tried to block out the sound of the executioner shifting his weight as he prepared to lift his weapon.
Now would be a good time for the man from the woods to return, thought.
In my mind’s eye I could see my father’s smug face, almost feel his growing sense of victory as he snuffed out another threat to his throne. Do not let him win.
Anger throbbed through my veins. Did I come all this way to die?
The executioner grunted as he lifted his axe.
Say something, Halia. Speak!
The scream building inside me escaped. It was a cry of defiance, fear, and anger. It was a plea for life and a second chance from the One who had already saved me once. It was a shout for justice in the face of my pointless death. But it only came out in one feeble, desperate protest: “No!”
The word tore at my throat and sounded pathetic, like a whimper. But the sound of my own voice gave me strength. I tried again. “No!” This time the sound rang out in the stillness and echoed off the buildings.
I was aware of the executioner’s swinging motion above me, how he faltered. Caught in the momentum of his swing, his axe plummeted downward in a jerk. The blade slammed into the wood inches from my left ear.
“Idiot!” the speaker bellowed. The words sounded distant through the ringing in my ears. “Don’t let her trick you into pitying her. Give this criminal what she deserves!”
I was already moving, rolling myself off the chopping block and away from the executioner.
A guard was already behind me, snagging my elbow and dragging me back toward the block. “How far did you think you would get?” he jeered in my ear, his hot breath brushing my neck and sending a shiver of disgust through my body.
Wrenching away, I kicked at his knee. His leg buckled beneath him and his fingers slipped from my arm. I jumped backward as a second guard pounded across the platform. Despite every instinct screaming at me to run and try to survive, I stood my ground.
“The king is the true traitor!” I cried. My throat was raw, my voice hoarse.
“Blasphemy!” the speaker barked, jabbing a finger toward me.
As I spun around to face the crowd, I saw shock register on their faces. The people went silent to hear my words. “He’s a murderer!”
The guards were on either side of me now, dragging me to the chopping block and forcing me down on my knees. This is it. The realization struck me like an actual blow.
Words failed me. My gaze settled on the king, staring me down, daring me to speak again before the axe fell. The dream I’d had in my prison cell mocked me and the king’s taunting voice rang inside my head: Who do you think you are, that anyone would listen to you?
“No.” The quiet voice snapped me to the present. Above me, the executioner was shaking his head; the axe remained buried in the chopping block. The word was calm, but firm and powerful. “No,” he repeated.
“You dare defy the king?” the speaker shrieked.
“I have never hesitated to kill traitors and rebels posing threats to our kingdom,” the executioner said, “but I will not slay a girl. What threat could she possibly hold over the king?”
The people’s voices rose like a storm building on the sea.
Hope nestled in my chest. I could survive. I could speak the truth to this crowd, and—
Raging pain bit into my back, all the way through my abdomen, and I lowered my head to see the tip of a sword protruding from my stomach. My scream died in my throat. A patch of blood spread across my chest and ran down the front of my dress. It covered my mother’s dried blood; it covered everything with an overwhelming shade of red. Blood—my own blood was everywhere.
I heard a blade clatter to the floor and one of the guards stomp toward me. He leaned in close. “Let’s hear you scream out your blasphemies against the king now, you worthless traitor.”
The ringing in my ears was loud…loud…louder…so that I could barely make out his words. His face swam as he retreated. My head spun and my hands shook. I felt like I was falling, descending into a bottomless chasm, but I was still kneeling on the platform, unable to move. A shimmering mist quivered before my vision and an icy sensation washed over me. Darkness crowded at the edges of my vision, slowly but surely devouring me within its endless blackness.
The fact pierced through my shock and screamed itself at me: I’m dying.
CHAPTER 17
Coughing, I gasped again for air but choked on my own blood. I felt it trickle down my mouth and tasted it on my lips. My heartbeat slowed, thudding heavily against my chest as it pumped my lifeblood into a pool beneath me.
Numbness spread through my body and steadily dulled my feelings—my body’s way of coping with the pain. Numbness preparing me for death.
Or was his voice only in my head? The wrathful words didn’t sound like the cold, calculating man I’d once called father, though they chilled me all the same. I closed my eyes; I felt myself fading—falling, falling... By some miracle, I found the strength to catch myself.
But it wasn’t my own strength. I became aware of warmth embracing me, overtaking the cold. The warmth was coming from a pair of arms wrapped gently around me, catching my fall and holding me close.
The sound of a man weeping rose above the ringing in my ears, and I opened my eyes to see the man from the woods. Tears leaked down his cheeks and his mouth curved in such deep agony that I was overwhelmed.
But why now, when it was too late? Why hadn’t he come sooner and saved me like he had before?
I waited for the crowds to shout in surprise. I waited for him to leap to his feet and defend himself from the attacks that would surely come against anyone who would dare comfort the traitor as she died. He had appeared beside me so suddenly, without any resistance from the king’s men. How…? And then I knew: he was here only for me to see. In my final, fading seconds, he had arrived to lead me into the next life.
But I hadn’t accomplished what I set out to do, and I was not ready to leave. Although I couldn’t hear the king anymore, I knew he was gloating; my defeat was his victory.
I am his daughter. This is all wrong. Speak!
I coughed; I gasped; I struggled to force the words from my mouth.
“This is wrong.” It was a croak, barely audible even to me. I tried to draw breath again, and this time I was surprised to find it easier. Air rushed into my lungs, and without thinking, I shouted, “No matter what he tells you, the king is a liar and a murderer!”
It felt like I was looking through a scope, staring at a distant scene of Misrothians gazing back at me. No one moved, and the air seemed impossibly still.
Though I couldn’t see him clearly, I addressed my father. “How dare you, the king, execute an innocent citizen?” My trembling voice gained strength. Strength and a feeling brazenly close to hope pulsed through my veins. It was as if my body, while it drained of blood, was being filled with fire instead. “How dare you—my father—kill your own wife and your brother? Or your own daughter?”
Gasps rose from the people, but I didn’t care about their reaction. All I wanted to do was tell them the truth and stop the king from snuffing out any more innocent lives.
I found the king, still at the back of the crowd, and settled my gaze on him. With a deep breath, I unleashed my torrent of words, the words I had held back for far too long. “Yes, I am Halia, princess and daughter of King Zarev and Queen Ryn, and niece of the former King Reylon. My uncle did not die a natural death.” My heart thudded steadily against my chest and I felt renewed. Perhaps I was somehow borrowing strength from the man holding me up. “King Zarev forfeited his brother’s trust and slipped poison into his drinks. He murdered King Reylon to take the throne. When I discovered this, my father sentenced me to death to cover his crime, but I escaped.”
I drew another deep breath and found I was no longer choking on blood. How was my voice so strong? I pressed onward, desperate to share the truth before it was too late, before the king’s men stopped me forever.
“All of these years you have believed the king’s lies and let him tyrannize you. You’ve been ensnared by a false king, and you’ve accepted his greed and cruelty.”
My firm gaze swept the crowd, scanning faces and reading emotions. Confused and awestruck, the citizens stared back at me in silence. In that moment it seemed as if the whole world had stopped to hear me.
Would they accept my message? Did they believe my words?
Giver of Truth, let them see.
The numbness that had enveloped my body was fading and I felt pain stabbing through me again. I couldn’t give up now. I pushed through the pain; I pushed through the fear.
The silent princess would never be silent again.
“How can you listen to this madness?” screamed the speaker. “Kill her!”
The dumbfounded guards drew their weapons as one, but a few of them looked hesitant. Would they execute their princess? Which royal leader would they defy?
My voice was still strong. “How can you live enslaved to lies now that you know the truth?”
As I stared at the guards, I realized my vision had cleared and the darkness was retreating. The world spun and I was thankful again that the man’s strong arms were keeping me from falling. Then the dizziness passed.
People were gasping and pointing. Fear jolted through me. Could they see the Life-Giver now? Would the guards attack him? No—they were not looking in his direction. They were looking…at me?
I glanced down at my stomach. My wound was gone. In its place, beneath my tattered clothes, ran a long, white scar. My heartbeat was a solid, heavy rhythm pounding in my head, and there was no more pain, no more numbness. I would have even questioned the fact that mere moments ago I had been dying—or dead—if not for my scar and the blood still pooled on the platform beneath me.
How…?
Shocked, I turned to look at the man beside me, but he was gone.
With a deep breath, I slowly pushed to my feet. Renewed strength and energy charged through my being.
The citizens were shouting, crying out in awe and fear and anger.
I dared to look at the king again. For the first time, uncertainty leaked into his eyes.
“You were dead!” the speaker was shouting in a mixture of fury and disbelief. “You died!”
My eyes never left my father’s. Around him, his mounted guard drew their own weapons and turned to him, awaiting orders.
He pointed with his blade. “Kill her! Kill all of the prisoners!”
Despite all I had been through, despite the fact that I was weaponless, I felt stronger than I had ever felt in my life.
The executioner yanked a set of keys from a nearby guard, who didn’t even speak in protest. He unlocked the chains on my wrists and handed me the keys. Turning, I lifted the sword lying behind me, the one still covered in my blood, and faced the guards lined up behind me.
I sank into a fighting stance while they stormed toward me, but the executioner swung his axe in response, blocking their path. “Go!” he cried to me.
As the king’s mounted men charged the stand, forcing the frenzied crowd into turmoil, I raced down the steps toward my rebel friends.
Before I could even aid him, Gare took one of the guards by surprise, swinging his chained arms around the man’s neck and pulling the chain taut against his throat until the man began to turn purple. He strained against Gare’s hold, but he was no match for Gare’s strength and his arms soon fell slack at his sides.
Another guard swung his blade in an arc toward my head, stopping my progress toward my friends as I spun and parried. With a cry, he began an onslaught of strikes, slashing and stabbing with all the grace and strength a member of the Royal Guard possessed. But I was ready. I dodged and blocked, ducked and leapt, matching each of his attacks with my own swift defensive moves until I saw my opening and, with a flick of my wrist, twisted my blade after another block and sliced his hand. It was a small cut, but it was first blood, and the guard’s wide eyes and red cheeks proved he was startled and furious.
I wasted no time taking pleasure in my small victory. Before he could tighten his grip on his sword or lift his eyes from his wound, I launched my attack. Gripping the hilt and letting the adrenaline in my veins take over, I stabbed him in his chest. Blood burst from the wound even with the blade still embedded in his heart. He gasped, but the noise died in his throat in a strangling sound and he crumpled forward. I yanked my blade back just in time to leap away and clear space for his body.
My heart was somewhere in my throat and my breath came in rapid bursts; my blood was fire and ice at the same time. There was
no time to feel horror or remorse as I clutched the sword hilt, my hand slick with sweat, and dashed toward the other rebels, who were holding their own in the fight even in their bonds.
Gare had stolen a set of keys from one of the guards and undone his and Layk’s cuffs. Nearby with her hands still bound, Jennah kicked a guard in the crotch before he could unsheathe his own weapon, and he crumpled in pain just long enough for her to grasp the hilt instead. Snarling, the guard swung a fist at her face, but Jennah ducked and Gare was there to kick at the guard again, smashing his heavy boot into the man’s knee. There was a sickening pop and the guard fell with a scream, clutching at his leg. Gare drew the fallen guard’s sword and ended his cries with a swift slice of the blade.
Wielding another stolen sword, Layk was locked in a fight with another guard. Gare and I made quick work of Benor’s and Jennah’s cuffs while two of the guards, their loyalties wavering, dropped their weapons and vanished into the running crowds. Scrambling, Benor and Jennah armed themselves with the forsaken swords and turned to face the charging king and his men.
The square was almost empty of citizens, who had fled to avoid being trampled underfoot or caught in the midst of the growing battle. The king and his loyal guards formed a semicircle around our rebel group while we retreated to the execution stand to gain higher ground. With their swords raised high, I realized that they were prepared to take their time in killing us all and enjoy stifling this last great attempt of the rebellion. The king probably assumed that once he massacred us, the rebels would be too discouraged and frightened to form another grand resistance.
We are beaten, I thought. Life-Giver, you saved me only for me to watch my kingdom fall.
A lone arrow soared through the air, striking a mounted guard in the chest and knocking him from his beast. I peered over my shoulder to see another guard crouched on a nearby rooftop, taking aim against the onslaught of the king’s men. Around the square, more guards, armed citizens, and men and women I recognized as rebels raised their swords and bows and pointed their weapons toward the advancing men.
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