Into the Hourglass

by King, Emily R.

  More time passes. The cold in the cell becomes almost as torturous as my loneliness. I didn’t think I could miss anyone more than my parents and siblings. But there are two people I miss even more fiercely. One of them is gone forever, and I’m worlds apart from the other.

  I should have known I was falling in love with Jamison. Anyone who can bring me this much yearning and worry must be someone I care for deeply.

  A guard unlocks the door and lets in the queen’s secretary. How did Secretary Winters return to Dorestand so quickly? The last time I saw him, his ship was intercepting the Cadeyrn of the Seas. Oh, but Osric said time moves faster here, one month for every day we spent in the Land Under the Wave.

  “Everley Donovan,” says the secretary, “Her Omnipotence will see you now.”

  Queen Aislinn fills the doorway. She has come in her regal finery, her gray hair pinned up and an ivory broach of a mare set at her bosom. We have not seen each other since the day in the courtroom when she sentenced me to seven years at the penal colony. I’m amazed by how much has happened since then, how much has changed. How much I have changed. I’m not the naive girl she interrogated, yet she has the same large, suffocating presence.

  The queen is not a woman of substantial stature or enviable beauty. Her power comes from the graceful control of her movements, her elegant mask of aloofness, and the iron influence of her carefully constructed words. Her calculating eyes do not seek truth. She crafts lies as adornments and conceals them behind her grandeur. Her thin gold crown entitles her to interpret principles and enforce them with cruelty and bloodshed. I fear her, but I fear her propensity for distorting the truth more.

  Her expression reveals no opinion of me. Her detachment comes with a callousness that is impenetrable, a condemnation that was decided before she entered the room.

  The queen removes my sword from behind her back and drops it on the floor with a clang. Her disrespect for the sword of Avelyn appalls me, but of course she doesn’t know its value.

  “Where is Killian Markham?” she asks, her voice deceivingly soft.

  “I don’t know.”

  She lifts her chin. “I’ve no patience for lies. You colluded with Killian to destroy my penal colony. You aided him in the ruin of a naval warship and then commandeered my first-rate vessel and fled across the seas. You must know where he is.”

  “Shouldn’t you know?”

  “My gift of sight is not for you to mock.”

  After meeting Muriel, I’m astounded that Queen Aislinn ever convinced me or her people that she’s a seer. She’s nothing more than a charlatan in a crown. Palm readers have more ability than she does.

  “Markham isn’t who you think he is,” I say. “He isn’t even human.”

  She stomps up to me, her heels clicking on the stones, and tugs down the front of my shirt. “Do you expect me to believe that outlandish lie while you’re marked with a talisman of sorcery?”

  “You and I both wear our loyalties,” I say, referring to her broach of the ivory mare, her favorite symbol of the Creator. “Markham deceived us both. He doesn’t belong to this world. But you don’t want to ally with the truth, do you? Because then you’ll be held accountable for what he does next.”

  “You lecture me on truth? The girl who has lied about her identity and pretended her death while others mourned her family’s passing. Your father was the bravest explorer in all of Wyeth. You shame him and his great name.”

  Her condemnation would have pulverized the girl in the courtroom, but I understand that every word she says is deliberately chosen to fortify the decision she made before she walked into my cell.

  The queen leans in, the scent of her amber perfume smothering me. “The Creator has shown me your true nature, and you are indeed heartless. Any girl who kills her uncle, her own blood, deserves a million deaths.”

  I glare back at her. “You can call me what you’d like, but you will never be a seer, and I will never be what you think I am.”

  “You’re an abomination.” She swings around in a whirl of silk. “Burn her.”

  A blow I expected, but a blow nonetheless. The queen knows very well that Markham is dangerous, but he humiliated her and got away, so she will punish me instead.

  “What about my trial?” At least in a courtroom I could explain my story to a magistrate, warn him and everyone in attendance that they’re in peril. More people should hear the threat that Markham presents to the worlds.

  “You’re undeserving of a trial,” replies the queen. “That thing in your chest condemns you.” She beckons Secretary Winters. “Announce her execution far and wide. She will burn at sunset. Invite every able-bodied citizen to attend.”

  “Everyone answers for their deceptions in time,” I say, my heart beating so loudly I know she can hear it ticktocking. “Even you.”

  Queen Aislinn marches out. The secretary picks up the sword of Avelyn and takes it with him.

  The guards do not wait long to unchain me. They release my confines and stay nearby while two servants bathe me with damp cloths and dress me in a thin white shift with a low neckline that reveals my scar and ticker.

  I have never worn anything this revealing in public. The queen hopes to portray me as a trollop, a brazen, unscrupulous sorceress. She wants me to appear more formidable before she terminates me, a ploy to demonstrate her power. I am her retribution, a pawn in a big game of chess that I was never allowed to play.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I wrap my arms around my knees and battle off shivers. The servants who dressed me let me keep my red gloves until we leave for the execution. They are faded and worn, and one of the seams is torn, but this little piece of my family, of me, makes me feel less alone.

  The only sound to listen to is my ticker. I try to cover my ears to silence it, but the beat is even stronger inside me, drumming in my head. The noise reminds me of Uncle Holden, and when I can stop myself from thinking of him, instead I think of Father Time. He didn’t stop Markham from killing my parents or siblings, yet this is worse, because he chose my uncle as his helmsman. Then he let him die. And he will probably let me die too.

  A guard delivers my last meal, a bowl of gruel, and lets in an unexpected visitor. Dr. Huxley comes in with his medical box, and the guard waits outside the open door.

  “Alick?” I say, rising from the floor. “How did you get here?”

  “The queen requested a surgeon, Miss Donovan. She wants reassurance that your clock heart isn’t unsafe for the crowd. The surgeon who works for the prison was daunted by your ticker. He and I were mates in school, so I volunteered. I would have been here sooner, but I had to wait for approval from the warden.” Alick comes closer, his gaze flickering back and forth from my face to my ticker. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not anymore.”

  He touches the old scar from Markham’s sword and then finds the scar on my back where the blade exited. “You should have died.”

  “I almost did. The ticker saved me.”

  Alick accepts my explanation without a blink. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

  His concern for me is too much to bear. I throw my arms around him and hang on tight. He goes still and then embraces me back.

  “We were so worried,” he whispers.

  “Where’s Quinn? How did you return to Dorestand so quickly?”

  He releases me, his expression puzzled. “Everley, Quinn and I have been home for months. You left for the Land Under the Wave half a year ago.”

  “That’s right,” I remind myself. “Time moves slower there.”

  Alick checks that the guard is still outside and goes on. “Quinn, Vevina, and I were captured by the navy ship. We told them we were taken hostage during the mutiny against Lieutenant Callahan. Because of my good standing with the queen, they believed us and determined that Quinn’s time overseas fulfilled her sentence. We received the terrible news that Quinn’s mother passed away while we were at the penal colony. Quinn would have gone to an orphanage, so I adopted
her.” He smiles a little. “And her cat.”

  “Is Quinn all right? What about Vevina?”

  “Quinn is settling in. You should see her. She’s so grown up, and she can read and write on her own now. Vevina was turned in to the constable corps when we returned from our voyage. They were bringing her here to the prison when she escaped the detainment wagon. She came to my home a few weeks later to hide. She, Quinn, and I spend a lot of time together. You would be proud of Vevina. She isn’t gambling or running bets. She’s been teaching Quinn needlepoint.”

  I am so aghast at the thought of Captain Vevina sewing, let alone teaching Quinn, that I give no response to that. “What of Jamison? And the Fox and the Cat? Have you seen them or heard of their return?”

  His face goes still except for his eyes, which dart to the left. “I have not.”

  My hopes crash and crumble. They mustn’t have made it past Neely to get through the portal. All of them worked so hard to help me get home, and I left them behind.

  Alick’s mouth falls in a frown. “My most heartfelt condolences about your uncle.”

  “I miss him constantly.” My eyes sting with withheld tears.

  “Hurry up in there,” says the guard.

  Alick opens his medical box and removes a silver tool. He turns his attention to my ticker and whispers, “You could have told me.”

  “I couldn’t, not because of anything you’ve done. I couldn’t tell you or anyone because I was afraid of this happening.”

  His touch is as soft as his voice. “The queen’s council wanted you to stand trial. They did not appreciate her sentencing you without their approval. She’s lost favor with them since the ruin of the colony. Things in the realm have been tense. The queen called the entire naval fleet back to port and interrogated every man and woman who knew Markham and every sailor who worked for him. Anyone who gave an unsatisfactory answer was jailed or released from duty. Every day, we see more burnings and hangings. Those named a worshipper of Madrona go straight to prison. Most of them see the noose. I live in fear every day that Vevina might be found and that someone might falsely accuse Quinn or me. Everyone is continually on guard, concerned about their family’s safety.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Will you tell Quinn not to come tonight? Neither of you should attend. I don’t want you . . . I don’t want you to see that.”

  The guard hits his baton against the cell-door bars. “Time’s up, Doctor.”

  Alick puts away his instrument and closes his medical box. His troubled gaze briefly meets mine, and then he says under his breath, “I would like to respect your wishes, but as your friends, we will not let you be alone.”

  A hot thickness cramps my throat. I pull my gloves off and hold them out. “Please, take these to Jamison. He and the others were still in the Land Under the Wave. When he gets home, tell him . . . tell him I’m sorry.”

  Alick takes the gloves and nods. I wait until he and the guard are gone, then I press my lips against my shoulder to muffle my sobs.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The walk from the prison to the pyre is jammed with people. The courtyard is packed with more attendees than I have ever seen here before. Little children sit on their parents’ shoulders. Boys climb onto barrels, and girls huddle in the windows that overlook the quad. Merchants have left their shops, and residents have walked from their homes. People have traveled from all over Dorestand, their wagons and carriages cramming the streets and halting daily responsibilities. The whole city has come to a stop for my execution.

  Four guards march me around the perimeter of the quad. The sky is overcast, the faint scent of char from an earlier execution hanging in the air. My rope bindings scratch my skin. It’s a minimal discomfort compared to the gasps and murmurs from the onlookers. Parents cover their children’s eyes, and others watch closely to see if my clock really runs, then they turn to those behind them to report that my ticker is indeed sorcery. I drop my chin and let my hair fall in front of my face as my heart hammers away.

  Her Omnipotence is stationed on the wooden platform with her councilmen, several magistrates, and the high priest from the Progressive Ministry. The secretary of state has my sword at his side. He must have taken ownership of the blade. I hope it brings him nothing but misfortune.

  As we climb the wooden stairs to the top of the platform alongside the stone pyre, we pass by the line of officials.

  “Eiocha protect us from this sorcery,” says the priest.

  “It’s hideous,” adds the queen’s lead councilman.

  A magistrate replies, “A tragic end to the Donovan family name.”

  I would rather burn at the stake over and over again than let them see how much that hurts, so I lift my chin and stare out at the crowd.

  Alick and Quinn are near the front. She’s older than I remember, her face thinner and her physique more mature. She has become a poised young lady, an immense change from the dirty-faced girl I met on our voyage to the penal colony. Alick’s hands rest on Quinn’s shoulders for support. He must not see her expression, because the lass isn’t crying. She wears a mask of defiance.

  Before I am led up the pyre, the priest steps forward holding a bowl of water with lilies floating in it. His pure robes symbolize the color of Eiocha when she came to shore as an ivory mare. He dips his fingers in the water and draws them across my forehead.

  “Great Creator, deliver us from this evil.” He finishes washing my brow and says, “May Eiocha forgive you.”

  He pulls away, and the queen glances at my clock heart without even a sneer. She feels nothing for me, not even revulsion. Her apathy is the final denunciation I need to accept that this is truly happening.

  I am going to die.

  Guards prod me up three stone steps flecked in ash. Before I arrive on the stand, they stop me to remove the boots that were given to me for the march across the courtyard. I step onto the circular stand, and my bare feet sift through cindered logs and piles of ash. The stone is still hot from the last execution, enough so that it hurts my soles.

  When I reach the stake in the middle, an inescapable calm comes over me. Is this how Father and Mother felt when they realized they had lived their last day? I imagined their final moments were of terror and pain.

  That must still be coming.

  The guards won’t waste a good section of rope, so they untie my bindings and retie my arms and legs to the stake with burlap cut from an old feed sack. At the same time, more guards heft loads of kindling up the stairs from a pile at the bottom of the pyre and stack the bundles around me until the mounds are as high as my knees.

  Down on the platform, the executioner lights a torch and holds it up. The audience quiets, and Queen Aislinn steps forward to address them.

  “Everley Donovan,” she starts, speaking to me while she faces her people, “you have been found in possession of a clock heart and accused of sorcery and murder. What say you to these charges?”

  I didn’t anticipate an opportunity to speak, nor did I prepare something to say. I raise my voice to the wind. “Holden O’Shea was a great man. He raised me and took me in when my parents were murdered. He was a father in every way. I loved him. He taught me that people fear what they don’t understand. So understand this, Dorestand—your queen is a fraud!”

  Shock and outrage ripple across the audience.

  “Light the pyre!” Queen Aislinn hisses.

  The executioner scales the steps. I shout louder.

  “Queen Aislinn is no seer. She cares not for our people, only her own greatness! A war is coming, and with her as your leader, you will lose!”

  The executioner lowers the torch to the kindling, and the fire begins to engulf the stand. The flames start low but speedily spread. Smoke pours up, stinging my eyes and throat, and the flames prowl closer, snapping and hissing at my thin shift.

  I wriggle against my bindings. The burlap holds. I cough hard to clear the smoke out of my lungs, but with every inhale, I draw in more.


  As I lift my chin to find clearer air, I don’t believe my eyes when a pixie lands on top of the stake. Radella flies down through the smoke behind me.

  “Radella?” I ask. “How did you get here?”

  The burlap around my wrists vanishes. My arms come free. As I untie my legs, an explosion goes off across the quad. Now not only is the pyre on fire but so is the roof of the courthouse.

  People scream and dart about as bricks fall into the courtyard, landing on carts and crushing a wagon. I wriggle free and back into the only corner of the stand untouched by flame.

  “Everley!” Alick calls from below the pyre, by the woodpile. “Jump!”

  The wind changes, pushing the flames and smoke at me. I shield my face and leap over the edge. Radella flies ahead of me, sailing downward as she flutters her wings and sprinkles dust over the woodpile. I hit the mound hard, but it’s less bruising than I anticipated. Sliding down the side to the ground, I notice straw bales were hidden under the layer of wood that Radella vanished.

  People around us scatter in every direction. Secretary Winters pounds down the stairs of the platform with guards. Alick tosses me a loaded pistol, and I cock it. A second explosion goes off in a building diagonal to us.

  The blast throws Alick and me to the ground. I cover my ticker as I land, my shoulder taking the worst of the impact. Radella disappears some debris before it falls on us, and then she pulls on my hair so I’ll get up.

  Screaming and yelling come from the direction of the platform. Three out of four of the pilings underneath it have been weakened by flying debris. The queen cries out as she goes down with the toppling platform. The structure crumbles, along with the top half of the pyre. The tower falls toward the middle of the courtyard, throwing flames and raining ash.

  Ears ringing, I rise and help Alick to his feet. The queen’s secretary lies on the cobblestones near us, dazed and disoriented. I yank my sword out of his hand and aim my pistol at him as I back away.