The weight of my failures pressed on me like a mound of soil, suffocating me and darkening my vision. I could hardly see the sunrise.
I should have known it would be Leoth who ended me. He was my greatest weakness, the lesson I had failed to learn twice now. And once I was gone, there would be no one to stop him from handing the country over to the Truthbringers—exactly as he had promised. Before long, general hatred of the magic races would escalate to violence, and from there to a genocide. My reign had only served to heighten the tensions in Baylore; non-magic citizens were more eager than ever to turn against their magical brethren. I could almost see the fires that would break out around the city, the smoke pooling above Baylore in a dark cloud.
I folded my arms over my knees and buried my face in them, feeling so fragile I might shatter at the first gust of wind. I couldn’t face the future that lay ahead. I had thought I was strong enough to do what was necessary, to make the right choices for my country, but I had proven myself weak. Perhaps if I had heeded Mother’s counsel, or if I had pushed away Ornan and Cal and Wistin…
Selfishly, I was almost eager to end my life now, before I had to watch everything fall apart around me. Others would have to face the horrors the Truthbringers wrought.
As the wind picked up, I lifted my head from my arms and gazed dully across the roofs of Baylore to the plains beyond. A high layer of clouds hung over the vast expanse, turning everything beneath to a lifeless grey. There was little beauty left in this world, and what remained would soon be snuffed out. Far away, I thought I could see the Icebraid Peaks rising from the plains. Saniya had hoped to travel there before her death, to see the land of the Icelings when she was so old she wouldn’t care that she could never return, and I had dreamed of accompanying her. But even then, I had known it would never be. My days had always been numbered.
Mother had begged Leoth to reconsider his sentence, saying his decision was unlawful, but he had not relented. And Leoth was right. The court had not finalized its ruling before we were forced to retreat, but they would have found me guilty of murder regardless. I had not even tried to argue my innocence when Wistin’s decaying body lay exposed for everyone to see. And as a convicted murderer, I was the monarch’s to deal with as he saw fit. I had even publicly handed over my crown just in time for Leoth to sentence me. It was all very tidy.
Mother had been in tears all evening, her stony façade gone, but I had been unable to cry. I was numb. Hollow. Leoth’s betrayal was less painful this time, but it still hurt. He was the only man I had ever kissed, the only man I had lain with, and he was ready to hand me to the executioner without a second thought.
I had been unable to face Mother. She could not believe I had allowed a second Extractor to shelter here in the first place, let alone that I had killed him with my own hand. Once she had been my closest friend, my confidant, and now I could not meet her eyes.
When I heard my door open, I did not move. It would be my ladies-in-waiting, here to dress me for the pyre. They opened the door to the balcony and joined me, and I lifted my head at last. For some reason, Deance was accompanied by Mellicante rather than Baridya.
“Time to prepare,” Deance said, her voice choked. She held out a hand, and I allowed her to drag me to my feet.
“Where’s Baridya?” I asked weakly. I had hoped to say goodbye.
“I have no idea,” Deance said. “I’m worried she’s done something stupid, trying to get Leoth to change his mind. I hope she’s not in trouble as well.”
“Have you seen her?” I asked Mellicante.
She shrugged. It was odd—I thought Mellicante and Baridya were close, so I couldn’t understand why Mellicante wasn’t worried. Unless she knew something I did not.
“That’s another thing,” Deance said. “Leoth has been missing since yesterday as well. Olleack claims he’s making arrangements for the—the execution—but I’m not so sure. He’s probably scheming with the Truthbringers right now, handing them every position of power in the city.”
“Evil bastard,” I mumbled. Now that I was on my feet, I felt dizzy, my head swimming; I had eaten nothing since before the trial yesterday, and had slept less than an hour last night.
“Come on.” Deance took my arm and tugged me gently toward my dressing table. “What do you want to wear today?”
“Should I choose my gown of gold and flaunt my power in my subjects’ faces one last time, so they can feel good about my death? Or should I choose something simple and girlish, so they regret their cruelty? No—I should wear my bloodstained gown. Make it obvious I’m a murderer.”
“No,” Mellicante said. “I’ll choose your gown, and you need to wear this underneath.” She handed me a bundle of stiff black cloth.
Unfolding it, I recognized the red trim of the city guards’ uniform. “What is this for?” I was baffled.
“It might protect you. Please trust me on this.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. I was going to burn alive—even if Weavers had enchanted this to ward off flames, it would do nothing to protect my face.
“Please, Kalleah.”
Well, if I was to die anyway, it hardly mattered whether I wore my finest gown or draped a lumpy dress over a city guard’s uniform. I stripped out of my shift and pulled on the uniform, my movements jerky, my hands stiff. I was chilled through after sitting on the balcony for hours, wearing nothing but my dressing gown and shift, yet the cold seemed as insignificant as a fly buzzing around the corners of the room.
Once I finished buttoning up the coat, Mellicante handed me a thick, high-necked winter gown of wool, with large buttons down the back that I could fasten without assistance. I had worn it just once; it was the sort of gown a queen might choose for sleigh rides in the countryside, a pleasure that had been denied me.
I held up the heavy wool dress. “Really? Do you think this is appropriate?”
“It’s the only gown that will hide the collar of your coat,” Mellicante said tightly.
She was right. With a shrug, I lifted my arms so Deance could pull my gown over the uniform.
Even with the gown buttoned up, the cold lingered in my bones. Mellicante had been right, though—the heavy wool disguised the fact that I wore a coat and trousers underneath.
Without asking what I wanted, Deance braided my hair and bound it in a tight, high knot behind my head, while Mellicante fetched me a pair of sturdy boots. Mellicante was clearly trying to achieve something, yet I could not summon up the will to care. The energy I drained from Mellicante and Deance battled my lingering exhaustion, until I felt equal parts twitchy and fatigued.
“I’ve made so many mistakes,” I muttered, twisting my hands in my lap, unwilling to look at my reflection. “I should’ve known what was coming.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Deance said firmly. “The Truthbringers were determined to destroy you from the moment you took the throne. They were the ones who hired Wistin to frame you, weren’t they? If you hadn’t killed him, he would have testified against you. I bet he would’ve claimed the other deaths were your doing. People will learn the truth before the end. They’ll realize you were right all along.”
I shook my head. The only people who supported me would follow me into the flames before long.
At last I was dressed and could delay no longer. It was nearly ten o’clock.
Outside my suite, Mother was waiting with a crowd of Cheltish wing residents. Her eyes were red, her face tearstained, and when she saw me, she gave a cry. I stood stiffly as she pulled me into her arms for an embrace. “Oh, my beautiful daughter. I wish we could have kept you safe. I tried to find a way out of the city, but—”
“No, Mother. It’s too late for that.”
“Oh, Kalleah. Still so strong, even now.”
I did not feel strong. I felt empty. The body that stood here, the legs that would carry me to my pyre, were hollow.
Then Cal pushed his way through the crowd and flung his arms around me, and for t
he first time all morning, I felt my shell cracking. I returned his fierce embrace, tears springing unbidden to my eyes.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbled. “I’m not worth losing this whole kingdom for.”
“It was already lost,” I said gently. I gave him one last squeeze before releasing him, and he met my eyes for a long moment, gaze fierce. He was no longer a child, reckless and self-centered. Somewhere in these past spans, he had become a man.
At last I had to turn away. Seeing Cal there, safe and well—the payment for my sacrifice—nearly shattered me.
The walk through the palace seemed to take days. Every step took me closer to the flames, to my death, yet I was anxious to arrive. The longer we delayed, the more likely I was to break down. I realized now that the hollow space inside me was nothing but an illusion; I could feel terror and grief battling to break through. I wanted to stand tall before my people even as I faced my end, silent and stoic, but I might also collapse, shaking with sobs, unable to hold myself together.
The entrance hall was dark, several of the lamps unlit. My breathing sounded loud in my ears, the footsteps around me like vengeful whispers on the marble. When we stopped before the towering palace doors, they swung open in a creak of hinges, slicing the darkness with a band of grey sunlight.
Townspeople, Truthbringers, and guards packed the main square. Many onlookers wore colorful clothing, as though my execution were a festival. As I started down the palace steps, two Reycoran family guards gripping my arms, I caught sight of Leoth standing on the edge of the fountain, crown gleaming in his black curls. Beside him stood several Truthbringers, including the Master, and townspeople crowded around.
No guards protected Leoth. He was well-loved; he did not need to fear his own people. That knowledge twisted like a knife in my gut.
My guards marched me down the steps and across the square, the crowd parting before me, whispers trailing in my wake. I did not struggle.
Near the center of the square, just beyond the fountain, stood a wooden box with a pole rising from the top. I was to stand above the crowd, my distress visible to all who came to witness my downfall.
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” one of my guards said quietly when we reached the steps leading to the top of the platform. “We’ve been given orders to tie you to the pole.”
“Of course.” My voice cracked in fear.
I climbed the wooden steps, trapped by thousands of hostile stares, my heart thudding against my ribcage. Now that it came to this, the pyre itself, I wasn’t sure I could face it. Each step felt like wading through thick mud, the platform creaking and swaying beneath. At the top, I turned to put the pole at my back and gripped it in both hands for stability. One guard looped a rope around my wrists and secured it to the pole, while the other began stacking bundles of sticks and twigs around my feet. City guards joined him, piling the sticks higher and higher, until I stood at the center of a pyramid rising to my waist. I battled the overwhelming urge to kick the bundles aside—it would do no good, and might end with my entire body roped to the pole. I wanted to end my life in dignity. One guard sprinkled powder around the edge of the platform, for a purpose I could not guess; was it to help the fire spread?
At last the guards stepped back, and the crowd drew away as well, the whispers dying. Only the wind broke the silence, whistling across rooftops and down chimneys, teasing strands of hair free from their knot and whisking them into my face.
Leoth stepped down from the fountain and accepted a torch from one of the Truthbringers. That itself seemed symbolic—the Truthbringers were only granting Leoth authority because they knew he would bow to their will. Yet it was they who now held power in Baylore. Varse help anyone who did not see that.
Leoth approached the box I stood atop, torch held high enough for the watching crowd to see. He did not look up at me, though I fixed him with a burning stare, hatred coiling in my stomach. Then, in a grand gesture, he lowered the torch and let the flame catch on the nearest bundle of twigs.
“You’re a monster, Leoth,” I spat, quiet enough the watching crowd would not hear. “I hope you burn on a pyre of your own.”
He did not acknowledge me. Instead he turned to the crowd and raised the torch in triumph. As the crowd let out a thunderous cheer, flames whooshed to life behind him.
I would not scream. I could not show weakness. I did not want to give Leoth the satisfaction of knowing I had suffered.
As the flames expanded, heat billowed toward me, washing over my face and searing my skin. Smoke gushed from the fire, thick and black, more than the nascent fire should have produced; was that what the powder was for? Had someone decided it would be kinder to suffocate me before the flames ate into my flesh?
I should have jumped from my balcony last night. That would have been an easier way to go.
All around, the watching crowd retreated, widening the space around my platform. The heat intensified, the flames creeping closer to my boots, and I twisted my head in an attempt to shield my face. Smoke gushed into my face, stinging my eyes and clogging my throat; I blinked fiercely, unable to see anything but roiling black. When I tried to draw breath again, I coughed violently, wheezing as my lungs struggled for air. I could not have screamed if I wanted to.
I fought to free my hands from the rope, desperate to escape the smoke, my mind not working properly. All thoughts of a dignified death were gone; I acted on instinct, my desire for self-preservation overwhelming all sense. Yet the ropes were tied securely, and I could not work them free. The harder I fought, the hotter the fire grew and the thicker the smoke, until I could feel tears evaporating as they streamed down my cheeks.
Then, all at once, light flared up around me. Even through my closed eyelids, I could see the blinding flash, and I pried my eyes open to squint through the smoke. A wall of flames surrounded the platform, oozing black smoke, yet the middle where I stood was just beginning to smolder. What the Varse…?
Heat radiated from the wall, so fierce it seemed liable to melt my skin, and I wheezed for breath, struggling anew against the ropes. I could not keep my eyes open any longer; I squeezed them shut, my eyelids searing, my throat raw from heat and smoke.
Then the ground dropped out underneath me.
I dropped through the floor of the platform, choking out a yelp of surprise, and landed on something soft. My eyes were still caked shut, but the heat receded, and I heard a familiar voice.
“Kalleah? Are you all right?”
It was Baridya.
29
The Road
S omething cool and damp patted at my hair and face and dress, and I rubbed my eyes fiercely until I could see once again. We were in the dark space beneath the platform, the fire still raging above. Baridya wore a city guard’s uniform just like the one Mellicante had forced me into, and her hair was hidden beneath the matching cap.
I tried to ask what was happening, but instead I doubled over coughing, my throat raw and coated with ash. While I fought to regain my breath, Baridya took out a knife and cut the rope from my wrists. Then she cut my dress off me, tugging the sleeves from my arms to reveal the uniform beneath.
“What are you doing?” I finally managed to gasp, my voice rasping.
“We need to get out of here while the smoke is confusing everything.” She jammed a guard’s cap on my head, over my tight bun, and wiped my cheek with the damp cloth. “Come on.” She opened a door in the side of the platform to reveal a solid wall of smoke.
I was still paralyzed from shock and pain, so Baridya grabbed my hand and dragged me through the door. I stumbled along after her, holding my breath, eyes squinted against the smoke. When we broke free of the billowing black smoke, we found ourselves trapped in a press of townspeople pushing to get as far from the pyre as they could. Someone grabbed my other wrist, and I whirled to see Mellicante, dressed just like Baridya. My two friends shoved and squeezed their way through the crowd, tugging me along in their wake, until at last we reached the emp
ty cobblestones of Market Street. Footsteps padded after us, and I realized Quendon had followed us as well, hand on his sword, his usual Reycoran family uniform traded for the red-and-black city guard colors.
Mellicante ducked into the first alley we reached and tugged me with her.
“What the plagues are you doing?” I asked hoarsely. My throat was still raw from the smoke.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mellicante whispered. “We’re getting you the plagues out of this city. But don’t talk about that now. We need to walk down to the main gates as though we were ordered to be there. Quendon, do you have the sword?”
Quendon drew a sword belt from beneath his coat and passed it to me; when I stared at it, dumbfounded, Mellicante snatched it and fastened it hurriedly around my waist.
“You need to act normal, Kalleah. That means no more gaping at me.” She slapped my cheek, and I closed my mouth, blinking.
Most people would never dare treat a queen that way. Then again, I was no longer queen. What was I?
“Stand tall and match Quendon’s steps as he leads the way down to the gate. Understand?”
My brain was still working too slowly. I wondered if I had fallen into a hallucination, my mind trying to save me from the horror of burning alive.
“Are you okay, Kalleah?” Baridya asked gently.
“Yes, of course,” I mumbled.
A pocket of wind swirled down the alley, and I drew in a deep, gasping breath. At last the dizziness receded, and I decided the evidence of my senses was too overwhelming to be false. I truly had escaped the fire. Rubbing smoke from my eyes one last time, I straightened my shoulder and fell into line behind Quendon. We left the alley and marched in a tight little square toward the city gates, no one questioning us. Indeed, Market Street was virtually empty; perhaps its shopkeepers were all crushed together in the main square, watching what they thought was my death with savage pleasure.
Innocent Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 2) Page 23
