The Reign of Trees

by Folkman, Lori

  “My father and Prince Harrington will have you believe that I have gone mad, Madame Partlet, but I can assure you I have not. I have never felt so alive. So impassioned. I will not take back my words, even as they put a noose around my neck.”

  While still holding Illianah by the elbows, Madame Partlet moved to the bed and motioned that they should sit. Madame Partlet kept her eyes steadfast on Illianah—it was clear that she was trying to determine if Illianah was indeed sane. Madame Partlet’s shoulders sagged under a heavy sigh, causing her countenance to change. She looked very grave, and yet at the same time, a roguish twinkle immerged in her eye. “Child, you should know that you have caused quite a stir,” she whispered. “There are many in Burchess who do not agree with the king. There are many who have grown tired of his heavy taxing and his cruel punishments. Some suspected that the war with Deltegra was a ploy by King Gregory and Prince Harrington to take control of the timber industry. Hearing you speak of your evidence of this plot has many people up in arms. They do not feel that we, the people of Burchess, should support a king who has conquered another kingdom under false pretenses.”

  Illianah no longer felt like crawling into the arms of her surrogate mother and bawling like a baby. Her heart began to race over the implication of what she was being told.

  She whispered back, “These people you speak of—are their numbers large?”

  “After the events of the morning, they are growing by the hundreds.”

  “Enough to … revolt?”

  Illianah could barely hear the sound of her own whisper, but Madame Partlet understood and shook her head. “Not … yet.”

  “Those people should know that Prince Harrington plans on taking my father’s throne. His throne will be bathed in blood,” Illianah said. She did not have proof of this; but she knew this to be true just as much as she knew she was sitting in this room with Madame Partlet.

  “They should know,” Illianah continued, “that Prince Harrington set fire to the northern forest of Deltegra, killing all the inhabitants in order to triumph over the Deltegran army.”

  “It could be argued that Prince Harrington is a wise and cunning warrior,” Madame Parlet replied.

  “I can assure you that Prince Harrington’s heart beats black and cold. He will stop at nothing to gain power. Burchess and all that we stand for will be destroyed under his rule. God will curse us for giving homage to such a man. I fear if he is not stopped soon, there will be no end to the reign of terror he will bring to our country.”

  Madame Partlet held very still and bore her blue eyes deep into Illianah’s soul. Finally, she nodded and said, “Yes. Those people should know of your thoughts.” Then, Madame Partlet cleared her throat and said, “I am to take your measurements so we can once again get you in the cloth of royalty.”

  While Illianah wished to protest and refuse any finery which had come through the toil of the peasants of Burchess, she did not want to fight with Madame Partlet, nor did she wish for the good woman to leave too quickly. Just as the measurements were finished, the key was again turned in the door. “You have exceeded your time Madame Partlet,” the guard said.

  “But she has grown so thin,” Madame Partlet explained. “It is causing me great difficulty with my measurements.”

  “There is greater concern in our kingdom than Princess Illianah’s thinness.”

  Madame Partlet gave Illianah a knowing nod and said, “I will be back with your gown tomorrow; after you have rested.”

  The guard let the dressmaker out and then spoke to Illianah. “You are to sleep now. The physician will be in to see you later.”

  Illianah collapsed on the bed; her body feeling as if she had been trodden down by a stampede of bulls. But her mind felt as if she had just awoken after three day’s sleep. It was racing with thoughts. Could a revolt really be possible, just based on her word? Would they really be able to overthrow her father’s throne and restore King Henrick to his? A smile came to her lips. A smile of hope.

  ***

  Illianah did not feel rested when she awoke the next morning; in fact, she felt worse. The night had passed fitfully. She tossed and turned as she had nightmares of watching Donovan’s head roll. She knew she had saved him from his imminent death, yet for some reason, his fate worried her more than her own. Perhaps that was because she did have some control over what her sentence was to be, yet with Donovan, there was nothing she could say or do to ensure his safety.

  The physician made his visit, during which he told her that her condition was extremely grave and ordered her to remain in bed.

  “But I feel fine,” she said.

  “You are clearly delusional. It is common in situations such as these. You have been fighting for survival for so long that you are at war with yourself. You no longer know whom to trust, nor do you know that you are now safe at home.”

  She was about to argue with the physician, as she was obviously as sane and mellow as an entire sanctuary of nuns, but he held up his hand to stop her. “My Lady, save your breath; I am ready to give my report to the king. It is as he thought: you have been hypnotized by the evil men of Deltegra. We will try and find a way to bring you around, as quickly as possible.”

  Illianah froze with fear. The way the physician spoke, in combination with the sinister look in his eye, implied that “bringing her around” would involve pain, possibly even torture. “I will never deny the truth,” she told him. “I will not take back the words I said yesterday. I ….”

  He nodded cynically and left the chamber, making her feel as if her words really were useless and were about to be taken from her. She felt like screaming at the top of her lungs, hoping that all of Burchess would hear her and know that she would fight for their freedom until her last dying breath.

  Left alone in her chamber, Illianah began to feel as if she would grow mad if left here too long. She was at the top of the north tower, but unlike the towers at the castle of Andoradda, these rooms were not bedchambers. It was a prison, and not just a common prison: this prison housed enemies of the state of Burchess. She had never known of anyone serving a sentence here and then being set free. Those who left this tower went to the gallows.

  The room was only about ten paces across, and while it did have a window, it was made of beveled glass and had no hinge. She should have been grateful to have light, as she knew the dungeon at Andoradda had no such luxury, but to know that she may never again have fresh air made her feel as if she would suffocate. There was only one small wooden chair and a bed for furnishings, making her bedchambers at Valencio’s estate seem stately in comparison. She had never lived in such squalor, but that is not what bothered her about this room. It was the fact that she had always felt like a prisoner in her own life, and now that she actually was a prisoner, she had the power to choose her destiny.

  While she was uncertain of the time, it felt like late morning when the key again rattled in the lock. She froze, worrying that it might be a preacher coming to rid her of evil spirits; or worse, a torturer coming to convince her to take back her words against her father. The sight of Prince Harrington stepping into her chamber should have been a welcomed one then, but in fact, Illianah’s body filled with such dread that she worried she might fall dead on the spot.

  Leif stepped through the room; his boots echoing as he crossed the floor with slow, threatening steps. His smile was the same as it had been yesterday: smug and mischievous. “You look to be yourself again,” he said. “You no longer look the part of a peasant wench, hell-bent on tearing a kingdom apart because of her wanton love for another man. But the question is: are you still acting the part of a woman out to destroy the lives of everyone around her?”

  “I can assure you, the only acting I have ever done is that of a princess happily marrying a counterfeit husband.”

  He continued to step toward her until he was just a foot away, that same sanctimonious smile upon his face. “I do wonder why your father never had your tongue cut out, as that is
the only way I would ever be able to tolerate you.”

  “Even the loss of my tongue would not silence me.”

  “I do not doubt it,” he said. He turned away from her and took a few steps, giving her hope that he would leave as quickly as he had entered, but he turned back to face her. “Do you know why I ordered your beloved Prince Henrick to be sent back to Deltegra rather than have him hung from the gallows for committing adultery with my wife?”

  Obviously that was a question she could not answer, especially since she thought the charges of adultery had been dropped. Each beat of her heart gave pain to her soul as she waited for the answer.

  “It is because when I get back to Deltegra,” Leif said as he again stepped closer, “I want to look Prince Henrick in the eye as I run a sword through his heart. And do you know what I will say to him?”

  Illianah could feel the first pricks of sweat across her body, causing a chill to run down her spine. It seemed as if her nightmares would become a reality.

  “I will ask him if falling in love with my wife was worth losing his life and his kingdom.”

  “No,” she said weakly.

  “No? You think he will answer ‘no’? That is what I suspect he will answer as well.”

  “No,” she said again, this time more boldly. “Please spare him his life. He did nothing wrong. It is I who is to blame.”

  “Of course it is, Illianah. What man can resist your allure?” He said this with an air of mockery as if she was nothing more than a performer in a street fair, meant to draw laughter from the crowd.

  It was as if a fire had been lit underneath Illianah, making her frozen trepidation turn to into hot vehemence. “There was a time, Prince Harrington, that I thought perhaps I was unlovable. I wondered what I could do to find favor in your eyes. But then I realized it is not I who is unlovable. It is you who is incapable of love.”

  His expression changed. His eyes were nothing more than menacing crevices upon a face of rock. “Life is not about love, you foolish girl,” he seethed. “Life is about success, and I will not let your ridiculous escapades stop mine. Have you thought about your future, princess? You know the power that Burchess has over the Western Corridor. No other kingdom can match our army, and now that we have conquered Deltegra, we equal Arugua in both population and land mass. We are poised to not only control this continent, but the seas as well. We can rule the world, Illianah. Every kingdom will bow to us.

  “Power. Money. Opulence. Is that not what you want? Is that not what you were bred for, Princess?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “It is in my breeding. But is not what I want.”

  He grabbed the back of the wooden chair and threw it against the floor, smashing it to pieces. Illianah jumped in fright, and from the rage upon Leif’s face, she was right to fear him; he looked like the next thing he would break would be her body. “You are more than foolish,” he said, sounding as if he was struggling to keep his voice from causing an earthquake. “You have not a mind. Only a heart. You will never be queen.”

  “You have neither a mind nor a heart. You only have brawn and an unquenchable thirst for death and destruction. I will not toss in my grave for dwelling on matters of the heart, yet your body will not even be laid to rest before the flames of hell come to claim you.”

  Leif’s arm moved so fast that she did not even have a chance to turn her head. He smacked her with his open hand first across her left cheek, and then he backhanded her across her right cheek. The pain was so great that she could not keep the tears from her eyes.

  “Your father is hopeful that you can be made reasonable again. He feels that if you are left here long enough without any of the luxuries you are accustomed to, you will eventually recall your words and go back to living in ignorant bliss. But I think him to be weak. I think he would rather lock you in here the remainder of your days than to order your death. That may work for him; but it does not work for me. I cannot spend my life harnessed to a daft woman who thinks she can rule the world with ‘feelings.’ You are dead to me, Illianah, and I will see to it that you become such.”

  ***

  In the hours that followed Leif’s visit, Illianah wondered a thousand times if she had done the right thing. She could have been more agreeable. She could have been submissive. Then she would have the guarantee that she would live. But each time she would have those thoughts, her heart would beat with renewed strength. She could not live in blindness. She could not be numb to the injustices committed by Burchess. Standing up against King Gregory and Prince Harrington was the right thing to do, even if it cost her life.

  Just as the sun began to set, Illianah was visited by the Grand Marshal. He did not look at her or speak to her, but instead read directly from his parchment.

  By Order of the King Gregory the First,

  Princess Illianah Boyé, the only child of King Gregory, has been found guilty of treason and deception against the crown of Burchess, and is sentenced to death by hanging. Her soul will then be remitted to hell, where she will burn in an everlasting fire for her crimes against her household and her kingdom.

  So it is written. So it is done.

  Chapter Twenty

  Illianah did not sleep that night: not because she was distraught over her fate, but because she did not want her final few hours to be fitful with nightmares of Donovan’s ultimate doom. She wanted to think of him as he really was: peaceful, noble, alive.

  As she watched the darkness of the night fade into daybreak, she closed her eyes and sent a wish into the heavens. Do not let Leif harm Donovan for my sake. Let Donovan be rewarded for being valiant in upholding my virtue.

  Her heart felt warm, as if someone in heaven had really listened and replied with a blessing of protection. She hoped Donovan could feel the blessing falling down from heaven as well.

  With the coming dawn came a heavy heart. Illianah swallowed her tears as she realized that the last sunrise she would ever see was obstructed by this beveled glass. She wanted to feel the warm sun hitting her face one last time. She was about to bang on the door and demand that her final request be met when the door actually opened. Madame Partlet again swept into the room, her eyes red and puffy with sadness.

  “My child,” she said. “I cannot believe it has come to this.”

  Just as she had done two days before, Madame Partlet drew Illianah in for a bitter-sweet hug, but this time Illianah forced herself not to cry. She would not spend her last few hours of life weeping with sorrow.

  “You do not cry?” Madame Partlet sounded astonished.

  “I feel as if my heart has been shattered into pieces, yet I will not cry. I have no guilt. I have no shame. It is my accusers who should weep over the shedding of innocent blood.”

  Illianah knew her death would not bring Leif to tears—in fact, she imagined he would enjoy watching the life being pulled from her at the hangman’s gallows. But she hoped her father—her flesh and blood—would shed at least one tear of sorrow. “Will my father come to say farewell?”

  “I do not know for certain, but it is not likely. You are to be at the gallows before the clock chimes eight. We do not have much time.”

  Madame Partlet held out a beautiful velvet gown. “Your father wanted you to look regal, to remind the peasants of the death that comes to traitors, even those of the house of Boyé.” She swallowed heavily as those words passed her lips. Illianah did not think it was emotion Madame Partlet was choking back, but fear. “Turn around,” she said, and then she removed Illianah’s nightgown.

  The skirt of the black velvet gown went over Illianah’s head first. “I wish it was not black,” she said. “I do not mourn.”

  “It was the king’s choice, Illianah. However, you will find that not everything about this gown is per the king’s specifications.

  When the bodice and the high neck of the gown went over her head, a chill ran down Illianah’s spine. This was no ordinary dress. “Whose design is this?” she whispered.

  “Mine.
And others. There is a public outcry. The people are revolting. Your death might just be the king’s downfall, which is good Illianah,” Madame Partlet whispered directly into Illianah’s ear, making such a tiny sound that not even a flea would have overheard. “But a kingdom without a king or an heir is a very volatile kingdom. You are needed.”

  Madame Partlet began cinching the gown tight. Illianah could hear a dull clank as the metal clasped shut. The neckline was so high and tight that Illianah began to gag.

  “I know it is heavy and uncomfortable, but you must act as if this gown could be worn in court.” Then Madame Partlet pulled Illianah close for one last embrace, and along with the warmth of the embrace came something else: courage. Madame Partlet again whispered into Illianah’s ear. The words were spoken so fast that Illianah had to close her eyes to make certain none of the instructions escaped from her mind.

  The door was opened by the guard and Madame Partlet was ordered to leave. She grasped Illianah tightly around the shoulders and gave a parting nod of affirmation. Madame Partlet sobbed as she left the room, leaving Illianah confused, which she realized was a good sign. If she was confused with Madame Partlet’s emotions, then likely the guard believed it as well.

  “Say your final prayers,” the guard said. “A preacher is on his way here to perform the last rites.”

  Illianah knew the preacher would be with her until the end, but that did not reassure her. A man of the cloth would not be on the side of the renegades. Madame Partlet and the “others” had done all they could for Illianah. She must not let them down.

  ***

  The sun was warm on her face, as she had wished for, but it was too bright. She squinted against it, trying to see out into the crowd. She could not see faces, but she could feel the mood of her people. They were not booing her, nor were they tossing their refuse—either literal or verbal—onto the gallows. It seemed as if they held their breath as one collective force, making her own breath catch from feeling their overwhelming love.