Only one noose dangled from the gallows today and Illianah was placed directly underneath it. The knot slipped over her head and Illianah closed her eyes, praying her secret would not be discovered.
A great cry rose through the crowd. “Boo!” many voices said.
Others yelled “Coward!”
Illianah opened her eyes and turned her head to the balcony on her left. Prince Harrington stood there, looking down on her with a wrinkled brow and false pain embedded on his face.
“Where is my father, the king?” she called out. She knew she was not to speak—she was now a lowly prisoner and that arrogant man above her was supposed to be her superior—but she did not fear doing so. There was no punishment that would be worse than having a noose around her neck. “Will he not come to watch his only child hanged?”
The crowd again cried out, as if her words were encouraging them to defy their monarchs.
Prince Harrington placed his massive hands on the marble baluster and leaned toward the crowd. “His Highness, King Gregory, is greatly grieved over the treachery and indiscretion of his daughter, Princess Illianah. He is so weighed down with grief that he cannot rise from his bed. Please fill the heavens with prayers for him, but do not waste your prayers on the princess. There will be no peace for her errant, deviant soul.”
He nodded to the marshal, who stepped forward and cinched the noose tighter. “Am I not even given the dignity of having a last word?” she asked loudly.
“You must have a poor memory, Princess Illianah,” Prince Harrington scoffed. “You have already spoken.” He gave her a hardened glare—one that she might have actually found intimidating under different circumstances.
“You are a coward,” she said. “You are afraid of what I might say.” Illianah took her eyes off her former husband and looked out to the crowd. “He knows that I will speak the truth, even with my dying breath. The people of Deltegra have been butchered for their wood, a campaign led by the man now standing before you. He is no more a valiant warrior than I am a traitor. I stand for truth and righteousness. And even as I stand for it, I will die for it, that you may know the truth.”
“Enough!” Prince Harrington yelled.
The marshal stepped to the side of the gallows. She knew the trap door would be released instantaneously. “I have done no wrong! My blood is on your hands, Prince Harrington!”
The panic hit her as if she had just fallen from the top of a mountain, but then the panic was replaced with pain as her body snapped when the rope recoiled. She had not imagined it would hurt like this. She tried to reach her hands up to grab the rope around her neck, hoping to loosen it, but her hands did not seem to work. She began to feel dizzy and the world grew dim around her. It was not supposed to end like this. She was not supposed to die.
Chapter Twenty-One
Illianah did not know where she was. She felt strangely disconnected from her body. She was aware of the noise which surrounded her, but she could not see the noise, nor could she react to it, even though it sounded as if the mountains of Liet were marching toward the castle.
While she could not gauge time, it felt only like seconds between each thunderous shake of the earth. And each time the ground trembled, her heart trembled with fear as well. But that was not possible, was it? She should no longer feel fear. She should not feel anything.
Her body began to tingle, and then her mind felt as if it was emerging from a deep, dark pit. She could see light—she could feel light. It was all around her. She could feel her body as well. Illianah told her right index finger to move, and she could feel the finger curl. Using great care to be inconspicuous, she slowly exhaled. She could feel her own breath cross her lips.
She was alive. It had worked. Now she must do as Madame Partlet had said and lay very still less their ruse be discovered.
Now that she was aware of her body, she realized just how much it hurt. Every inch of her frame felt as if it had been bruised and broken. And her headache was unparalleled to anything she had ever experienced before. It felt as if her head had actually cracked open and she had been left bleeding profusely. The sensation was so real that she wanted to reach up and check for blood, but she reminded herself to hold still.
Since she could not use sight or touch to decipher her location, she relied on her other senses. The room smelled of freshly sawn wood. It was cold and the air felt more damp than dry, meaning this room did not have a fire. It was likely she was in the mausoleum, being prepared for burial; but as far as she could tell, she was the only breathing occupant of the room. Other than the great tumultuous noises coming from somewhere beyond these walls, there was not a sound to be heard: not even the scurrying of a mouse.
After waiting several more minutes to ensure she was indeed alone, she peeked open her right eye and quickly looked about her. It was the mausoleum, and propped up against the wall next to her were several coffins, all of them exactly the same. One of them was intended for her, which meant she was not to be given a royal embalming, nor would she be laid to rest within the catacombs under the cathedral. She would be buried as a common criminal and most likely the coffin she would be laid to rest in would be made of Deltegran wood. Illianah did not doubt that gesture to be intentional.
She began to panic. If they did not come for her soon, she would be placed in that coffin, which would then be nailed shut and buried underneath a yard of dirt, likely in the east village where the stench of sewage was so strong even a corpse would retch from the smell. They must come for her quickly, or all of Madame Partlet’s preparations would be in vain.
Another wave of panic raced through Illianah’s body. What if Madame Partlet had been caught? What if she lay somewhere in this room, having suffered immediate death from her actions? Illianah was about to open her eyes again when she heard the sound of the door sliding open. She drew in a deep breath and lay still, as if she were merely a body on the verge of rotting.
There were voices: at least two men. The first few sentences were indistinguishable, but then one of the men said, “I will leave you, but you do not have long.”
Footsteps approached. Illianah already felt as if she had held her breath for a lifetime and she did not know how much longer she would be able to act deceased.
A hand brushed against her cheek, followed by the sound of a painful sob. Even though she was long past the point where she needed to again draw air, she felt as if her chest really had died and withered away. Her father had come to pay his final respects, and he was crying over her death. This thought did not warm her as she had thought it would, but instead it filled her with rage. If he loved her, how could he do this to her?
Another sob escaped from her visitor, and then his head was upon hers. She could feel his tears wetting her brow as he grasped at her shoulder and cried, “No, no, no!”
It did not sound like her father. It did not feel like her father. It did not smell like her father.
“I am too late,” he sobbed. “I could not save you, my precious Lily.”
She could not help but to gasp.
He held very still, indicating he had heard her breathe.
“Illianah?” he whispered. His hand traveled to her mouth, likely hoping to feel more air expelled from her chest.
She blew softly against his fingers, much like she was blowing him a kiss, and then she could not help but to smile.
Donovan uttered something that sounded like a combination between a prayer of thanksgiving and curse of astonishment, and then he said, “You live?”
His voice sounded as beautiful as birds singing from Deltegran forests, but she worried it would be heard by others who might not think his voice to be melodious, nor would they be glad at the news of her narrow escape of death. She opened her eyes and was about to cover his mouth with her hand so his voice would not be heard, but he again spoke. “How is this possible? You hung from the gallows. Your death was witnessed by hundreds.”
She reached her hand to her neck and tried to pul
l down on the collar of her dress, but it was laced too tightly. “Fortunately, this gown came with a collar of steel,” she said.
Donovan placed his hand on her neck and felt the band of metal that Madame Partlet had fastened over Illianah’s neck. It was simply a gorget like soldiers wore to protect their necks from swords and spears, only Illianah’s extended almost the entire way to her jawline and was adorned with lace. The top of the gorget had a thick rim, which caught the noose and kept it from strangling the life out of her.
He smiled, and then laughed and said, “I will never complain about you wearing a collar of modesty again.”
Watching his face was like watching the seasons change, one after another. His eyes, which had so recently gushed anguish, glowed with delight. “I am astonished, Illianah. Completely amazed and astonished. When I came in to town and heard that I was too late, I thought … I thought the world might collapse upon itself. I did not know how I could bear the grief. And now … now I feel as if my heart cannot contain this joy.”
Illianah had been so consumed in thoughts of her own near miss with death that she had not thought about what Donovan must have gone through to get here. “How did you escape?” she asked. “How is that you are here in the city and you are not being chased by every soldier in Burchess? And how is it that we are alone in the mausoleum?”
“I will answer your questions, but now is not the time. We should get moving.”
When he grabbed her hand to help her sit up, the warmth of his touch quickly traveled through her body like a fire burning a withered reed. “Ah, you are alive,” he said, likely noticing the way her cheeks had colored.
“Feeling more and more so with each passing second,” she said. But she had spoken too soon, for when she sat, she realized it would be better to be dead. A splitting pain traveled from the top of her head all the way through her body and likely created a crevice in the floor. She groaned in pain.
She could not open her eyes to see Donovan’s concern, but she could hear it in his voice when he asked if she was all right. “I think I may need one of those coffins after all,” she mumbled.
“That is understandable. You were nearly dead just moments ago.”
Illianah opened her eyes and found that she could now focus. The pain in her head had subsided and she felt as if her life really had been preserved. “Madame Partlet did not tell me that I would still be choked nearly to death wearing the gorget. I thought I was truly dying while hanging from the gallows.”
“Probably a good thing that it did nearly snuff you out: some things are just too difficult to feign.”
Donovan’s words made her smile, as she took them for more than they meant. Yes, it was too difficult to feign many things, like the lie that had once been her life. She could not feign love for Leif. She could not feign that she was happy with her station as Princess of Burchess. She vowed to herself: now that she had been granted a new lease on life, she would never feign her way through another moment again. She would live like each moment was her last.
Which is why she quickly reached out for Donovan, put her hands behind his head, and pulled his face close to hers. “I will not take another breath until you kiss me.”
“Patience is a virtue,” he said solemnly, as if he was about to scold her for her bluntness, but then his lips turned up roguishly. “And it is a virtue you have won.”
First, she felt his nose brush against hers. And then her breath caught as his lips touched hers. His lips felt as soft as butterfly wings, yet there was no shyness or hesitation in his kiss. His mouth captured hers like he had been starving his entire life and had at long last found sustenance. When his lips finally left hers, she felt frantic for air much like when she had been struggling to breathe with the noose pulling on her neck; only this time the sensation was delightful rather than desperate.
“If we both die today,” he said, “it will be all right with me.” He sounded as breathless as she felt, and the whispery, melodious sound of his voice again caused her breath to catch.
“I think I prefer to live,” she replied. “Especially now that you have finally agreed to kiss me.”
When he smiled, his eyes looked like black flames dancing with delight. “Whatever we do from this point on, we will be doing it together.”
***
Donovan did not need to explain what was happening in St. Moraine. It was clear that the city was in revolt. The peasants had united and turned on the king and his men. From what Madame Partlet had said, Illianah assumed that the revolt was being led by some of those from within the king’s own court: lords and barons who had come to the same conclusion that Donovan had. No one wanted Prince Harrington for a king. The only way to stop that from happening was to put an end to King Gregory’s reign.
What Donovan did explain to Illianah was that immediately after her hanging, the citizens had turned on the guards, attacking with stones, hidden knives, and swords. They had come to the hanging prepared to wage war against the mighty army of Burchess. They did not have sufficient weapons and no armor at all, but their attack was so quick that the king’s soldiers were caught off-guard and they quickly retreated into the safety of the inner ward of the castle. The city of St. Moraine was soon taken by the renegades and was sealed off so that soldiers from outlying cities could not come to the aid of the castle. The closure of the city wall had happened, thankfully, just moments after Donovan and his band of twenty men passed through.
However, the soldiers within the castle were defending their fortress with all their might. They quickly pushed the rebels out of the citizen’s courtyard and regained control of the castle’s outer wall. The constant crashing Illianah had heard from within the mausoleum was the sound of the canons atop the castle’s massive outer wall being fired on the citizens of St. Moraine. Illianah’s heart raced with fear as they dashed from building to building within the city, never knowing where the next ball would hit.
Donovan was being led by an unknown man. He was no doubt Burchessian and looked to be noble, yet she could not remember seeing him in court. He looked astonished when Donovan had immerged from the mausoleum with Illianah in tow, but then he had nodded and said, “We had hoped for as much, My Lady.” The entire situation was perplexing. It was like being at war, yet not knowing who your enemy was, nor where their boundary lay. Just as threatening as the balls crashing over their heads was the fact that the first man they might cross paths with could run a knife through their chests simply because he did not agree with the revolt.
As they got closer to the city wall, Donovan stopped and ducked into a doorway and removed his cloak. He put it across her shoulders and pulled the hood up over her hair. “I think it would be best if you remained dead for a time,” he said.
“You do not wish for the rebels to know of my triumph over death?” It seemed curious to her that her life should be kept secret from those very people who were fighting because of the injustice brought upon her.
“Not yet. We need their passion. They will not fight with such fierceness if they know you are alive. Your death marked the greatest injustice done by King Gregory yet, and without that fuel, there would be no fire.”
Illianah hated to deceive her people, yet she trusted Donovan unequivocally. She pulled the cloak forward so her face was hidden and followed him through the last rows of houses near the city’s edge. They reached the city wall, where it seemed that they were out of range of the castle’s cannons. It looked as if more than half of the population of St. Moraine had come to the city’s walls as well.
Donovan and Illianah followed the unknown man into the city’s gatehouse, where she recognized several of the men who were conversing within the protected walls of the tower. They were lords and barons and many of them were friends and relatives of Madame Partlet. One of the men—Count Leopold—recognized her, even with the hood covering most of her face. He let out a gasp. “She lives?” he asked, looking as if he was standing in front of a ghost.
Some of
the men in the room had the same reaction as Count Leopold. Two men in the room did not have the same response. One was Madame Partlet’s husband, Sir Partlet. He smiled and first nodded at the princess before bowing. The other man was Madame Partlet’s brother, Sir Tannin, and also one of King Gregory’s most distinguished knights. His presence here amongst the renegades was significant, but the fact that he was one of three who knew of Madame Partlet’s life-saving device was all the evidence Illianah needed to surmise that Sir Tannin was leading the revolt. She approached and returned his bow. “Sir Tannin, what can I do to help with the attack?”
He smiled, obviously pleased that she had recognized his authority and said, “We have sufficient numbers to attack the castle. They only had three hundred men on post this morning, but we have thousands of citizens eager to fight for their freedom. What we do not have, however, is firepower. We cannot get past the cannons.”
“And the artillery? What do they have in their stores?”
“Enough to last a month, possibly more.”
“But they are cut off from the city. They will soon run out of food and medicine and …”
“Yes, but we only have days before the king’s troops outside the city come to his aid. We were not able to stop all the riders he sent out once the attack commenced. Soon we will have to worry about defending the city wall as well.”
Illianah knew her brow was creasing, but she did not expect her disappointment to be reflected in her voice. “You planned a revolt, but you did not plan on how to breach the castle’s wall?”
Sir Tannin did not seem offended by her inquiry and replied, “Our plan was to save your life and cause a big enough distraction to get a large number of renegade soldiers within the castle walls. We succeeded on one of those counts: I like to think it is the more significant of the two.”
While Illianah was grateful for the gift of her life, at the moment she did not know if it was in the best interest of the renegades. Getting inside the castle walls was critical to the success of their revolt. “We must construct catapults.”
The Reign of Trees Page 27
