by Sara Ansted
"Look." She tried to copy his old tone of calm and reason. "There's nothing that will change that. No one is getting out of this dungeon before they fix the portcullis rope, whether you're here waiting, or not. They can't sound the alarm up at the main castle. It's your best chance to leave."
She leaned in again. Isaiah seemed so close, though there was a foot wide barrier between them. He took her hand.
"I can't... " he said. More tears ran down his face. "I can't let them hurt you anymore."
His voice cracked. She stared into his piercing blue eyes and saw nothing but pain. She didn't fully understand it, but pieces started coming clear. Everything back in the room. Their chosen form of torture. Isaiah's wild frenzy.
She couldn't think of anything to say in reply, so instead she put her other hand through the grate and touched his blackened cheek.
"I'll be okay. I promised you I'd survive, didn't I? I keep my promises."
She wasn't sure if she would be able to keep that particular one. They might kill her as soon as they caught up, which could be any second. Another promise she couldn't keep. The thought of it tore her up, but she needed him to go. At least he could live.
"It should have been me," he lamented.
"And then I'd have to be the one refusing to run away."
Isaiah didn't laugh. He just gripped her hand tighter.
"Take this."
He slid the dagger through the bars. She put it back in her boot. Just as she did, the voices from the passage cleared the last bend, and she found herself facing ten armed guards.
"GO!" she ordered, but Isaiah stayed, as if frozen to the iron. She shouted again, "GET OUT! NOW!"
The guards circled her, all carrying swords or maces. She would stand no chance against them, even if she had been fully armed. She had to let herself get taken.
The men saw Isaiah standing on the other side of the barrier. Several of them had been injured during his crazed attack. They screamed and yelled insults, but they couldn't reach him. They were just as unable to capture him as he was to save Evey.
"We'll find you, boy!" the biggest one threatened.
Isaiah ignored him. His eyes fixed on Evey. Noting this, the guard turned and slugged her in the stomach, blasting the air from her body. She fell to her knees gasping.
"NO!" Isaiah shouted again and furiously pounded his fists on the metal and wood that separated him from the others.
The guard roughly dragged Evey to her feet. She tried to struggle, but she still had no air to fuel the fight. A man grabbed each arm and pulled her limply down the path to her cell.
"MARION!" Isaiah screamed louder, sobbing and beating the portcullis. "No! NO!"
The soldiers forced her deeper into the dungeon. Isaiah's voice faded away, but at least he was safe. They couldn't get to him. She stumbled into her cell, where she collapsed to the ground. Everything hurt. Her body burned in agony. Her mind spun wildly. For a long while, all she could think about was Isaiah pounding on the bars, trying to get to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The days crawled by, seeming more like months. The beatings came sporadically, and without warning. All she had to measure time by was the arrival of the morning meals, which had seriously deteriorated since her recapture. If the bread wasn't moldy it was stale and too hard to bite. But it was bread, and she started to care less and less how it was served to her, as long as it was.
A week after the escape attempt, Evey dozed in the sparse pile of straw on the floor. Once again, the heavy door scraped loudly on the stone. Several people entered, and she involuntarily flinched. She'd always been tough, but even her bruises had bruises, now.
This time seemed different, though. The soldiers didn't attack immediately, and someone else entered with them. Whoever it was held a torch in front of himself, hiding his features. Unfortunately she recognized the knight's standard well enough.
"How is your nose, Sir Guy? Painful, I hope."
"You do get straight to the point, don't you?"
He put the torch in a bracket, revealing his now crooked nose.
Evey smiled. "So, to what do I owe the honor?"
"I am but your humble news bearer, my lady," he replied, echoing her sarcastic tone. "I thought you might like to know about the upcoming execution."
"Execution? Whose?"
"Yours."
His face split into a grin of wicked pleasure. Evey gulped, and couldn't reply. Her wit and her mouth had both gone dry.
"You have five days left, my lady."
Gisbourne enjoyed that taunt a little too much. Evey considered adding a second black eye to his already damaged face.
"Well, you are, indeed, the bearer of fine news," she jeered, trying not to let her voice break. "You see, the sooner the execution, the sooner Robin Hood will hunt you down. He'll not let me make the trip to the gallows."
Of course there would be no daring rescue from Robin Hood. She had planned the remark to throw off Sir Guy's insufferable arrogance. Unfortunately, Sir Guy smiled even wider.
"Ah, straight to the point once again. I see you really are very clever. You have exposed the core of my plan. One should not underestimate you, Lady Marion."
Evey gaped. What plan had she seen right through? She did her best to hide her confusion from the knight, but Sir Guy noticed anyway.
"I see I have the advantage yet," he remarked calmly. "You are clever enough to see through my designs, yet you are baffled that I know your name. Come now, think back with me. Recall your capture, while that boy stood safely on the far side of the portcullis."
"Of course," she answered.
If she played along with his assumptions, she might actually get some answers.
Sir Guy unconsciously touched his broken nose. "Yes. He showed some bravery, it is true, but in the end he betrayed you. That black grease on your face hides your features, but that hardly matters now. We know your given name. It is only a matter of time before we find your family."
She was now grateful that she never told Isaiah her true name, despite the many times she had wanted to. At least Emeric would be safe.
"Oh yes," Gisbourne went on. He seemed to like the sound of his own voice. "We'll find them, and they shall suffer. I promise."
"But–"
"Unless of course you see fit to inform us of your friend's whereabouts."
She gave up on trying to sound clever, and just rolled her eyes. "Would it do any good?"
Sir Guy made a show of thinking about the answer.
"For them, perhaps. There is only one thing that might save you."
That was unexpected. She couldn't help but to ask, "Which is?"
"Join me. I have seen your strength, dear Marion. I would never again underestimate you. Join with me, and you would have employment to suit your adventurous spirit. Good pay, appreciation, immunity from the gallows. All things that you want."
She spat toward the man. "I would never work for such a foul creature."
"Alas. Such a loss." He shook his head. "Well, at least tell me where to find Robin Hood."
"I'll still be on the execution block, even if I do. So why bother?"
Pretending to know the outlaw seemed less and less like the safe road.
Gisbourne lifted an eyebrow. "Yes. But your family will be saved. Surely that is incentive?"
Evey narrowed her eyes. "My family wouldn't want me to sell out. They know you'll make them hurt, but it's a small price to pay."
In fact, she wasn't sure at all how Emeric would react to the whole situation. He never was an ideal model of courage. Instead, she conjured up a picture of her father, just how she had always imagined him. He was brave and just, and he wouldn't dream of betraying a friend.
"Oh, they do, do they?" Sir Guy muttered grimly. "Well, I will make them hurt. That boy, too. I'll tell them what you told me. I'm sure they'll thank you for it as they scream."
Evey took a threatening step t
oward him.
Sir Guy looked casually at his fingernails. "Oh well. I think I like it better this way. You do make such marvelous bait."
Ah. So that was it. Isaiah was supposed to bring Robin Hood to a dramatic rescue. Evey thought she could see where it was all going, but she pressed for more information, just in case she was wrong.
"Bait? What on earth are you going on about?"
"Come now. From the way that boy looked at you, I knew he would be like clay in our hands. He would do anything for you. Go to anyone for help."
Evey glared. "Why are you doing all this? Robin Hood isn't any more worthy of your notice than other brigands."
Sir Guy laughed.
"Oh isn't he? Well, I admit that the deeds have been greatly exaggerated, but it isn't the material loss that creates our biggest problem. Robin Hood has become a legend. A folk hero. He gives the peasants ideas, makes them dissatisfied with their lot."
"Is it a crime to want a better life?"
"YES!" he cried, and she rocked back a step. "Yes. They are peasants. Their purpose in life is to serve the king and the nobles of this land. Those of us in control know what is best for them. If Robin Hood leads them to believe otherwise, it harms the country and helps no one."
"You can't be serious." Evey felt a surge of reckless courage. "I know dozens of people with no title who are twice the caliber of you and your precious king!"
All around the room she could hear the sharp intake of breath. Evey would have been worried, except that her execution was already scheduled. What she said now would be of little consequence.
Sir Guy stared at her, obviously at a loss for words. Evey couldn't decide which idea shocked him more. That she had openly criticized the way things were, or that she had just compared him to a peasant. She was so pleased with herself that she couldn't resist one more jibe.
"You are right, Sir Guy. There are some people who are better than others, but it isn't by virtue of birth or rank. It is their actions that raise and lower men. And judging by your actions, you are one of the lowest pieces of filth to plague this world. Hang me, if you must. Add one more crime to your conscience."
Again, Sir Guy stared in silence. Evey stared right back, stoic and unblinking. The knight tried to look elsewhere, but her gaze was too piercing. Unable to turn the conversation back to his favor, he quickly ordered everyone out and slammed the door, leaving Evey in the dark once again.
Her knees gave out. She was going to die. In five days, her life would end. As terrifying as it was, though, she felt an ironic sense of liberation. Her situation couldn't possibly get worse, and that allowed her to say or do just about anything she wanted.
Her thoughts turned to Emeric. Would he try to look for her, or just assume that she had run away for good? No. He trusted her more than that. Didn't he? Would he really believe that she would keep her word to him? As she looked back on her life, she realized that she hadn't given him much reason to.
Her thoughts trailed naturally from Emeric to Sir Robert. After meeting Sir Guy, her opinions of the steward had definitely improved.
Then there was Isaiah. Sir Guy was right. Isaiah would be combing the forest, desperately searching for Robin Hood. But even if the man existed, her friend would never find him, convince him to help, and stage a rescue within five days.
Hopefully Isaiah wouldn't do anything stupid. He was no fool, but fighting off six men while practically unarmed was rash. Carrying her at a full sprint through most of the dungeon corridors was considerate, but unnecessary. And trying to break down a portcullis with bare hands was downright ridiculous.
She suddenly felt as though she had walked into a conversation halfway through. Everyone else laughed about a joke, but she had missed the punch line. The pieces just wouldn't come together.
The door crashed open again, only minutes after Sir guy left. Evey had no time to wonder what was happening, or even to fight back. Before she knew it, both wrists had been locked into a set of wall manacles. They were lower than the other sets, obviously for smaller victims. She felt sick. Clearly smaller victims were both expected and planned for.
So this was her punishment for insulting Sir Guy. It was acutely uncomfortable, and her arms had only just recovered from the rack, but she resolved to take it without a word. Sir Guy would not get the satisfaction of hearing her cry, or shout, or even complain.
She glanced over to the square space in the wall. There was just enough light for her to meet the gaze of two dark eyes. She returned the look with a glare that could have silenced a thunderstorm. Immediately the iron slide slammed shut, and she was left alone once again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On the day of her execution, Evey woke to the sound of the cell door screeching open. She didn't have the energy or the will to struggle when the guards unlocked her restraints. As her manacles clicked open, she fell straight to the ground and didn't move until long after the guards left.
Her arms were iron and her legs were jelly. After the long days of hanging from the wall, being heaped on the floor was the most comfortable thing she'd experienced in her life.
That's when it really hit her. Her life. It was nearly over. Only sixteen years old and she was about to be hanged as a traitor. Maybe she deserved it for what she'd done.
No. That was stupid. Wanting the best for one's country and people was not treason. She was not a traitor for trying to improve life for a few innocent families. She would still be branded one, but she would face it with a clean conscience.
But sixteen! She was so young. There was so much she had left to do. So many people left behind.
"Goodbye Emeric," she whispered feebly into her sleeves. "I'm sorry I can't help you anymore. Thank you for everything. Goodbye Robert. I'm sorry I hated you so much. I don't suppose you really deserved it. Goodbye Isaiah..."
Her voice gave out. It wasn't so hard to leave Robert or his father, but as she whispered her lonely goodbyes, she found that she wasn't ready to leave her friend. It hurt too much.
She tried not to think about it, but no matter what she hummed, or pictured, or recited, one face kept swimming to the front of her mind. She tried to be brave. She tried to make him go away, as she had with the others, but he wouldn't leave.
Deep down, she didn't want him to. If there was one person she could take with her, it would be him. Well, not to be executed, but if she were allowed an escort, or a last word, he was the only one she could possibly choose. She couldn't bid him farewell yet.
"Isaiah, I'm so sorry. I hope you're okay. I hope you made it out. Please be happy. Please be safe."
She started to cry. There was very little water in her body, so her tears were small and thick. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't help it. They came until she had nothing left.
"I've got to think of something else," she mumbled to herself.
She wanted to face her end bravely. With enormous effort, she crawled forward a few steps, but collapsed again, and buried her face in the tattered remnants of her cloak.
"Alright, then. Not goodbyes. Hellos. Hi mother. Hi father. I'll be coming up to see you soon. I guess it's a lot sooner than any of us planned. I'll finally be able to know you. I can't wait."
The truth was she could wait. She wanted to have to wait, but there was no point in getting emotional again. She had to look at the bright side of things, or Sir Guy and his minions would know. They would enjoy her execution far too much. If it was the last satisfaction she ever had in this life, she would stare him down. He would be haunted by her memory for years.
She needed to be able to look him in the eye, which meant she had to move. She didn't want to. She was so comfortable balled up on the ground. But she had to do it. And so, despite her protesting limbs, she stood and walked laps around the cell until her movement was smooth and dignified. Ish.
To her surprise, the guards gave her breakfast. It was only moldy bread and stagnant water, but she could have eaten twice as m
uch of it, as hungry as she was. After she ate, she stretched out on the floor to sleep as long as she could. Sleeping in manacles didn't work so well.
Then her last minutes would be truly meaningful. She could spit in Sir Guy's face and perhaps even stomp on his toe. She would be able to see and hear everything. Somehow, knowing the details made things less frightening.
Someone shook her. She tried to brush the hands away, but they were firm. For a moment she thought she was in her own bed again, being shooed away by a servant who was trying to clean.
"What?!" she shouted, while sitting bolt upright, though her eyes refused to open. She suddenly remembered where she was and braced herself for a blow to the head. It didn't come.
"Sorry, m'lady, but I was sent to give you these."
Evey cracked one eye slightly. The speaker was an old servant, dressed in patched clothes and a threadbare shawl.
"Who are you?"
"Just take them, m'lady."
Before she could ask anything else, the woman dashed out the door again, pulling it closed behind her. Evey sat in a half-awake stupor. She looked at the bundle she had been given. They were clothes. Not just that; they were clean clothes. Just simple woodland attire, but they were fresh and relatively new. She hardly wanted to put them on, being so grimy herself.
Who was that woman? And how had she gotten into the dungeons? Perhaps this was a common courtesy to all the prisoners on their last morning. It was considerate to let them die in something nice. But that was exactly why it couldn't be the custom. Sir Guy was not a considerate man.
There was even a cloak with the clothes, very similar to her old one. It was green and gray, just right for sneaking around in the forest. Only one person knew how well she used her cloak to hide in the trees. There could be only one reason for needing it now.
"Isaiah?"
The castle was literally a fortress. There was no way that Isaiah would go through the trouble of sneaking into the dungeons without trying to get her out at the same time. Then what was he up to? She hid her face in her palms.
"Please let it not be him. Anyone but him."
