by Rose Reid
“Inquisitive as ever.”
Lyom, seemingly annoyed by my refusal, grabs my cuffs and pulls me closer to him. My muscles lock up at his touch. He jabs the key into my cuffs, unlocking them. Before I can do anything, Lyom has another set on me, these loose, the end of them in his hands.
“Where am I being taken? The gallows? They have already tried beheading numerous times; I assure you, it will not end in your favor.”
He seems reluctant to answer but when he escorts me from my cell, he replies. “The king has ordered me to bring you to Kinecardine.”
For the briefest of moments, my world stops spinning.
Kinecardine. One can expect to live a month there before dying some horrible death. I’ve heard stories — numerous stories — about the atrocities one might witness while being there. When I was younger, Quay had me come up with imaginary plans to escape Kinecardine if I were ever imprisoned there. I failed every one. Every assassin did.
Once, my plan indicated that I would take a heavy dose of ikketra, which grows abundantly near the Kinecardine work camp site, and slow my heart rate enough for the guards to believe me dead. Then, they would throw me into the mass graves they have in the mountains around them. The snow and ice that is present all year round would certainly not be pleasant when I woke but I would recover.
That is, until I learned that everyone that is presumed dead is beheaded before brought to the mass burial site. Just to be sure. The warden — Cotton, if my memory serves me well — is a very thorough man.
“What?” I exclaim, meaning to push all my anger and frustration through those words but only end up sounding pathetic, pleading. “You will not bring me there.”
Lyom spins on me, moving so that he stands in front of me again. His blue eyes beam down at me, though this time I see no anger or hostility, only regret.
I want to think, Good. Let him regret his mistakes. But I can’t help being heartbroken. I can’t help looking at him and continually wishing he’d unlock my chains, plant a kiss on my forehead the way Dominik always would, and promise to help me escape. I know it’s impossible, and I thought I’d stopped hoping for impossibilities a long time ago, but it’s a fantasy I now cling to.
I may have wanted death, thought I deserved it as penance for my sins, but no one deserves to live out their remaining days in Kinecardine, no matter how hardened a criminal you are. Despite my self-loathing, I do not anticipate being thrown into the mines, having barbed shackles clamped onto my wrists, and working day and night while trying to avoid the brawls that break out in the tunnels.
Beneath thick, dark lashes, Lyom’s eyes are soft, only making my fantasy seem more realistic.
“Aerietta, do not make this any more difficult than it has to be.” He grinds the words out like they are painful to say. “I have no choice. Do you understand that? I will have to subdue you if you do not come quietly. I beg of you, do not make me do that.”
Don’t, whispers that voice in the back of my mind. Don’t even think about conceding. Don’t even think about going with them easily. But what can I do? Flail my arms and legs and hope I kick one of them in the shin before they drag me through the gates of the mining camp?
Fear and uncertainty have a good hold on me. I think I’ve had so many scares in the past few weeks that I’m almost numb to the sinking feeling of defeat.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom when Lyom hauled me before the Cruel King after I was captured in Lydovier.
I thought it was over when the Adaaian guards swept me up and imprisoned me.
I was sure everything would change when I fell into the Hook Gulch and was bitten by the wytrian.
I knew what would become of me when Carnahan found my mark.
I think that’s why now that Lyom has told me I’m being brought to Kinecardine, it doesn’t affect me as much. It’s not the heartbreaking stab of betrayal I felt when I thought Dominik left me. My stomach doesn’t sink like a rock the way it should. I’m more resigned to my fate now. I know there isn’t much of anything I can do to stop it from coming.
I am not the same person Lyom found, betrayed by her companions on the shores of Lydovier. I’m not the same person that wanted to go out with a bang, slaughtering as many of Lyom’s men as I possibly could, and I’m certainly not the same person that attacked the caravan in Blancathey and killed Carenina … Lyom’s fiancée.
My hands curl into fists. As much as I don’t want to make this hard on Lyom, I cannot lay down my arms and allow myself to be brought to Kinecardine, where certain death awaits me. There isn’t much I can do to stop the thin ice I’m standing on from breaking but …
“Lyom,” I say desperately, not even sure how I’m going to finish my thought. “I didn’t — I never chose to be this,” My voice is a hoarse whisper, barely breaking the silence. “And … I’m sorry about what I did to Carenina.” I chance a look at Lyom and feel my traitorous eyes begin to water at the way his face is contorting — a mixture between heartbreak and rage.
I’m shaking my head, urging him to listen. “I know I have no one else to blame for her death … I know that … but I just want you to know that it was never my choice! I didn’t want this for myself. It’s just …” I’m losing him. I see him slipping further and further away, and I see Kinecardine growing closer. Nothing I say will drive it away.
I watch him for a long time, hoping that maybe something I said — anything — will have gotten through to him. His eyes are turbulent, swirling with too many emotions to count, while his mouth is slowly forming a resolute line. I hope that the emotions in his eyes will rule out the hardness of his mouth but I have no such luck.
I have never had such luck.
Lyom glowers. “Don’t you dare speak of Carenina.”
My breath slowly slips out of my lungs in one, dragging exhale. And because the situation can’t get any worse, and because Lyom deserves to know, I am stupid enough to open my mouth again.
“When I was in my cell … I remembered something,” I say in a whisper, keeping my eyes on his shoes. “I remembered her.”
The voice at the back of my head screams for me to stop talking but Lyom can’t possibly hate me more. And some things must be said.
“She called for you …” I continue. “It was the last thing she did.” I force my eyes to meet his. “And if she could see you now, she would be ashamed. In bed with the Devil, getting dangerously close with the offspring of the Cruel King …”
I see the torture behind Lyom’s eyes. He doesn’t realize it, but I’ve caught it. He knows I’m right. But he doesn’t admit it. At least now I have it off my conscience.
Just as I think it, the tip of an ikketra-dipped dart stabs into my arm. I don’t flinch or show any sign of recognizing the dart’s puncture, just watch Lyom until my knees give out and my head hits the stone floor.
I am jarred awake from my dreamless sleep by someone tossing me to the ground. I open my eyes but see only darkness, flecks of light streaming in through stitched gaps in the fabric that covers my head. The ground I have been cast onto is cold and the air around me is similar, though it isn’t the cold of Evrallon’s winters.
I’m inside.
I get to my hands and knees, disoriented and with muscles aching, stiff and sore. Someone grabs the cloth atop my head, along with a fistful of my hair, and jerks the cloth off, revealing a world of all white. I blink several times, trying to adjust my eyes to the white daylight streaming through the surrounding windows.
“Long trip?” chuckles an unfamiliar voice.
I blink again until I can faintly see the objects in the room, then can make out the figure standing before me, dressed in military garb. After several more blinks, my vision begins to adjust, revealing the man in more detail, standing with arms crossed over a strangely muscular chest. His hair is graying and he is tall, lanky even. Dark eyes that look like lumps of coal stare down a crooked nose at me, a mirthless smile at play on his scarred lips.
I am in a room ma
de of stone, great windows surrounding me, though when I look out the windows I only see stone and tunnels, workers moving painfully slow through the corridors lit by dim candles. I find the source of the light — a window at the top of the ceiling, daylight beaming down through the warped glass. It would appear this outpost has been built underground for increased security.
I return my attention to the man standing before me. He is nameless, someone I have never seen on Quay’s contracts and never heard of before, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out who he is.
He tilts his head to the side as if studying a rare type of bird. He slowly crouches, joints cracking as he does so, and rests his arms on his knees. A slow grin begins to form again on his face as he takes me in.
“Welcome to Kinecardine, Aerietta Elony.”
A Note on the Verses
The verses, excerpts, and poems at the beginning of each chapter are citations that either relate to the chapter following or would have a great impact on Aerietta, if they existed in her world. They are meant to be a foreshadowing for the chapters that follow at times and are made to be relatable. I encourage readers to look up the books and poems listed and hope that they enlighten you as much as they did me.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the wonderful LuLu team (http://www.lulu.com) who have always been able to assist me whenever needed and have been there to give much-appreciated advice. To Mary Kathryn, who trudged through my many previous novels and gave me needed advice and called me out on my clichés and shortcomings — much thanks. And to Emily, whose name and inspiration generators (www.fantasynamegenerators.com) were always entertaining to read through when I was going through writer’s block — much appreciation to you! Thank you to all my readers who have diligently gone through my book and given me needed advice in areas I could improve. A big thanks to my family and friends, who have supported me entirely along the way. Lastly, many thanks to Ashlee, who was the first person to introduce me into the wonderful world of reading. Thank you, Ashlee; I have never been the same since.
