“Priscilla will listen.”
Darren shook his head. “She won’t. And neither would I.” His tone wasn’t bitter; if anything, it was calm. “A queen has… more pressing concerns than the life of a traitor. And in case you’ve forgotten—” His laugh was hoarse. “—she hates us.”
“Darren.” It was killing me to hold everything inside. Why couldn’t the guards just disappear? I needed to tell him. I was afraid of what would happen while I was away.
“Ryiah.” The fallen king lifted his chin to meet my gaze head on. His jaw worked as he spoke. “Let me go.”
I was on my knees in front of him. “You don’t mean that!”
Darren continued on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You have a good life here. You could be… happy.”
He was wrong. My nails dug into my palms to keep from screaming out in vain. He couldn’t just give up. I wouldn’t let him.
“I’m not the only one.” Darren cracked a smile, but his eyes were empty and colorless. “I know you think this is the end, Ryiah… but it isn’t. I’m not worth it. Don’t throw…” His fists balled at his sides, and I could hear the sharp exhale that followed. “Don’t throw your life away on the villain.”
Tears blurred my sight, and my heart beat away in my chest. “Darren, you’re not.”
“Please,” his voice cracked, and a part of me shattered. “Please,” he whispered again, “just go.”
I didn’t want to leave.
But ever since he’d awoke…
What choice did I have?
The former king of Jerar, the Black Mage, the most arrogant, confident, prideful man I knew… he had given up.
He wanted to die. And worse, he believed he deserved it.
The second-born son had finally stopped fighting.
I pulled myself up off the ground and blinked away the tears stinging my eyes. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I wish… you wouldn’t.”
There was a knot in the back of my throat. It was growing bigger with every second, and I was afraid it would swallow me whole.
The guard swung open the cell bars, and I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t. Right now I needed to be strong for both of us.
My legs shook as I walked.
Darren might have given up on himself, but I hadn’t.
21
The final day before the execution came and went. Priscilla was crowned Queen of Jerar. All of the great rulers of the Western Realm—King Horrace, King Joren, and Emperor Liang—as well as their guards, were present and watched the ceremony with discerning eyes.
For my part, I did my best not to scream.
Duke Cassius tried to approach me after the ceremony, but he stopped after he read the expression on my face. I was tired of scheming rulers and pacts made behind closed doors. Pythus was not my friend. What had our alliance even bought? Certainly not peace, and I wasn’t going to offer him Jerar.
Priscilla was the right choice for the throne. I could see it as she went around the room. Darren and I had trained our entire lives for war, but the raven-haired beauty? Her father had prepared her to serve alongside a prince. She was calculating and shrewd, but she also knew the court like the back of her hand.
The queen couldn’t save the boy I loved, but she would find a way to appease the Caltothians after we were gone. The declaration that Jerar was cutting down its infantry, and that the study of magic would no longer be restricted to the best, was met with apprehension, but also respect. Priscilla, with the help of Marius, her chief advisor, renounced the individual factions and the Candidacy. Magic was now opened up to the study of all pursuits.
War would no longer be the focus of Jerar.
I hadn’t expected Priscilla to embrace my idea, but perhaps she had been listening after all.
Jerar would be a new land, one that I would never get to know.
Did you ever imagine that despicable girl from the Academy would become a respectable queen? That the boy you loved would bring a country to its knees? That you and your friends would commit treason against the Crown?
I hadn’t. If I’d known…
I found myself at the dungeon doors for the second time that day.
Darren looked up at me as I approached, but he didn’t push me away.
To him, this was our last night, and I had failed.
I wanted to tell him I hadn’t. That I wouldn’t. That Ian had hidden weapons, and all of our plans were set for the morning. That we knew the guards’ positions and we were going to succeed.
But there were guards listening, and for the first time, Darren wasn’t looking away.
He took my hand as I sat down next to him in the corner of his cell.
For awhile, I just listened to the steady beat of his heart. It was so loud. Or maybe it was my own. I couldn’t tell.
“Darren—”
“Please…” His fingers tightened against my own. “No… words.”
He had already accepted his fate.
Minutes slipped past and the shadows pressed in. Those minutes turned into hours and the sun was pushing past stars. I watched it all from the corner of our cell.
My hand never left his.
I was drifting to sleep, the back of my head against the cold stone wall, when his lips brushed my hair.
Darren must have thought I was dreaming.
“Gods.” Darren’s voice was hoarse. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
No. I jerked out of my trance and snapped awake. “Darren—”
And then there was the creaking of the cell bars as heavy boots approached from the outside.
Darren’s eyes were locked on me as the guard slipped a key inside his manacles’ lock.
“I love you,” he whispered.
And then the guards dragged him away.
I hadn’t seen the gallows until that morning. Somehow, in all of our plans for the week, I had avoided stepping foot outside of the keep. Perhaps it had been a conscious decision.
Standing here now, taking it all in, I could see why I’d been unable to make the approach.
The sky was too lovely for such a terrible day. Spring air—a mixture of pollen and pine—wafted across the field as a crowd gathered fifty yards from the fortress’s entrance, lured in by the promise of blood and a looming gallows just beyond.
There were so many faces. Young and old, highborn and lowborn, all gathered around the square. The queen’s court dressed in an array of colors, vibrant gold, and their finest Borean silks, instead of the mourning black.
A king was to die today, and I was faced with a rainbow instead.
People were shouting, mouths open and wide, but all I could hear was my pulse. I pushed through the crowd, my eyes taking in every inch of my surroundings. It killed me to be so far away from the front, but a strict sense of control kept me back. Every rebel guard was watching the grounds.
I couldn’t afford any more risks.
My back was hunched, and I wore a tattered gray cloak. The guards had been given orders to look for a girl dressed like a soldier. No one looked twice at a pock-marked woman with a cane and a limp.
Itchy red hives covered my arms and face. I’d had a hearty serving of mutton just before my approach. It was the first time I’d been grateful for a childhood reaction to sheep.
My transformation hadn’t been hard.
I’d traded clothes with Ian’s mother in the stables that morning. Each of us had donned a wig to match the other’s appearance.
Then there had been a loud proclamation that I was leaving Jerar as Ian’s mother rode away pretending to be me.
An old woman had hobbled out of the stables while the guards spread the word that I was gone.
Now I was searching the grounds for the mark Ian promised. It was hard with the crowd. He had buried a knife during the gallows’ construction. It wasn’t a sword, but it was better than my fists.
Five paces from the perimeter to the west. Look for the guard with the red bea
rd; he will be stationed near its right. Two small stones and a slight indent in the ground.
When I finally located the mound, I made a show of dropping my cane. Then, I ducked my head and crouched, clawing at the dirt just underneath my cloak.
My nails scraped against steel just as a hand caught the pit of my arm.
I froze as my eyes leveled with a guard.
“You dropped this.” He had my cane in his fist.
Oh. My heartbeat returned. I thrust the knife into my boot’s heel and then clasped the cane in gratitude.
“W-what a kind s-soul.”
The guard gave me a toothy smile and released me with a reminder to watch my step.
I nodded and continued on my way.
Weapon: check.
Now to stand and wait for the guards to bring Darren out.
I felt oddly calm.
Watching him leave the prison at dawn… it was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. But I hadn’t let myself break. There’d been too much at stake. I’d returned to my chamber and waited for the hour to pass. And then I’d followed the rest of the morning as planned.
And now, while the sun was high in the sky and the herald called for attention, I was ready.
To lose or to win. Whatever the gods had in store, I’d give everything I could for the latter.
To the right of the stage was a sectioned off dais with chairs and a pergola roof. Instead of vines, it was dripping curtains to provide the visiting monarchs respite from the late afternoon sun. There were a couple of attendants serving refreshments and a pack of former rebel mages, including Ian, guarding its entrance.
To the front and center, close to the noose, was Ella. Both she and Alex were dressed in peasants’ garb, their faces streaked with dirt. It wasn’t the best disguise in the world, but with no weapons and the other “me” leading Priscilla’s guard on a wild chase through the Iron Mountains, no one would be looking for my brother and his wife.
Just a couple of yards away, Alex waited with a flask. It smelled like spilt ale, but it carried an alchemist’s potion inside, capable of creating enough smoke to obscure the entire square. Ella had snuck it from the rebels’ private stores. The potion would cost a small fortune in the capital.
A hush fell over the crowd; my eyes flew to the stage.
A pair of guards carried two ends of a chain as they led a prisoner up a set of steps at the side.
Darren.
A cry caught in the back of my throat.
He looked different from this morning. One of his brows was split and he walked with a limp.
His hands were bound and bleeding. I could see fresh cuts where the cuffs scraped against his wrists. Perspiration pooled below his bangs as he struggled to match the men’s heavy pace. There were fresh bruises lining his jaw—red, where the blood had just collected beneath the skin.
She promised the guards wouldn’t hurt him again. My fist gripped the cane so hard it throbbed. Priscilla must have only meant the days leading up to his execution.
After all, this was all in the name of the Caltothian king.
My eyes flew to the shaded pergola and the hidden rulers inside. I wondered what they thought as they watched the fallen king of Jerar limp across the stage.
Why was the cost of peace always death? Why did there have to be a cost?
One of the priests strode forward as a guard yanked Darren to the center of the stage.
“People of Jerar,” the elder proclaimed, “I give you, on behalf of our new queen, the former king of Jerar.” One of the guards jerked the chain back so that Darren stumbled across the dais. “Today marks the first day of Queen Priscilla’s reign and the burgeoning peace between two enemy nations, Jerar and Caltoth.”
The crowd erupted in cheers; the priest waited for it to die away. “The death of a criminal, the young man before us now, will be the first of many steps in reestablishing our old alliance and fostering peace, instead of war, between nations.”
“Kill the traitor!”
“Make him suffer!”
Shouts rose up as the people surged forward, calling for blood, but the priest held up a stiff hand, shaking his long gray locks in disgust.
“Our gods punish those in time, but we, as a race, are not one without compassion. We shall let the young man speak.”
The crowd was silent.
“Speak, boy.” The elder turned to Darren. “If you have anything to say to your gods and the people you’ve wronged, say it now or forever hold your tongue.”
My jaw clenched as I scanned the crowd again for Alex. This was it. This was the time.
Where is he?
“Good c-citizens of Jerar…” Darren’s voice brought me back to the stands. “I have failed you.”
A cry rose in the square and someone else’s jeer echoed the first.
“I called on a war that was not n-needed.” A lump rose and fell in Darren’s throat as one of his guards reached for the rope at his left. “I was not the king you deserve, and as… as such, I shall…” His eyes were scanning the crowd as he searched for someone below.
My heart slammed my ribs.
He was looking for me, but I was missing. Darren’s gaze passed right over my face.
“…Suffer this crime without your forgiveness… I only p-pray—”
Another angry shout cut the prisoner off, and then another. An elbow found my ribs as the crowd surged.
My gaze broke off as I desperately sought my brother below. Alex should have used the flask by now. Something was wrong.
“—That you never make my mistake… T-that you cherish… the ones t-that you l-love—”
Darren’s gasp brought my eyes to the stage. Blood was trickling down the side of his face.
Someone had lobbed a rock at the prisoner in chains.
Someone else threw the next.
And then all restraint released. I shoved my way forward just as the guard jerked Darren back to his feet.
Darren was still choking the words as they lifted the noose above his head.
“A-and that… you see beyond y-your hate… To truth—”
I couldn’t hear him anymore as I clawed my way forward with everyone else. There were too many. So many bodies.
Everyone else was running forward too. I’d never make it in time.
My fist found someone to my left. I thrust the cane into someone’s ribs.
The crowd was bellowing for blood.
A large man’s boot found my heel as my fingers grasped another woman’s braid.
“Kill the pig!”
“Peace for Jerar!”
“Death to the traitor king!”
And I screamed Darren’s name at the top of my lungs, but my voice was lost to the rest.
I was running.
I was calling on magic that wouldn’t come.
I was fighting my way forward as a third guard pulled the lever at Darren’s right.
The trap door swung.
The panels dropped.
And Darren was in the air, his feet dangling five yards above the ground below.
His neck swung from the rope.
“Noooooo!”
Everything was red. I was screaming and the dagger was in my hand. I extended my arm at the stage, taking aim just above his head.
And the grounds exploded in smoke.
Thick, wafting gas surrounded us, black and heavy, tasting like ash.
Alex.
The crowd broke out into chaos with cries and shrieks of alarm. Instead of forward, the bodies turned toward me. They were now a stampede of shadows, and I was the one shoving back.
Coughing, I ran with the hand holding the dagger covering my face. I couldn’t make out the guards from the crowd, but any time a hand caught my wrist, I swung.
My cane was long forgotten in the chaos that ensued. I used one hand to pummel as I shoved my way past the fleeing crowd.
Darren.
My heart was beating itself out of my chest; I couldn’t f
eel anything but the heavy slam against my ribs as the world roared in my ears.
My eyes locked on the dim outline of the gallows ahead. Five more seconds passed and the smoke cleared enough to take in the rope.
It was swinging without an anchor.
My legs were searing as I lunged.
The noose had been cut. Darren was missing.
…Our plan.
Did Ella make it in time?
And then I noticed two shadows near the edge of the crowd, not five yards from the gallows’ base. One figure dragging another through the smoke.
Quinn’s voice rose above the din. “Get the traitors!”
And I knew.
I knew it was them.
There was a cluster of villagers blocking my way; I raised my knife and screamed at them to move. My fist sent the slowest to the ground, my muscles straining against my skin.
I was almost there.
There was more shouting and flares of color as magic shot back and forth across the crowd. Ella needed help; she couldn’t hold off an infantry by herself.
I dove and caught the nearest soldier unawares. He dropped his sword as my blade pressed against the back of his neck.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I slipped around to the front and sent a fist to the soldier’s nose. His neck snapped back as he tumbled unconscious to the ground.
I might be a traitor, but I wouldn’t kill a man fighting for Jerar.
Instead, I gathered the soldier’s weapons and cut my way through the rest of the pack.
I didn’t need magic to win this fight.
Everything in me was a raging storm, and today I wouldn’t fail.
There was one word. One name. It kept me fighting all the way to the end.
I reached the edge of the crowd and found them.
Ella was struggling to drag Darren behind a pile of crates. There was a hazy amethyst barrier keeping them safe from the guards’ flying assault, but her magic wouldn’t last forever.
I reached them in an instant. And then I stopped breathing.
Ella was holding Darren up by the pits of his arms; she was all that kept the fallen king from crumbling to the ground. His eyes were shut, and I couldn’t tell if he was breathing; all I could fixate on was the red bruising around his neck.
Last Stand (The Black Mage Book 4) Page 32
