Chapter 4
FOUR
ALLERIA
When the door opens, I don’t move. I’ve finally found a position on the cold floor where the pain is bearable, as long as I don’t breathe too deeply. I don’t want to give that up, no matter what.
Yellow torchlight spills in, framing a silhouette in the doorway. As they come toward me, the shape resolves into a middle-aged woman I don’t recognize. She’s wearing the plain dress and white apron of a palace servant.
She stops a few feet away, but doesn’t look at me. Instead, she fixes her gaze firmly on a point somewhere above my head.
“I’ve been sent to change your clothes, miss,” she says quietly.
My heart stops, then lurches back to life, slamming hard against my ribs. If she’s here, then it must be close to high sun.
I look down at the dress I’m wearing, torn at the shoulder, stiff with dried blood, and covered in the filth of this cell.
Even though I’m being sent to the gallows as a traitor, my father clearly doesn’t want me to go to my death wearing clothes that tell their own horrific story about what was done to me during my final hours.
He needs me to look the part of a defiant, disgraced princess, not a broken victim. Gods forbid, anyone should see me and feel pity.
I’ve spent most of the night since Cairn left cycling through terror, shame, and grief. I thought I’d reached acceptance, but staring at the servant in front of me, my throat closes.
I’m going to die today.
This woman has brought me the final clothes I will ever wear. Clothes chosen for me to die in. The next time the door opens, it will be the guards coming to take me to the gallows.
I press my palms against the wall and force my legs to bear my weight. The cell tilts. Pain washes over me, and I lock my knees until the floor levels out. I will do this standing up. I will not allow anyone to see how scared I am. I will walk out of here with pride.
The woman is still looking at the wall behind me. I don’t know what she’s waiting for. Maybe she’s scared. I can’t tell. But it’s not her whose life will end today. She gets to go home to her family.
I fix my one working eye on her. “I’m ready.”
I’m not. I’m too young to die. I have barely lived.
She unfolds the bundle in her hand to reveal a plain cotton shift.
I don’t stop her when she reaches for my torn clothes.
I let her strip them away. I don’t care that she sees the bruises on my skin, and the marks on my throat.
The ruined dress drops to the floor. She pulls the shift over my head and guides my arms through the holes.
I bite down on the cry of pain that wants to escape.
The fabric is coarse and stiff, nothing like the fine dresses I’ve worn my entire life, or the snug clothes the fae provided.
It’s too big across the shoulders and the hem drags in the dirt at my feet.
When she’s finished, she takes a step back, and finally looks at me. I’m shocked to see her eyes are glassy with tears.
“Is there anything I can get you?” she whispers. “Water or food?”
More time.
I almost say it.
One more day. Another hour. A minute. Anything to put off what’s coming.
I swallow all of it down. “No. Thank you.”
She dips into a shallow curtsey. “You should know that not everyone disagrees with you,” she whispers.
Then she’s gone, and I’m alone again, standing in the dark.
When they bring you out, I’ll be there.
Cairn’s voice whispers through my mind. He’s not here though.
The words are nothing more than a memory of what he promised.
And I believe him. I believe that he meant every word when he offered his bargain.
But I don’t see how he can make it happen.
Not without getting himself caught or killed.
There are mages here. My father isn’t stupid.
He’ll have the city warded against the fae.
Even if he does manage to get inside, he will never be able to get me out.
I can endure what they’ve done to me. I can face what is coming. But the thought of Cairn fighting his way to free me, and failing …
I suck in a shaky breath, and force the thoughts away.
I didn’t betray them. I will die proud of the fact I did not give up the fae or those who helped them.
That has to mean something.
The lock turns again. This time there are three guards waiting on the other side when the door opens. They waste no time striding over to me. My wrists are shackled in front of me, and the guard crouches to do the same to my ankles. His fingers stroke over my shin.
“Do you think princesses taste different to common women?” His fingers curl into the hem of my shift.
“The captain will cut out your tongue if he finds out you’ve touched her.”
“What does it matter now? She’ll be dead within the hour.” He looks up at me. “What do you say, Princess? I could make your last memory a pleasant one.”
I reach deep inside and dredge up a smile. “The last head between my legs belonged to a fae male. I doubt you can compare to the things he did to me with his tongue.”
He lurches back, his face twisting. “Fae-loving whore!” He spits at my feet, while his friend laughs.
“You don’t want to put your mouth where a fae has been.” He takes the other guard’s place, and finishes locking the shackles around my ankles, then stands. “Let’s go.”
Two grasp my arms, the third takes up position behind me, and they lead me out of the cell.
The walk takes longer than last time. Or it could be that I’m slower. Every step forward sends pain through my body, but the guards don’t adjust their pace, dragging me along whenever I lose my footing.
I don’t recognize the path they take me down. We pass other cells. Voices call from some of them, others are silent. Torches send flickering lights across the damp walls, and my teeth are chattering as much from the cold as fear by the time we reach a set of steps leading upwards.
I count them as we climb, trying to take my mind off the pain. There are fourteen. At the top is another hallway, with more stairs at the end. Twelve this time.
When we finally reach a door, the guards stop.
“Princess—” The one on my left begins to speak.
“Shut up.” He’s silenced by the guard behind us. “Open the door.”
I hold my breath as the heavy, iron-banded door opens, letting in the light beyond.
After so long in the dark, the sun is too bright.
I let the guards guide me outside, and I’m greeted by a space I recognize well.
We’re in the east courtyard of the palace.
It’s used by kitchen staff and merchants, and leads out into the city proper.
The route winds through the lower city to the main public square where executions take place.
I know that because I went to a hanging once.
When I was twelve, a man was caught after killing a merchant’s wife.
My father insisted that both me and my sister witness his death.
Merina cried. I didn’t. I watched as the man pleaded for clemency, falling to his knees and sobbing.
When it was refused, he tried to run, and was caught and dragged back to the scaffold.
The rope was looped around his neck, and the trapdoor opened.
His death wasn’t instant. His fingers clawed at the rope. The sounds of him choking filled the square. His bowels emptied, and the smell of excrement and urine made me gag. It took him ten minutes to die.
My father turned to me and said that justice was the king’s heaviest burden. I wonder if he still thinks that.
Does he even remember saying it to me?
The guards walk me through the courtyard, and I keep my gaze on the ground. The walk to the gate takes a lifetime, and I’m torn between wanting it to never end and wishing it was over.
A cart waits by the gate, open-backed, and attached to a single draft horse. There’s a bench running along one side, and a driver is already seated at the front, reins in his hand. The guards lift me onto the bench, and connect my chains to the iron hoop fixed to it.
One guard takes the seat beside the driver. The others move to either side of the cart, on foot, and the cart lurches forward. More guards fall in around us as we pass.
Do they think I’ll try to escape? Or are they there to stop someone killing me before we reach the square?
That question is answered as soon as we leave the palace grounds. The noise reaches me as a strange muted hum at first, building as we move deeper into the city, until I realize its voices shouting over each other.
The streets are lined with people who have come to watch me die.
I hate them for it.
The thought rises, fierce and ugly, from somewhere deep inside that I never thought existed.
I hate every single one of them. These same people bowed and smiled and called me Princess and Your highness, and now they’re lining the streets, shouting, jeering and spitting as I pass.
I keep my gaze on my feet and hold my breath. I don’t have time for hate. I don’t have time for anything. Not when every last scrap of courage I have is fraying the closer I get to the square.
The shackles on my wrists burn, biting into the raised welts already there. I try to move them further up my arms, but they catch at the open edges of the wounds, and make them bleed again.
The cart turns, and I glance up just as the square opens up ahead. I’ve seen this place decorated for festivals and fairs. I’ve watched plays here. But today …
Today, there’s a scaffold in the center, built from pale wood.
For me.
My father ordered this to be built so he could publicly execute his youngest daughter.
The crowd is thicker in the square, and the talking slows as the cart rolls to a stop at the base of the gallows.
The guard seated beside the driver turns and climbs into the cart.
He unchains the shackles from my ankles and wrists, then helps me to my feet.
Two more guards are waiting below, and I’m lifted off the cart.
The second my feet touch the ground, my legs almost give out.
I grit my teeth against the pain, and force myself to stand tall.