36. Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ali
“It’s quite unexpected, running into you down here,” Eamon said, stepping out from behind a particularly large tree trunk near the back of the room.
His face was lit by the pale bluish light, casting shadows over his sharp features that left Ali’s hair standing on end.
It gave him an unearthly appearance, like a demon hiding in the depths of hell.
Ali didn’t speak. There was no good reason for her to be here. It was obvious she’d followed him, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
“What is this place? What are these?” she asked, nodding to the odd red bulbs growing on the tree bark.
“You don’t recognize them?” he asked, taking a step toward her. She countered his approach with a step to her right, shielding her body behind the closest planter. Eamon chuckled. “I suppose you wouldn’t. They were crushed up into dust by the time you got your hands on them.”
Ali watched him with unease. With each step he took, she retreated farther into the chamber.
It was like a checkerboard with rows of planters that came up to her waist. Spaces between each planter made it so one could move freely between the rows, making it difficult for Ali to create a sufficient barrier to separate them.
She did her best to keep at least two planters diagonally between them, but Eamon watched her like a predator toying with its prey.
He knew the layout better than she did. He didn’t even have to watch his step.
With the little distance that separated them, Ali watched as Eamon dragged his hand up a tree trunk, pausing to pry a few of the red buttons from the bark. He held them up in his palm, which Ali could see was covered in a black leather glove. “They’re helberries. Do you know what those are?”
Yes. Those cursed fungi were the reason she’d lost her child.
The reason she’d almost lost her own life.
She backed away from the planter closest to her, only to bump into another behind her.
The rows upon rows of helberries growing, waiting to take their next victim, pressed in around her and made the chamber feel smaller than it was.
She hesitated to move an inch, just in case she accidentally brushed up against one.
“Hmm. I think you know exactly what they are.”
“Y…You,” she stammered. “You poisoned me.” She’d always suspected it. Who else would be cruel enough to do such a thing? But there was no proof and she couldn’t figure out a reason other than the fact that Eamon was a horrible human being. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said you were just a casualty of war? The poison was never meant for you. It was for your friend.” He spat the last word like it was bitter on his tongue.
“Grace?”
“Obviously.”
Ali glared at him and carefully took another sidestep.
She needed to come up with a plan to get out of here.
Every minute inside the dark chamber forced her farther from the entrance.
Eamon seemed to know that too, carefully wedging himself between her and the narrow tunnel that led out of the mountain and back to safety.
She needed time to come up with a plan. Maybe she could distract him somehow.
“Why did you want to poison Grace?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. Eamon and his rebellion were power hungry, and they’d do anything to end the line of succession. But if she could keep him talking, then she could use that time to figure out her next steps.
“Because she doesn’t deserve to call herself the Lady of Berland.
” His voice dripped with contempt. “Her mother doesn’t either.
For years, we’ve been subjected to weak leadership.
Allowing too many people in, draining our resources, and ignoring the concerns of those who’ve been in Berland the longest. Women like Grace and Ellen are too weak to lead. ”
Ali resisted the urge to scoff. It wasn’t that Grace or Ellen were incapable of leading; they just didn’t lead in a way that benefited Eamon above all else.
His followers were foolish enough to think he’d reward them for their loyalty, but Eamon didn’t care about them either. He only cared about himself.
“And you think you would make a better ruler?” she asked.
Eamon stepped around a planter. His hand moved to his right pocket.
Ali didn’t want to find out what he was holding. She moved backward until another planter separated them, eyes flicking from side to side for something other than helberries.
To her right, she noticed a workbench littered with tools, a watering can, and red-stained protective clothing hanging on the wall.
It wasn’t much to work with, but there had to be something she could use to help her escape.
Slowly, so she didn’t alert Eamon to her intentions, she inched toward the wall.
“Of course I would be. I’d be strong—strong enough to make the tough choices like keeping outsiders out. And expanding our territory, giving more land and wealth to those who deserve it.”
This time, Ali couldn’t hide her snort. “That’s your grand idea? To make enemies of everyone outside of these borders? To claim what isn’t yours and antagonize neighboring communities who have helped build and maintain our trade routes? You’d start a war just to stroke your own ego.”
Eamon took an angry step toward her, and his hand slid out of his pocket carrying a small white piece of fabric.
It looked like a small sack full of some substance Ali couldn’t see, but by the way the edges bulged, she assumed it was full of helberries.
What was he going to do? Shove them down her throat?
Toss them at her? She squatted lower just in case she needed to duck.
“I wouldn’t expect a woman like you to understand. You’re just as useless as Grace. And her mother and her mother before that. Too much of a pacifist, letting your emotions get in the way. Letting it blind you from seeing the future Berland could have. The future we need.”
“The future you’ve painted is dark and lonely and destined to lead to ruin.”
“What would you know?” Eamon spat.
“I watched it happen myself…in Rysburg. Foolish men who thought they could take what didn’t belong to them, and in the end, it cost them everything. Just like it will cost you everything.”
The longer she spoke, the angrier Eamon became. Ali could tell she was running out of time to stall him. He was tired of playing with his prey and was ready to be rid of her. He clearly didn’t appreciate the truth she spoke.
Thankfully, the wall was just a few feet away now.
But Eamon was inching closer every second.
She slid her right foot across the uneven floor but stumbled when she came across a rather large jut in the surface.
She recovered quickly, hoping her wobble was too subtle to notice, but as she studied Eamon, she knew she hadn’t been that lucky.
His eyes were fixed on her lower half, like he could see through the planters to where her feet were sneaking toward the wall.
He glanced in that direction, eyes squinted, and then back to her.
His head cocked to the left. “Oh, Ali, do not delude yourself into thinking you’ll be getting out of here alive.
I may not have been successful the first time around, but your life ends today. It ends here.”
He said the words so carelessly, and somehow, that made it worse.
Her life was expendable to him. Just another casualty in his quest to overthrow the matriarchy.
He didn’t care about any of the lives he’d taken.
The council members who had died in a fire, the hundreds who could’ve lost everything had his attempt to sabotage the solar panels been successful, whoever these helberries were meant for—none of them mattered.
Ali didn’t matter. And her baby hadn’t mattered.
An uncontrollable flame lit inside her, blazing across her skin and turning her vision red. She abandoned stealth and lunged for the wall and the bench that came up to her waist.
But Eamon was ready. He sprinted around the few planters that kept them apart.
Ali grabbed the first thing her fingers touched, and she prayed that she hadn’t just gripped helberries with bare hands. When she raised her fist, she briefly glimpsed a jar filled with a jelly-like substance, which she threw at Eamon’s face.
He held his arm up just in time to prevent the jar from colliding with his forehead, and the glass shattered, sending the slimy red substance all over his face and arm. It slowly dripped down and, for a moment, time stood still.
Ali watched as Eamon processed what she’d just done. His eyes went wide, and they both realized at the same time that Ali had just thrown some sort of helberry preserve and it had splattered all over Eamon’s unprotected skin.
Eamon moved fast, but Ali acted faster. She reached behind her and grabbed the remaining three jars, sprinting to the side before he could get to her. When she felt she had enough distance, she spun back around and tossed another jar at his head.
He ducked, and the jar exploded on the corner of a planter, raining glass and poisonous goo to the floor. Eamon yelled in frustration and flung the sack he’d been holding in her direction. She stepped out of the way and the sack hit the wall behind her, bursting open with a cloudy powder.
Ali closed her eyes and mouth on instinct.
She’d been wrong about its contents. Those little bumps weren’t raw helberries.
They must’ve been pellets containing the same type of powder she’d once been poisoned with.
Stepping away from the cloud, she pulled the neck of her shirt up until it covered her mouth and nose.
After a few steps, she dared open her eyes, only to find Eamon running toward her.
She threw a jar in his direction, but it slipped out of her fingers.
Though she’d aimed for his nose, it fell short and landed on his upper thigh.
The glass cracked but didn’t split open until it hit the floor.
Eamon lost his foothold in the slippery mess and reached out, grabbing one of the planters to keep himself upright.
In his moment of distraction, Ali saw the perfect opportunity. She took one step forward and threw her last jar at him with all her might. The container tumbled through the air and miraculously collided with Eamon’s cheek, bursting open and covering his eyes and mouth.
He hollered and spat, but the more he tried to clear the jelly from his face, the worse it spread. His cheeks broke out in hives almost instantaneously and his right eye swelled shut. Little red streaks dotted his face where the shattered glass had sliced his skin.
Eamon’s head whipped in her direction. He tried to feel his way toward her, fingers brushing the wooden edges of the planters while he walked between them.
Ali ran around the perimeter of the room while Eamon fumbled forward.
“Come back here, you bitch,” he screamed. “I’ll kill you!”
Ali ignored him, making her way to the little tunnel so she could escape. But she skidded in her tracks when her eyes caught on something shiny on the workbench. Shiny and sharp.
A pair of gardening shears at least six inches long were hanging by a nail on the cave wall. She looked between them and the exit, taking only a heartbeat to decide. Then she backtracked and headed for the shears, her heart beating wildly in her chest.
She didn’t have time to second-guess herself. To consider what the consequences would be for what she was about to do. All she could think about was how much pain and suffering this one man had caused, and how she could end it with one grisly choice.
Eamon was still blindly fumbling around when Ali went quiet. In order for her plan to work, she needed to catch him off guard.
It took a minute for Eamon to realize he was the only one making a sound. He stopped moving and waited for her to make a noise.
But none came.
“Where’d you go, you little bitch?” he muttered.
Ali gave him no response. She tiptoed closer, working her way through the rows of helberries until she could position herself behind him.
“Don’t tell me you ran,” he sneered. “Like a pathetic woman. I’ll bet you went to find that boyfriend of yours. Or maybe your friend Eli? I always thought you two were abnormally close. Does Grace know her beloved Eli is still in love with someone else?”
Ali ground her teeth, but not because of his comments regarding Eli. Their friendship had never been healthier, and Grace was completely aware of their history. They had nothing to hide.
But Ali hated the way he spoke, as if she was inferior. As if she was weak or fragile. She was stronger than he ever would be. He wouldn’t have survived half of the things she’d been through. She gripped the shears tighter until the handle dug into her palm.
“Ali,” he taunted, drawing out her name like an eerie song.
She was close now, close enough that she had to step into the same slippery sludge he’d gotten caught in. She shuffled her feet forward carefully until Eamon was within an arm’s reach.
Ali raised the shears over her head, ready to plunge them into his back, right between his shoulder blades.
But just as she began to bring them down, Eamon spun around, baring his teeth like a wild animal. He opened his mouth, likely to spew more hatred and insults, but before he could utter another word, Ali drove the shears right into his chest.