The Axe #2
The plump magistrate stood as wide as the wooden door.
“I’m ready to dictate my final words,” I said, mentally rewriting my practiced message to something Cova would understand as a warning.
“Oh dear, no. There’s no time. We’ve taken long enough waiting for you as it is.” The magistrate’s thick fingers stumbled as they sorted a pile of papers.
“But—” No final words?
“You’ll have a moment to speak if you wish, but that is all.”
No. A verbal warning to Cova would be too obvious. It had to be written.
“Sir, I must insist.”
His violent gaze collided with mine. “You have no grounds to insist on anything, witch.”
I clenched my teeth, frustrated that I was being silenced and ignored one final time before exiting this life.
The magistrate turned his back and signaled to the guard to open the door to the courtyard.
The sunset overseeing my execution must have sensed there would be blood tonight. The fading yellow light gave way to a smattering of pinks and reds, a prelude to the blood-drenched earth that would soon match the sky.
A hush came over the crowd as they noticed the alleged sorceress emerging from the keep. I’m sure they expected gray, unkempt hair, a hideous face, warts plaguing my body. But no, maybe what stood before them was even more terrifying. That my normality could be relatable…and they could be next.
I heard a mother in the front row instruct her child not to look me directly in the eyes before shielding them with her hands.
A man holding a torch—presumably a farmer by the dirt on his sun-stained skin and clothing—didn’t hold back leering at each curve of my body.
Another voice, somewhere in the sea of strangers, called, “Give me ‘er ‘ead once it’s off. I’ve got a job for those lips!”
Uneasy laughter erupted at the disgusting joke, and suddenly, I was hungry for death. Humanity was ugly.
The crowd's comments escalated while I balked at the sight of the steps. Two guards fell in line behind me to ensure I completed my ascent, but my feet were weighed down, as though they’d fallen into thick mud. I willed my body to move, to go bravely to my death.
The next life will be better.
“Go on, then!” a man bellowed from the crowd, inspiring others to shout their own expletives.
A nudge signaled my stalling had come to its end. Up the steps I went. My body hummed violently from the terror of the unknown. Every nerve ending screamed for me to stop. What would await my soul on the other side of that blade?
The hooded executioner greeted me on the platform, alongside a recognizable block of wood, its familiar worn curve ready to cradle me into my next life.
“Lady Reyva Ashford…” The magistrate shouted—addressing me but facing the crowd—as he read from an obnoxiously long scroll.
Bergmont, I corrected him silently and tried to maintain a stoic expression.
He went on to list my crimes and reiterated my death sentence. As if the mob could forget why they delayed their evening activities to gather here today.
As he read, the scroll included a few new crimes about evading seasonal payment to the Crown, which was made impossible during my time in the keep.
Now, they could legally confiscate the vast estate and pass it off to a new up-and-coming noble.
It dawned on me then that could have been part of their plan all along.
But that wasn’t a concern I would carry with me. My journey was waiting patiently at the end of the long-winded magister’s remarks. My clasped hands began to sweat and slip.
I shifted my weight and scanned the crowd. The mass of unfamiliar faces hosted a myriad of expressions. Anger. Intrigue. Impatience. Sadness.
My heart sank with a sadness I recognized.
Lydia.
I pressed my lips together as tears blurred my younger reflection. She did look like me. All hair and defiance, just as Cova said.
Directly behind Lydia was my sister’s cold gaze, judging me until my very end.
An escaped tear splattered on the stage as I noticed who stood to her left.
Weary, sunken eyes and flushed cheeks beneath a mop of curly brown hair. Beau was coming apart at the seams within the crowd. He stood tall, but his shoulders visibly shook. He was not the nervous, sun-kissed stable boy I’d fallen in love with, but a man, breaking into a million pieces.
My eyes leapt between family members. Beau didn’t know he was standing mere feet from his daughter, and they were both about to witness my execution. A deep ache burrowed between my ribs. Stretching into my limbs, it screamed at me to run, to save myself, to do something.
The magistrate’s address dwindled with the remaining light of day. Cova flicked her chin, a silent command for me to turn around. Slowly, I angled my body and caught the sapphire robes standing in the alcove I’d emerged from.
Tucked away in the shadows of the rounded doorway, he lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers at me. He cast a pointed look at my family. Then, both their eyes fixed in Cova’s direction and they whispered to each other.
The Traveler wasn’t bluffing. He intended to take Cova. Or worse...Lydia. And Dawn above knew what would become of them.
With the swing of the axe, and the squelch of my severed head hitting the wood, Cova could become the Hive’s new target.
And then what? Would she find herself arrested and found falsely guilty for murder?
Would she help the Hive? Could she help the Hive?
She’d never admitted to having a gift. Even if I’d asked, I would bet a heavy bag of coin she’d deny it.
I pretended to fix my skirt as I turned to face the villagers in the audience, as if I hadn’t been instructed by my sister to give myself up to the Hive. Our final fight. One last silent disagreement before I exited the world. How very fitting for us.
I wouldn’t look at her again.
Torches replaced the light we were losing to the fast-approaching night.
My teeth chattered as I stole a glance at the silver metal of the axe.
I stretched my fingers wide before balling up my fists again. The hum of adrenaline graduated to a roar.
“Lady Ashford —”
Bergmont.
“—your final words before you depart this life?” The magistrate yielded the floor.
A hush swept over the crowd. The speech I’d prepared evaporated into nothing, my mouth arid and useless. A crackling panic consumed me, paralyzing me in place.
My eyes flicked down to Beau. My calm in the storm. My constant. The only unconditional love I had known. He was fighting tears and mouthed something to me. I narrowed my eyes and blinked away my own, and he mouthed it again.
Live.
Live.
He wanted me to live.
Something in me snapped.
“I—”
“Speak up, witch!” someone shouted, garnering cheers of agreement from the restless crowd. They wanted their show. They wanted my death.
I couldn’t let Lydia’s final memory of me be my severed head rolling away from my limp body. I couldn’t let Beau be subjected to the satisfied roar of the crowd once they’d had their blood. I couldn’t let the scheming Traveler put anyone else in my family in danger.
“I—accept these charges.”
I’d never actually pleaded guilty or admitted to any of my supposed crimes, but I didn’t have evidence to support my innocence. The Crown labeled me how they saw fit.
I cleared away the debris in my throat. “But after much consideration…” The crowd held its breath.
I had been silenced before. I had submitted before. To Hollis. To the Crown.
But this time, I would fight. And I would live.
“I’ve chosen to relinquish myself to the Hive.”
Dozens of disappointed groans spread through the courtyard. No blood tonight.
“That is very noble. We appreciate your sacrifice, Lady Ashford,” the magistrate announced, reminding the crowd the act was selfless and worth acknowledging. That because I went, it wouldn’t require another volunteer in my stead.
“Bergmont,” I corrected. His round cheeks flared at my boldness.
Before being hastily ushered off the stage, I glanced at my family. Cova wore a rare expression of approval and nodded as a parting gift.
And to Beau I mouthed, ‘Life.’
Guards held a barrier between the unsatisfied mob and me. The magistrate remained on the stage, shouting other royal announcements while I was escorted down the steps to the awaiting Traveler.
“Hello, lovely.”