Chapter Nine
Isla
Papa’s getting stronger by the day, thank the Fates. He stumbles here and there, but for the most part, he’s steadier. He walks around the yard, throwing corn out for the chickens who cluck angrily under his feet. “Alright, alright,” Papa mumbles under his breath. “Ornery, demanding things.”
I laugh airily, pulling the weeds and trimming the wayward plants that are threatening to take over the others.
Raia comes walking up, swinging a basket covered with cloth. There’s a bright smile on her face, as she whistles down the road.
“Hello papa,” she greets my grandfather. Raia practically bounces into the garden. Days after the attack, excitement and exuberance fills the air around her. “I brought bread. Mama wanted to make sure you two were feeding yourselves.”
I shake my head, matching her smile with my own. Raia’s mother is always sending spare bread and bits with her. Papa smiles kindly, taking the bread from her. “Well, I’ll let you two have at it,” he waves as he walks inside our home.
Raia waits a bit, letting the door shut before she turns her attention towards me. There’s a wide smile on her face, “I have so much to tell you. I spent the evening with Jasper yesterday.”
She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, causing me to laugh. “Raia,” I chastise her.
The sound of galloping hooves pulls my attention away from Raia hanging on the fence.
“Expecting company?” Raia asks.
“None,” I tell her. Oliver’s away again, he sent word this morning. No one else would come, or so I thought.
A small contingent of riders gallop up to the property.
The Duke, his heir, Philipa, and a swath of royal guards dismount their horses.
They wear the Cahir family colors of deep navy and gold and are heavily armed.
The noise draws my papa back out of the house.
He slowly walks towards them, apprehension clear on his face, but he greets them warmly.
“Duke Cahir,” he dips as low as he can. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The Duke appears angry. His hand is on his sword when he nods to two guards. They rush my papa, knocking the walking stick away from him. Raia grips my arm in panic. “No!” I shout. “What are you doing?”
They don’t bother to look my way. Two guards knock papa’s feet out from underneath him. He slams down on his knees. “Papa!” I screech. My ears ring. The panic is suffocating. No, no, no. What is happening? More royal guards seize Raia and my hands.
“You’re under arrest for your crimes, for failure to pay your taxes, for treason against the crown and your Duke.” Treason? Failure to pay taxes? It isn’t possible. I pay them on time again and again. I give them everything we have. No treason has been committed in this house.
My mind flashes to the rebellions stirring around the kingdom, to the dark alley meetings that occur in the village.
That wasn’t us, though. We’re good people, kind people.
We help our neighbors, pay our taxes. We trust and believe in the Duke.
We’re loyal as can be. I watch as they hold my papa on the ground. His face is twisted in pain.
“What are you doing to him? Please, no!” I fight against the guard’s hold, stomping on his booted foot.
The guard grunts, slightly loosening his hold.
I seize the opportunity to slip out of his grasp.
Henry catches me around my waist, gripping me tightly.
I fight against him. I need to get to him.
I need them to see reason. “Please!” I beg.
Alastair unsheathes his sword. The sound of his blade echoes in my ear. No, no, Fates please, no. “For your crimes, the crown has ordered your immediate and sudden death.”
“NO!” I struggle in Henry’s hold. “No, no, no!” I shout over and over. “DON’T DO THIS, PLEASE. I’m begging you, please. Don’t do this. Not him.” My voice raw from the screams. “TAKE ME.”
“Silence, Isla, before you make this worse than it has to be.” Henry threatens in my ear. I don’t care. Nothing matters if papa isn’t here. Please. Alastair swings his sword. The sound of flesh hitting echo in my ears over and over.
I keep screaming. Sobs wrench from my chest as I fall to my knees. My papa’s head is sliced from his body and rolls a foot away. His lifeless eyes will forever haunt me.
All the fight leaves my body and I collapse. Henry picks me up from the ground, pulling me towards the Duke and the two guards who stand by papa’s lifeless body. Another guard turns and seizes Raia.
“Get your hands off me, you stupid bastard!” She spits. Raia fights against him, whatever will I had to keep going was gone. A distant memory. Whatever’s done, is done.
A blue-sky, peaceful day turned to nightmares from the pits of hell. Philipa stands smug, observing the scene, as if whatever masterful plan she had thought of is finally unfolding.
“Isla,” The Duke says my name. I spit. Henry kicks my legs out, just as they had my papa. I jut my chin out in defiance, staring down the men who just murdered my papa in cold blood.
“Leave her alone!” I hear Raia shout, but the will to care left with my papa’s life. Do it. This family can take my life. I wish for it. Fates, I crave it.
Let Oliver see the cruel monsters he has to share blood with. Let him be the creator of their downfall. The only thing I wish for was one last time to see him. One last time to cup his cheek and kiss his lips softly, to revel in our last moments.
“For your crimes against the crown and your Duke, you will be punished. Twenty lashes for knowing and harboring a rebel.” He pauses, looking down at me. “Take note, girl, of my mercy. Your head should roll for your disloyalty.”
Bitterness fills the emptiness inside me. Harboring a rebel? The man who has been ill for the last several months? The man who preached on loyalty and above else, honored the crown? I scoff. Disloyalty?
Every argument with Raia flashes in my mind. She was right, but that’s futile, as I sit here on my knees, watching the blood drain from my grandfather’s body, charged with crimes neither of us would have ever committed.
The laces of my dress are sliced open. A guard rips open the back of my dress, bearing my back for the lashes I’m unprepared to take.
One lash, the pain takes my breath. Tears well in my eyes, but I will them not to fall.
Two lashes, a sob breaks from my chest.
Three lashes, the tears fall unbidden. The pain sears my back as if it’s on fire.
Four lashes, I feel the skin split. Blood soaking my back.
Five lashes, black spots dance in front of my eyes. I wouldn’t survive this.
“Father,” an airy voice calls out. “Let her finish her days out on her back, with her legs spread, paying back the taxes her family has failed to pay.”
Hands release me, causing me to collapse in misery. Consciousness fades in and out. Please, Fates. Have mercy. I beg to stay lucid enough to hear my death sentence.
“I am not a man without compassion,” the smug duke drawls.
“Let the scars on her back be a reminder of what happens to traitors who refuse to support the crown. She can be the ever-present reminder to the rebels she holds dear to her heart. Take her to the prison. Her friend, too. They’ll leave at first light. ”
The two guards who held me down attempt to lift me from the ground where I collapsed. “Sir,” a guard speaks up. “I’m not sure she’ll be much for the road.”
Raia struggles against the two who had seized her. The duke sighs. “Fine. We’ll send a healer after her in the cells.” The world dips. Everything fades to black.
∞∞∞
Drip, drip, drip. There’s an incessant dripping that drives me insane. Papa must have left the window open. Drip, drip, drip. I groan. My muscles are sore, and I don’t want to move. I don’t think I can move, even if I wanted to.
“Isla,” a familiar voice whispers. Who is that? It wasn’t Papa.
“Isla, you must wake up,” again the voice encourages me to open my eyes, but I can’t. It feels as if they’re sealed shut. I let myself slip back into the darkness. Its call too strong to ignore. A wet rag slides across my back. The pain from it jars me from my sleep.
“Isla,” the voice whispers again. “Please, wake up. I’m begging you.” I shift, met with a searing pain in my back. “Easy dear.”
My eyes slowly open to a dark and musty room. Raia sits on her knees next to me. There’s an old bucket and a stained rag in her hands. She gives me a tight, watery smile.
“There you are,” she whispers. Exhaustion mars her face. Dark circles are obvious, even in the dim light of the cell.
“Raia,” my voice is hoarse from misuse. I try to sit up, but Raia pushes me back down.
“Don’t. You’ll tear your back. Healer Sibley did all he could, but the fever was bad, Isla. They didn’t let him come back after he packed your wounds.” Tears slide down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she barely whispers.
I look at my best friend. Every detail of the duke visiting my home, my papa slain in the yard, just outside my garden. The unbearable pain. Every feeling, thought, and memory pummels me, each surge stronger than the last.
I’m drowning in grief and desperation. Raia tends to my back in silence while I fight the barrage of emotions. The empty feeling, the ache of him being gone.
“How long have I been out?” I croak.
“Four days.”
“Four days?”
“We thought the fever would take you.”
“I need to get word to Oli,” I rasp. Raia pauses along my back.
“Isla,” she starts.
“Don’t,” I cut her off. “He didn’t do this. He didn’t do this.”
“It’s his family. What do you think is going to happen when he finds out? That he’ll destroy his family and burn the world for you?”
My breath hitches. Moments of our last argument fill my head. He’d come. His possessive words dance in my head. Raia doesn’t wait for a response. She’ll never understand anyways.
“He knows Isla. He has to. That love you think you have with him? It doesn’t exist. Not here. Not in this house. Not from this family.”
The sound of steps echoing from the hall stops our conversation. Raia stands up, walking towards the cell door to see who it is. Philipa comes walking around the corner with Henry and a guard. She wears a smug look on her face as she grips Henry’s arm.
“Ahh,” Philipa coos. “You’re awake. Excellent.”
“Lady Philipa,” Raia greets her, as politely as she can muster. She dips her head subtly out of respect to the Duke’s heir.
Philipa wears a vibrant blue dress that makes her eyes sparkle. “Much is to be celebrated, Isla.”
“And what are we celebrating tonight, my lady?” Raia asks her, playing into her hands, still using titles for respect. Raia fiddles with the old rags. It’s the only sign of her nervousness at Philipa and Henry’s presence. Philipa is the cat and we the mouse in her game of words.
“I couldn’t believe the grandest idea that had come to my head.
Just a week ago, I was laying in bed, missing my handsome betrothed and my sweet brother.
When suddenly, a thought came to me. A gift for our most gracious prince.
Did you know he was the mastermind behind our booming jolly market in Azmerin? ” My hands tighten.
“The skin market?” Raia asks. I refuse to acknowledge their presence.
“That’s right. He’s been actively trading for a few years now across the border with Oculus. He pushed the council to agree to it.”
“That’s interesting,” Raia retorts. Henry shifts on his feet.
“It is, isn’t it?” Philipa leans closer to the cell door. “So, it’s obvious. I couldn’t let the one thing that distracted my dearest brother continue to be here, right?”
I tense. I swallow the words I want to shout, turning my head away from them. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to the Fates they would leave.
“Of course, I couldn’t,” she answers her own question.
Philipa ignores the disgusted look that appears on Raia’s face.
“So, I did what I had to do. Those darn taxes, huh?” Sarcasm drops from her words.
“It’s a pity. This rebellion thing. Just a small bump in the road.
No matter. I’ll send Oli your best wishes.
” At the mention of Oliver’s name, I turn my head back towards them.
Her eyes sparkle in satisfaction, waiting for my answer. “What? You didn’t think I knew about your little fling with my brother?” Philipa waits for my response. When it doesn’t come, she cackles.
“Let me guess. You thought, what? That you’d run off into the sunset with him? That you two were meant to be? Oh, poor delusional Isla. He played you.” Philipa toys with her nails. “You were nothing but a poor farm girl willing to bed him.”
“We—” I start. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh, sweet little Islabelle,” she mocks me. “I’ve heard everything. Your little plan after this war. Did you think you were the only one? That you were special?”
I lay on the straw, musty bed that lays on the floor, numb to the vitriol she spits at me.
Philipa grips the bars of the cell door.
She moves like a predator stalking its prey.
There’s a manic look on her face “Please. My brother doesn’t care about you.
He has girls. He doesn’t love you. He was playing you, Isla. Don’t be daft.”
Every word cuts deeper and deeper. Doubt seeps in like a subtle, familiar whisper that she’s right.
“But at least you’ll be well equipped for your new life on your back.” Philipa smiles wide and cackles at the tears welling in my eyes. Henry shakes his head but never speaks up. He’s the quiet, but willing escort to his sister.
Henry looks down at me on the floor, with my dress still splayed open. Something flashes in his eyes, but before I can think anything more of it, he tugs Philipa back down the dungeon.