“You came for me.” She looks tiny next to his menacing form until he yanks his gauntlet off, freeing his hand to smooth the sodden curls off her forehead.
“I thought I’d lost you too.”
She smiles through her jagged breaths. “You nearly did. The sapling anchored me with merth. I doubt you would have discovered me in time. If not for this brave …” Her head lolls toward me and her words fade midsentence. “You.” Her voice drips with horror.
The relief I felt knowing she was alive, that I’d saved her life, morphs to dread. They all think they know me. But unlike with that man, I already sense it won’t be to my advantage this time.
The kneeling soldier turns his attention to me now, and while his face is mostly disguised, the shock is unmistakable. His mouth hangs for a few beats before he gives his head a small shake. “Seize her!” he commands with a roar.
Rough, metal hands grab my arms and haul me to my feet.
The man rises, his gaze never leaving mine. All around us are soldiers gripping swords and waiting quietly. For his next order, I’m guessing. He’s someone important.
Where the hell am I?
The soldier draws a long dagger from his side and approaches, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. “How are you alive?” There is genuine awe in his voice. “I saw your body. I saw where the arrow pierced your heart.” Lifting the dagger tip to my chest, he ever so lightly grazes my skin above the gown’s low neckline. “Your blood is there.”
My body trembles as I look down to where his blade scratched me. Torchlight illuminates the brown stains in the pale gray silk bodice that the river did not wash away.
How do I even begin to explain this to myself, let alone to these people?
“I don’t know who you think I am or what I’ve done—”
“You will address the king as Your Highness,” the man holding me growls in my ear. His painful grip tightens and makes me wince.
This is the king. Though I can’t see much of his face, he looks young. A quick scan of those nearby proves that his suit of armor is more finely made, with elaborate designs carved into the gold breastplate.
“Come now, Captain Boaz,” he says with an eerie calm. “We have not yet had time for a coronation, what with Romeria having murdered my father mere hours ago.”
“What?” I gasp, barely a sound escaping. “I didn’t … I haven’t …” My mind spins. This must be Sofie’s doing. What has that devil woman convinced these people I’ve done? “I didn’t murder anyone, I swear. I’m only here because—”
“No more lies!” he bellows, his voice bleeding with anguish. He raises his arm and the dagger high above him, the point angled down, his intentions clear.
“Brother! Stop!” The woman I pulled from the river—he called her Annika—cries out, scrambling to her feet. “She saved me!”
“She killed Mother and Father! She had plans to kill us too.”
Dear God. Apparently, I didn’t only kill their father. They think I tried to slaughter their entire family? My knees buckle, but the man holding me is strong and keeps me on my feet.
Annika grabs the king’s arm, jostling him for attention. “She saved me, Zander,” she repeats, emphasizing her words. “She freed me from the merth. Raw merth. With her bare hands.”
He blinks, her words seeming to bring with them understanding that I can’t comprehend. His eyes drift from my hands to the bloodstains on my dress. Finally, he lowers the dagger, and I allow myself the softest sigh of relief.
“Shall we hunt for the sapling, Your Highness?” a soldier calls from the bridge.
When this king—Zander—speaks again, it’s quietly. “No. Atticus and his men are already hunting for those who escaped. I will not risk more of you tonight. We shall return and regroup.” His eyes lift to mine, and his jaw—hard and angular—tenses.
“The water, Your Highness,” the man he called Boaz says, his voice low and laced with warning.
Zander moves impossibly fast, swiping the tip of his blade across my palm.
I cry out as it bites into my skin, more from the surprise than pain—I’m too shocked to feel much of anything. In the moonlight, I watch my blood seep out in a trickle.
“Bring her,” he orders, and then, gathering his sister under his arm, he guides her up the steep embankment.
My trip is nowhere near as gentle. I struggle to keep up with Boaz half dragging me through the mud past mounted, armed soldiers. There must be at least fifty of them, fanned out, their weapons drawn and their eyes on the surroundings as if preparing for an ambush. Any hope of escape is gone.
Boaz locks his arm around my waist and hauls me onto his horse’s back along with him. “Attempt to flee, and I will gladly cut you down,” he warns, adding quietly, “again.” Whoever they think I am, they believe they killed me once. They won’t balk at doing it twice.
He barks an order, and the soldiers form a perimeter around the horse that carries Zander and Annika. Another barked order sets them in motion. We move forward in unison, racing along the dirt road, Boaz’s metal-clad arms serving as an effective cage, the hooves pounding against the ground. My bones rattle but I barely notice, too focused on what might happen next.
We round a bend and head toward a vast gate that opens upon our approach. Dark figures stand sentry along the top of the wall, their arrows nocked.
We pass through, and I get my first glimpse of what’s beyond the labyrinth of cedar hedge.
Fire and chaos.
My eyes widen as I try to process the strange spectacle. I’ve stepped back in time. The open space past the gate tapers off toward a narrow cobblestone street ahead, lined with two- and three-story brick-and-stone buildings, their roofs pitched at various angles, their windows small and mismatched. Lanterns cling to posts and walls, the flames shimmering within providing the only light beyond that from the moons above. There isn’t a car in sight, or even a street sign.
In the air, the stench of smoke hangs thick, and the wails of despair ring frequent.
I gape in horror as we begin the steady march forward in single file, the horses’ hooves clacking, past armed soldiers whose faces are smeared with ash, dirt, and blood. To my right, slain bodies lie heaped on a wagon, the draft horses chomping on a bale of hay while they await orders to pull. More bodies are added to the pile.
I’ve seen dead people before—frozen in bus shelters, overdosed behind a dumpster, stabbed inside a cardboard box—but never so many at once.
Up ahead, a group of people huddle together, some with soot-covered cheeks, others with terror in their eyes as they watch a nearby building smolder, the flames dancing in defiance as people toss buckets of water at them.
A child crouches next to the body of a man, sobbing as she grips his hand. My chest constricts at the sight.
“What happened here?” I hear myself ask out loud.
Boaz snorts. “The Ybarisans happened. You happened.” He releases the reins and a moment later, a heavy blanket drops over my head, blocking my view. “It’s best they don’t see that we’ve brought you back into the city walls. Emotions are running high tonight. We wouldn’t want anyone taking away the satisfaction of exacting retribution from His Highness. I wonder what punishment will befit the woman who poisoned a king and queen and plotted to murder an entire royal bloodline? Sending you back to Ybaris in pieces for your treacherous father to ponder would certainly deliver a message. Though, I imagine the king would wish to keep your head. We wouldn’t want you somehow returning from the dead again.”