Iย have no desire to see eight people hung or garroted or chopped into bits or whatever other horrible fate the king and his brother will come up with, but Mistress Solomon wants to see the executions, and she expects Karri and I to join her.
โItโs right to see people punished for their crimes,โ she says to us. โWe could all use a reminder that there are punishments for those who take what they havenโt earned. We have a duty to be grateful for all our rulers do to provide for us.โ
I remember my parents, killed for trying to bring more medicine to the people. I consider Mistress Kendall, executed in the street for crying out in her grief, or poor Gillis, who deย nitely didnโt deserve to die because his mother was too poor to buy medicine for them both.
Iโm not sure what I feel, really, but it deย nitely isnโt gratitude.
๎ขere are wagons full of people heading for the gates to the Royal Sector, so Karri and I hitch up our homespun skirts and climb onto theย rst one with space available while Mistress Solomon pays an extra coin to sit up front near the driver. Weโre pressed together at the back, sharing a bale of hay to sit on, but I donโt mind.ย ๎ขe day is overcast and cool, with a hint of mist in the air.
Karri leans close. โHave you seen your sweetheart?โ she murmurs. โHeโs not one of them, is he?โ
I meet her gaze. โNo. Heโs not.โ I remember Wesโs eyes, almost hurt when I said I thought he was caught up with the others from Steel City. โHeโs not a smuggler.โ
โHeโs well, then?โ
I think of Weston in theย relight, his thumb tracing over my lip like it was something precious, and I press myย ngertips to my mouth. I could almost
taste his breath as he said,ย Not never, Tessa. But not right now.
Karri grins and bumps me with her shoulder. โHeโs well.โ
I wonder if heโll be somewhere in the crowd today. He said a lot of the forge workers would likely be in attendance, but whether he meant it in solidarity or in judgment, I couldnโt tell.
Probably just like everyone elseย ocking to the gates: partly horriย ed, partly curious.
Partly relieved, because someone elseโs downfall generally means your own isnโt imminent.
I donโt grin back at Karri, because it feels odd to smile while weโre being carted along to watch someone else die. Wes wasnโt among them, but I wonder if he knows them, or if he knows someone close to them. No one in Kandala is a stranger to what happens to smugglers, but always before itโs been one or two, like Wes and me. Never a group.
When the feversย rst began taking lives, it wasnโt long a๎er King Harristan had come to power, naming his brother, Prince Corrick, as Kingโs Justice. Father was a true apothecary then, providing real medicines and elixirs, not like the potions and herbs that Mistress Solomon dispenses. He knew how to ease an ache or salve a burn or calm a colicky infant. Mother and Father werenโt anxious about a new king, at least not atย rst. King Harristan and his brother were young, but the royal family was loved. We were all shocked by the assassinationโand all of Kandala mourned along with the brothers.
๎ขat is . . . we all mourned until people began to fall sick and die. Father tried tinctures and poultices and every combination of herbs he could think of, but nothing workedโuntil a healer in Emberridge discovered that the petals of the Moonย ower could reduce the fever and allow the body to heal itself. Within a fortnight, word had spread to all the sectors. Fights broke out over supply of the Moonย ower. Raids and thievery became common. Deals were worked in back alleys and shadowed sitting rooms, where gold or weapons or anything of value would be traded for a few daysโ doses. Emberridge and Moonlight Plains, the only sectors where the plant grew, quickly hired enforcers to guard their borders, and later they built a wall.
Atย rst, King Harristan tried to maintain order, but desperate people take desperate actions, and there was never enough medicine to go around. We had people knocking on our door at all hours of the night, begging for
whatever Father could do for them, and Iโd mix elixirs and potions and teas in the hope that anything else would work.
Nothing ever did.
Out of desperation, Father found a smuggler who was willing to cut our family in on whatever he stole, provided we gave him half our proceeds from selling the medicines to Fatherโs patients.
Father would charge half and gave all the money to the thief. He always said it was more important to save everyone we could.ย ๎ขat a few extra coins in his pocket wasnโt worth the cost of a few more bodies on the funeral pyre. It was then that he discovered that spreading the medicine among more people would still save lives. He tried to share his records with the king, but there were too many apothecaries, too many theories, too much fear and death and pain. Everyone was afraid to take less.
๎ขen King Harristan struck a deal with the Emberridge and Moonlight Plains sectors, using royal funds to provide doses for the people of Kandala, allocated by sector. It wasnโt enoughโthere was never enoughโbut it was something.
King Harristan also promised a death sentence for thievery, smuggling, and illegal trade.
His brother, Prince Corrick, the Kingโs Justice, made good on that promise.
Brutally. Publicly. Horribly.
But it was e๏ฌective. Within a month, order had been restored. Many people had access to medicine.
Many, but not all.
Father tried to continue helping, Mother at his side.
And then they were caught. Sometimes I wonder if I was lucky that they fought back, that they were executed in the early dawn hours by the night patrol.ย ๎ขat they didnโt have to stay in the Hold, waiting to die, knowing their daughter would have to watch.
Lucky.
Karri squeezes my hand. Her gaze has turned pitying. โIย nd it upsetting, too,โ she whispers.
Not like I do. Her parents never do anything wrong.ย ๎ขeyโre almost afraid to take the medicine allotted to them, as if theyโre being greedy. But she means well, so I squeeze back.
๎ขe gates to the Royal Sector are closed, but a massive wooden stage has been dragged into place before it. Iโm too far away to see much detail, but the stage is high enough for everyone to get a good view. Eight armored guards stand in a line, crossbows in hand. At their feet kneel the eight prisoners.ย ๎ขeyโre all in muslin tunics, with burlap sacks tied over their heads, so I canโt tell whoโs a man and whoโs a woman.ย ๎ขey must be bound in place somehow, because two seem slumped, their heads hanging at an odd angle.
I wonder if those two are already dead. One has a stain at the front of the burlap, something soaking into the material. Blood, maybe, or vomit.
I have to look away. My throat is tight.
๎ขe road is mobbed with people, and Iโve already lost sight of Mistress Solomon. People mill and churn, and gossip runs high.ย ๎ขe emotion of the crowd is overwhelming, pressing against me like something alive.
โLook,โ says a man nearby. โ๎ขat oneโs pissed himself.โ
I donโt want to look, but my eyes are traitors and they shi๎ย to the stage anyway before quicklyย icking away.ย ๎ขe man is right. I wonder how much terror you need to feel before that would happen.
Itโs not a hot day, but I feel sweaty and sick.
๎ขe burlap is awful.ย ๎ขe guards are awful.
๎ขe king is awful.ย ๎ขe prince is awful.
I want to rush the stage. I want to grab a crossbow. I want to lie in wait andย re a bolt right into them both.
Itโs a ridiculous thought. Iโd be dead before I got anywhere close. I swallow hard, and rage pushes away some of the emotion churning in my gut, replacing it with white-hot fury. It allows me to look up, to lock my gaze on those prisoners.
If they have to die, I can watch it happen. I can remember them. My soul burns with a promise that things will get better.ย ๎ขat they have to get better.
I wish Weston were here. Iโm better with the medicines, with the dosages and the treatments and our patients, but heโs better in the face of violence and danger. Heโs cool and reserved when Iโm hot and rattled.
I look around the crowd, at the hundreds of people whoโve gathered, and I think he must be here somewhere. It gives me some comfort. I search the faces around me, looking for the ice blue of his eyes, for the faint freckles I know dust his cheeks below where the mask sits.
Men are everywhere. Blue eyes are common. So are freckles. I close my eyes and whisper a prayer.ย Oh, Wes. I need you.
He doesnโt appear. But horns blare, and conversation quiets almost immediately. Figures ascend what must be a set of steps on the opposite side of the stage: more guards, these with armor trimmed in purple and blue, signifying them as members of the palace guard. One carries a sta๏ฌ; the other carries theย ag of Kandala, a panel of blue and purple split diagonally, with a lion encircled in white sitting directly in the center.ย ๎ขeyโre followed by two more guards who are heavily armed.
๎ขen King Harristan appears, though as usual, heโs too far for me to see much more than dark hair, booted feet, and a long black jacket that nearly reaches his knees. A silver crown sits on his head, glinting in the sunlight.
A herald calls out, โHis Majesty, the highly esteemed King Harristan.โ
For a moment, I can see more clearly, because people are dropping to a knee, and Karri is pulling at my hand.
I donโt want to kneel to him. I want to spit at him.
I imagine what Wes would say.ย Mind your mettle, Tessa. My knee hits the cobblestone of the roadway. Karri squeezes my hand again.
โRise,โ says King Harristan, and his voice is loud and clear. Itโs all he says, before stepping back to stand between his guards. Heโs probably bored. Irritated that this bothersome little execution is taking him away from a game of chess or a luxurious bath or whatever ridiculous diversions he enjoys while the rest of us are out here in the sectors, trying to survive.
We rise. I can taste bile in my throat. I focus on not breaking Karriโs
ngers with my right hand.ย ๎ขeย ngernails of my le๎ย hand are cutting into my palm.
Another man arrives on the stage. His hair is lighter than his brotherโs, more red than brown, but from here, his eyes are shadowed and dark, unreadable. He also wears boots and a long jacket, but no crown sits on his head. He doesnโt need one. He wears his role like a mantle, some kind of invisible weight that clings to his frame, echoed in every step.ย ๎ขis is Prince Corrick, the Kingโs Justice. Heโs not usually the one to swing the blade or light theย re or draw the arrow, but heโs the one to give the order to kill.ย ๎ขe executioner.
โ๎ขeyโre very handsome, donโt you think?โ whispers Karri. NO, I DO NOT THINK.
โ๎ขeyโre horrible,โ I whisper.
Her head whips around, and I watch as her eyesย ick from face to face to see if anyone heard. โTessa.โ
I swallow and refuse to take it back.
A๎er the herald announces him, Prince Corrick moves to stand parallel to the prisoners. His voice is cold and carries an edge. โYou have been charged with smuggling andโโ
โDonโt let them do this!โ one of the prisoners yells. Itโs a manโs voice, but it takes me a moment toย gure out which one has cried out. โ๎ขere are hundreds of you!ย ๎ขousands!ย ๎ขe Benefactors will get you medicine! Donโt let them do this!โ
Beside me, Karri goes rigid.ย ๎ขe guard behind the shouting prisoner cracks him on the back of the head, and the prisoner sprawls face-ย rst onto the stage, his hands bound behind his back. He doesnโt stop yelling. โRise up!โ he shouts. โRebel! Donโt you see what theyโre doing? Donโt youโโ
๎ขe guardย res his crossbow. Iโm too far to hear the impact, but the body jerks and goes still.ย ๎ขe crowd sucks in a gasp.
Another prisoner takes up the shouting.ย ๎ขis time itโs a womanโs voice. โYou can stop this! Listen to the Benefactors! You can stop this! You canโโ
๎ขe guard hits her next, and she goes skidding forward onto the wood of the stage.ย ๎ขe other prisoners have started shouting, too, cries for rebellion, for deย ance.
No one cries for mercy.
A man shouts from somewhere in the crowd. โ๎ขeyโre just trying to survive!โ A woman yells, โWe need their medicine!โ More shouts join theirs until the crowd begins to shi๎, and itโs impossible to know where all the cries come from. Karri and I are shoved apart as people begin to surge forward.
โFight them!โ rages the woman on the stage. โFight back!โ
Another guardย res his crossbow. Her body jerks like the manโs did, but it must not have been a killing blow because she begins using her legs to shove her body forward.ย ๎ขe other prisoners must sense an opening, because the others areย ghting their bonds, struggling forward on the stageโat the same time as citizens are storming forward.ย ๎ขe sound has surged into a roar of angry shouts and panicked cries as people are jostled and shoved. An elbow catches me in the temple, and then a shoulder drives into my rib cage. Iโve
completely lost sight of Karri. Guards have taken the stage now, blocking the king and his brother from viewโif theyโre still there at all. Crossbowsย re wildly, but the prisoners were right: there are maybe two dozen guards on the stage, and there are hundreds of citizens.
A man barrels through the crowd, and Iโm knocked aside. I feel myself falling, and I try toย nd purchase, but thereโs nothing. A booted foot catches my jaw, and I taste blood. Another steps on my leg.
๎ขen a hand has a hold of mine, surprising strength in its grip.ย Wes, I think.
But no, itโs Karri. She pulls me to my feet, then pulls me back, away from the stage. Her lip is bleeding. Tears glisten in her eyes. โWe have to get out of here.โ
She doesnโt need to tell me twice.
