Down in the dark, I had no idea how many days had passed since Maelgwyn’s proposal, but I knew I was starving. The last meal I’d eaten had been the one Idris and I had shared in the mountainside cave. Since then, my stomach seemed to have caved in on itself. My entire midsection ached, as did my head. There’d been no water either, but I’d found a drip in the corner of my cell. At first, I’d refused to touch it, afraid of what it might be and where it might have come from. I’d seen enough bodily fluids to have a healthy respect for unknown liquids. But before long, desperation had driven me to hold out my tongue, waiting for droplets to fall.
Maybe Maelgwyn was planning to leave me to die of dehydration. I could see no reason why the fae rules about killing blood relatives should extend to me, especially when Idris had said it only applied to his family, but maybe it applied to the rightful ruler too. Maybe he was simply being careful. It was strange to think that somewhere a throne awaited me, refusing to accept any arse but mine. I was a queen, and yet I’d never felt less like royalty than I did huddled in my cell, waiting to die.
Because nobody was coming for me.
I was alone.
40This Girl Is On Fire
Aliza
I couldn’t feel my feet.
That was all I could think about as my wrists were bound behind my back and I was frog marched from my cell. I couldn’t feel my bare feet touching the cool stone, and I was going to fall and humiliate myself. I’d heard crowds assembling through the bars of my cell for the past hour. I’d gathered what remained of my strength and balanced on my tiptoes to glimpse them, but I’d seen more than I bargained for. A wooden structure had been erected, with a tall, sturdy post in the middle. I’d seen enough TV to know a stake when I saw one.
Fae had come in droves to watch the Human Queen burn, and they were going to laugh when I inevitably fell over. I wanted to scream. I wanted to lift my feet off the floor, letting my guards take my weight, and scream at the sky. It wasn’t fair. If I had to die before an audience, why couldn’t it be with some shred of dignity? I had given everything to these people, these fae. I had done everything within my power to free them from a tyrant.
Not everything
I’d tried to leave. I’d had my pride dented by Anwir’s lies, and I’d thrown in the towel. I could have, should have done more, but now it was too late.
Nobody had come for me. Not Idris, the male I’d come to consider a real friend, and maybe something more. He’d asked me to stay another night. Maybe I should have. Maybe none of this would have happened, and maybe one night would have turned into two. A week. A month. Forever. I could even now be repeating the kiss we’d shared. But I’d left, and Idris hadn’t come.
Neither had Anwir, who had taken my trust and shattered it. Nor Jacques, the vampire I’d pushed too far. Not even the witches, who had lied to me from the moment I found Sage’s cottage. They’d all abandoned me, after using me and lying to me and tricking me. I’d given them as much of me as I could, and for what?
To get home.
My heart sank to the soles of my hollow feet. I’d been selfish without a doubt, but death seemed a harsh punishment for wanting to return to my own life. As did being abandoned by my allies in the final hour, but it was my own fault. If I’d stayed, if I’d put the cause of Neath before my own selfish desires, if I hadn’t run away, none of this would be happening.
My fault.
My guards led me through grim, twisting halls. Through the haze of disbelief coating my eyes, I glimpsed bare walls. No tapestries. No art. Not a single carpet, or even a chair in which a weary wanderer might rest for a minute.
“Who lives here?”
Was that thin, trembling voice mine? I resolved not to say another word, which was just as well, because my guards acted as though I was already a ghost and hadn’t spoken at all.
This couldn’t be the palace of Tir o Haf. I couldn’t imagine a king, not even Maelgwyn, living anything less than lavishly. Which meant I was somewhere else, somewhere less obvious. Maybe somebody had tried to find me after all, but had gone to the wrong place. It was a clever trick, even if the thought of it flooded my eyes with tears. With my hands trapped at the small of my back, I couldn’t wipe them away. They spilled silently over my cheeks, dripping down my front, and it was only then I realised that I’d still nursed the tiniest shred of hope within my heart. That previously unnoticed ember sputtered out, its glow growing cold and dark. Nobody was coming. This was the end.
Ahead of me loomed an open doorway, and beyond, the milling crowd, come to see me burn. The sight brought feeling rushing back to my feet, and I planted them against the floor, unable to take another step.
I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t die. This couldn’t be real. Burning had happened to so-called witches, hundreds of years ago. Not to me. It couldn’t happen to me.
My guards hoisted me forwards, their hands tucked under my armpits, and I scrabbled for purchase. I was no match for them. The stone snagged my toes and scuffed my soles, but I gained nothing in the way of a delay as they hauled me into the courtyard.
Daylight bored into my eyes, which had grown accustomed to the gloom of the castle, all but blinding me. The courtyard was eerily silent. If I couldn’t feel hundreds of eyes crawling over my skin, I might have thought the crowd had vanished. I’d expected jeers, a hurl of insults, maybe a barrage of rotten fruit, but this was much worse.
Silence.
My panting breath, my grunts of struggle were plain for all to hear. They’d hear me scream too, when the flames devoured me.
A sob burst through my clenched teeth. It was a wonder I was still conscious. My heart pounded at a violent speed, more of a rapid hum than a beat. Maybe I’d faint. It would be better that way. At least I wouldn’t feel any pain. Or maybe I wouldn’t faint at all.
It was going to hurt.
Twisting, I writhed against the vice of my captors’ grip, but they hoisted me clean off my feet, suspended between them. My legs kicked in a frenzy, but through my tears, I glimpsed the dark, hulking pyre, coming ever closer.
No, no, no.
“No!” I sobbed.
No. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t happen to me. I was nobody. Just an ordinary woman, with an ordinary life. I was supposed to die in an ordinary way. People didn’t just burn to death. I couldn’t.
My thrashing foot whacked against the wooden platform and pain shot up my leg, turning my sobs to screams. The guards hauled me up, shoving me back against the unyielding stake. A fucking stake. How was this happening to me? I fought, twisting and shoving uselessly against their brute strength, but even if my hands had been free, it would have been hopeless.
A rope tightened around my waist, wrapping and wrapping, cutting into the soft flesh of my belly, trapping me. The guards stepped away, down to safety, and began tossing bundles of brittle sticks around my feet. I blinked my tears free, staring down at the wood that would catch and burn, taking me with it.
This was it. This was the end.
Nobody was coming for me.
The crowd wouldn’t intervene. My breath came in shallow bursts as I took in the grim faces of my audience, meeting their eyes. One or two gave small smiles of reassurance, as though that was enough. As though that would make me feel any less terrified or alone. I might have preferred jeers. At least my anger would have carried me when everything else had fled.
Movement caught my attention, and my guts turned to jelly as I whipped my head to look. Was it my executioner, come with a flaming torch to set me alight?
King Maelgwyn strolled toward me, a pleasant smile pasted over his waxy face, and three lion-sized hounds trotting at his sides. The dogs resembled blunt faced bears more than anything, but for once in my life, I had no interest in them. Maelgwyn was here. He’d stayed to see his orders fulfilled, had he? He halted before my platform.
“A beautiful day for a burning, wouldn’t you agree, human?” His tone was light, just an old man remarking upon the weather, nothing more.
