I’m led past more and more cells, finally stopping in front of another metal door at the very end of the hallway. Fredrick opens that door too, and we step inside. It takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m seeing. It’s just a simple wooden chair set in the center of a room until my mind takes note of the straps dangling from the arms and legs and the brownish stains littering its surface. I may have never seen a torture chamber before, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out that’s what I’m looking at.
Something in me snaps.
I whirl around, trying to slip between the two guards, but they easily catch me around the waist and proceed to half carry, half push me toward the chair. Panic claws at my throat, and I let loose a scream that rattles my bones. I put every ounce of my meager strength into the fight, twisting and jerking my body violently, but they’re too strong. They’re too fucking strong, and they’re trying to shove me in that chair. Throwing out a leg, I catch the edge of the seat with my heel and push, my nails tearing against cloth and skin as I practically climb the soldiers.
I only have one more weapon left.
I sink my teeth into the soft flesh of the mustached guard’s neck and bite down with every ounce of my strength. Blood sprays from the wound, coating my face and filling my mouth with the taste of copper. Screaming, the guard fights to pull me off, but I hang on like a baby crocodile, and when they do finally manage to tear me away, I take that chunk of neck with me. The mustached guard crumples to the ground, his body twitching as the blood gushes out of him.
I spit the foul bit of flesh in Fredrick’s face. He goes crimson, and along with the remaining guard, continues to wrestle me into the chair.
“No, no, no, no,”my mind screams. “Stop!” I shout, but the voice coming out of my mouth isn’t entirely my own, but a multitude of voices each at various octaves, all screaming that same word at once.
And they stop. Both the guard and Fredrick freeze in place—like Medusa’s statues, their faces still twisted in fury. I’m not sure if they’re even breathing. I’m frozen too, staring at them in disbelief, waiting for someone to tell me what’s happening. That’s when I notice the buzzing—like a million angry bees moving beneath my skin.
I look at my trembling hands and around the room, as though I’ll find the answers written on the wall somewhere, but it’s only a room. I carefully remove Fredrick’s and the guard’s fingers from where they grip my body and slip out from between them and the chair.
They still haven’t moved or even blinked. I push up onto my tiptoes to get a better view of their faces. Both males’ eyes are glassy and vacant. I give the guard’s cheek a gentle poke—nothing. I hold my hand in front of his mouth, and his hot breath tickles my palm. So, he’s not completely frozen. It’s strange. I can sort of feel him and Fredrick—like a little piece of my mind has jumped into theirs. It’s similar to when I’m dreaming except, in this scenario, I’m not the observer; I’m the one in control. Dropping down, I take a step back and turn to the guard on the floor. One hand still grips his throat where he tried to stem the flow of blood that now pools around his head like a red sun. It’s obvious he’s dead.
I’m a murderer.
Maybe I’m in shock because that thought doesn’t upset me as much as I would have expected.
I crouch down beside him, grab the keys hanging from his belt and quickly unlock my shackles. Now what? If I walk away, will they unfreeze and bring the palace down on me? Gods, this is so messed up. I can’t just leave them here, but I can’t stomach the thought of hurting anyone else either. The bees are still buzzing under my skin, so I take a risk and say, “Fredrick, sit in the chair.” There’s that choral quality to my voice again, and once again, it works. He immediately unfreezes and sits.
“Now, strap yourself in.”
Frederick straps in his legs and one hand, then I move around the still frozen guard and wrap the leather strap around his other wrist. The guard still hasn’t moved, so I carefully lift the strap holding his rifle over his head and clasp it to my chest. I’ve never shot a gun in my life. I’m not even sure I know how to, but something is better than nothing. “You,” I say to the guard. “Get me out of the palace.”
Without a reply, he starts for the door, and I follow. A few more of the prisoners have moved to the bars of their cell, probably curious about the ruckus I caused. “Let us out,” someone shouts. “Please,” says another. Still more shake the bars, the sound getting louder and louder as I pass. Gods dammit. They’re going to alert the whole palace.
“Quiet,” I shout over the din.
Silence.
Holy Mother. They all went quiet. I wasn’t trying to control them; it was just a gut response, and yet, they obeyed. It’s confusing and slightly terrifying, but I don’t have time right now todwell on it. I push all the questions to the back of my mind and continue for the exit, scanning the cells for Leodin as I go. He’s not here. I’m honestly not sure what I would have done if he was. We pass through the metal door, back up the stairs, down one hallway, then another. I feel my control slip from Fredrick and the prisoners as I move away from the dungeon. Thank the gods I had Fredrick strap himself in. I’m holding my breath, waiting for that inevitable moment when we run into a maid or guard or some fancy government official, who will take one look at me, covered in blood, and call down the palace. But it doesn’t come. The hallways are barren.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, mostly to myself, but the guard answers.
“The king has called an assembly in the throne room. The entire palace is in attendance.”
I can’t believe my luck. I briefly consider running to my room to grab a clean dress and the sythra Mama gave me, but that’s three flights up. It’s too risky. The longer I take, the more likely I’ll get caught. Regardless, I need to get this blood off before somebody sees me. There’s only one place I can think of on this floor where I can do that. “Take me to the Queen’s Garden,” I tell the guard.
He immediately takes a hard right down another hallway, and I follow. Nothing here looks familiar, and I’m starting to get concerned he’s leading me nowhere when the door to the garden finally comes into view.
“Stay here,” I tell him. “Don’t let anyone inside, and if you’re asked, you never saw me.”
The guard takes position against the wall beside the door, his eyes staring into nothing. It’s disconcerting, to say the least, but Ican’t worry about that right now. I push the door open, the tiny sound like cannon fire in the silence, then slip inside and close it as softly as possible behind myself. The moist floral air—so enjoyable the other day—just seems sickly sweet and stifling at the moment. I ignore it and rush to the little stream. There, I drop to my knees and plunge my hands into the cool, clean water, turning it pink. Gods, that feels good. The blood is sticky, and I have to scrub hard to clean my hands. The red-tinged water flows toward the little pool, and I wonder briefly if it might hurt the fish.
Stupid, Katya. You just killed a man and you’re worried about the fish.
I cup my hands and scoop up the water to splash in my face. My reflection is too weak to make out, so I just have to do my best to clean myself up and hope it’s good enough to pass. My nightgown is a different story. There’s nothing I can do to clean that. Maybe I can find a gardener’s apron or something here—
A gasp has me shooting to my feet, where I find Elsbeth, now the queen, staring at me. Her hand covers her mouth in shock and her face has drained of all color. “What did they do to you?” she asks.
I’m so shocked by her obvious concern, I don’t even think to try to control her with my voice. I simply say, “Please.”
Lips tight, she glances at the door, then back at me and nods. “Come on.” She hops over the stream and taking me by the arm, leads me, not back out into the palace like I expected, but deeper into the garden. We reach the back corner where a gardener’s table and some shelves are situated against the glass wall. Elsbeth takes my rifle and sets it on the ground, then grabs a forest green smock from a hook situated on the side of the shelf and holds it out for me. I raise my arms and step into it. Then she crisscrosses the lacesover my back and around my belly and ties them in the front. The sleeves are a little too long, and it hangs open in the back a bit, but fortunately that’s the one part of my nightgown that isn’t covered in blood. “Thank you,” I whisper.
