1
AMARISSA
Soon, they’d dress me like a doll for my court’s pageant of death and call it mercy.
The syrup from the lirefruit had pooled at the edge of my plate, congealing around a slice of honeybread I would not be able to eat. Who could on the Day of Mercy?
Bile surged up my throat, and I rushed from my chair, racing to the bathing chamber where I lost what little I’d consumed last night. Water. A few bites of fruit.
Finished, I cleansed my teeth and stared into the mirror.
“This has to end,” I croaked. “No more pretending this is kindness.” I wanted to be brave, but bravery here only got people killed.
Every time I’d tried, I was beaten back so badly I feared there’d be nothing left of me to make a difference. Yet how could I stop?
My hands shook. I could almost feel my dead mother watching, as silent as her grave. I pressed a palm to my belly, half-expecting to feel her steady hand there, the way I used to when I was young.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I whispered. “I keep failing them.” I dreamed of those I couldn’t save. They haunted me with silent eyes that asked why they were chosen while others lived. Including myself.
I staggered back to my sitting area. Lifted the honeybread and took a bite.
In my adjoining bedroom, servants murmured over lengths of ash-silk. They were nearly finished preparing my ceremonial robes. I’d have to join them and try not to wince as they transformed me into the Lady of Mercy.
When I was little, I’d stand along the wall of Queen Marlane’s room while my mother’s ladies adjusted her costume, dreaming of a time when I’d be old enough to participate in this sacred duty.
“The mask doesn’t change who you are beneath it, Isi. Remember that,” she’d say.
She’d died when I was ten. My father placed her mask in my hands and told meIwould now carry out her duties.
I was fourteen the first time I tried to stop the ceremony. After four years of wearing the mask, of watching people drink poisoned wine and fall, I couldn’t bear it anymore. The night before that year’s Day of Mercy, I crept down to the wine cellars and replaced the ceremonial ashwine with ordinary red.
I thought I was clever. I thought I was merciful.
Until I was caught by the cellar master, who recognized immediately what I’d done. Father didn’t rage when they brought me to his study, though I wished he had. I could’ve handled that. Rage would mean I’d gotten through to him, if only for a moment. Instead, he’d looked at me with such disappointment that my insides hollowed out.
“Why, Amarissa?” he’d asked, his voice terribly soft. “I thought you understood your duty.”
“They don’t deserve to die,” I said.
“And who are you to decide that?” His eyes had turned to flint. “The laws have protected our people for generations.”
The next morning, as punishment, he made me deliver the cups personally. Made me look into each condemned person’s eyes as I handed them their death. One woman, only a few years older than me, grabbed my wrist after taking her cup.
“Be brave,” she said. “One day you’ll find a way.”
After they’d all fallen, Father had the woman’s parents brought forward. “For encouraging rebellion in the royal house,” he announced to the crowd, “these two shall join today’s ceremony.”
I leaped between them and my father. Told them to run. Raced to my father and dropped to my knees, begging him not to do it. The guards grabbed me and held me back while Father himself tipped the cups to their lips.
That night, I couldn’t stop vomiting. Couldn’t sleep. My magic flared so violently that the tapestries in my chamber caught fire. Commander Thorne found me huddled in the corner, rocking, sobbing.
“Breathe, Princess,” he said, removing the scorched evidence himself. “You must survive to change things. You cannot help anyone if you’re dead.”
It took three days before I could keep food down. Three weeks before I stopped seeing their faces when I closed my eyes. Three months before I stopped flinching whenever Father touched my shoulder.
Even now, I still dream of that woman’s whisper.Be brave.And I wake up tasting tainted wine on my tongue.
I didn’t dare outright defy my father again. I learned to be careful. To wait. To look for tiny ways to fight that wouldn’t get more people killed.
