She clasped the heavy broadsword tightly as she clattered over the cobbles, forcing a narrow path through the crowds as they parted reluctantly, Tristan and the others close behind.
Slowly, knowing it could be a fatal mistake, she slid down from her horse and stood among them.
No one moved.
A deathly silence fell over the square as Lucilla climbed the gallows steps, all her nerves screaming as the array of eyes followed her. Gods. Her heart broke at the thought of Alanna walking up those same wooden stairs—in chains and expecting to die—so very vulnerable and alone.
She stepped forward to the edge of the wooden platform and looked out. Arrayed across the square were soldiers in uniform, ordinary people dressed for work and daily life, children, her own small company.
Nim stood at the foot of the platform, Tristan frowning beside her. Tor, a steady presence behind them; beside him, the pale-faced Keely. Jos, Rafe, Haniel, and Ramiel too. The Nephilim warriors blocked the access to the platform and watched the crowds carefully. Her new friends. And her people.
Sweat dripped down her back and she wished she could wipe her damp palms, but she was still holding the massive broadsword.
She cleared her throat and started to speak, her voice rough, but clear in the silent square. “People of Brythoria, I am Lucilla. I could tell you that I am the sister of Ballanor and the daughter of Geraint, but I’m guessing that you want to forget that about as much as I do.”
There was a hiss of shocked laughter, quickly repressed.
Someone from the back of the crowd shouted loudly, “We can see who you are!”
Lucilla swallowed against the catch in her throat. “I may look like Ballanor, but I’m not like him in any other way. I’m not here for power or riches. I’m here to stop a war. I’m here for you.”
There were several loud boos and hisses as the crowd laughed skeptically. Her hands shook where she clenched the massive hilt of Tristan’s sword, but she didn’t let go.
She looked out across the mass of angry faces. “You don’t have to believe me yet, and I don’t blame you. My brother has told you so many lies, all while ripping your homes out from under you.”
She took a breath, let it out again. “All I’m asking for is a chance. Without me, you can guarantee another war, but this time not one on the northern border. One right here, in your homes, as our kingdom gets ripped apart by those who would take the throne.
“I promise to do everything I can to keep our kingdom safe. To rebuild the trust that was broken. And this is where I start—here, with my brother’s biggest lie. It was never Alanna that betrayed us; it was Ballanor.”
Then, standing there in front of her people, the cold breeze tangling her hair, and her back damp from fear, she passed the sword from hand to hand to wipe her hands down her skirt, then lifted it as high as she could and brought it smashing down on the wooden post beside her.
The crowd watched, stunned, then opened their mouths and roared as she lifted the sword again and smashed it down on the post once more. And again.
Nephilim warriors appeared beside her, lashing coils of rope around the post. Nim called her name, and then, when she turned, pressed an ax into her hands, replacing Tristan’s sword.
Then Nim stepped back, and everyone watched as Lucilla hacked away at that ugly post, which had somehow come to represent all the evil that had been in her family. The people who should have loved her and should have loved their kingdom, but never did. She crashed the ax back down, losing herself in violent catharsis.
“Step back, please, Your Majesty.” Tristan’s voice called her back, and she stepped away, letting the ax drag down, suddenly exhausted.
The post gave with a loud groan, pulled safely away by the ropes to fall, smashing to the platform in a cloud of dust and splinters.
There was a moment of breathtaking silence, and then the crowd screamed its approval.
Ramiel stepped forward, tall and authoritative, his voice booming over the noise. “People of Brythoria…” He waited until the crowd settled. “I am the Supreme Justice of the Truth.”
The crowd rippled with astonishment. It was very rare for the Supreme Justice to journey away from the Temple at Eshcol, but his stature, his white-and-gold breastplate, and his fiery hair were unmistakable.
“The archangels and the gods are watching. They see our hearts and our truth.”
A cold breeze whipped through the now silent square, and Lucilla shivered as the sweat dried on her back.
Ramiel continued, “Lucilla is our true queen and our only chance for peace. The Nephilim recognize her claim.” And then, there on the platform, surrounded by the broken pieces of the gallows that she had destroyed, he sank slowly to one knee and bowed his head.
The squads of Nephilim and the Hawks followed instantly. And then, slowly at first, but in a spreading wave, one by one, the people in the square followed. The ache in her throat intensified as their commitment to her took her breath away.
Only once everyone had knelt did Ramiel stand once more, raising his powerful voice. “The king is dead. Long live Queen Lucilla!”
The chant was taken up all around them as her people came back to their feet. “Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”
