Most tributes weren’t given a choice. To appease our vicious nocturnal neighbors, the Crown instituted a mandatory hierarchy of punishment. The worst offenders: murderers, rapists, and leaders of thieves were sent without question. Those who committed lesser offenses might be sent for a short stay in the keep unless offerings had been light that month. Then, an unlucky deviant might find themselves exported to the Hive. Some of the poorer families would even volunteer in exchange for a large sum of gold if they were desperate enough. But because I had been noble-born and—only because of the fortune of my birth family—I would be given a choice.
The axe or the Hive.
It would mean I could take charge of the public narrative and move myself away from the slanderous, untrue titles. A kernel of heat stirred between my ribs. A mix of rage and helplessness expanded until it filled my entire chest. The fluttering rush overwhelmed me.
The axe or the Hive.
A swift blow followed by peaceful darkness. Or the unknown of the Hive.
Of course, there were stories told by those protected as representatives of both communities—the Travelers—giving some insight into the wicked, unholy happenings there.
If the tales were true, choosing the Hive meant I’d become a slave or a meal. Usually both. But always, eventually, a meal.
“I plan to go to the axe.” My stomach rolled hearing my fate out loud and solidifying the permanence of my end.
Cova pursed her lips with a tensed brow. Her brief but sharp huff and slight tilt of her head made her disappointment clear. An exchange I have come to know well. She looked like our mother.
Soon enough, she would be free of me and left only with the burden of the family she’d created. Older than me by two years and three times a mother. Well, twice by her own body. Once by adoption.
The thought prompted me to ask, “How are the children?”
She hesitated, crinkling her pointed nose. “They’re healthy and bright but struggling to understand your situation.”
I was estranged from Cova’s family for a myriad of reasons, but one was more prominent than the rest.
“And, Lydia?” Her name sat thick on my tongue, like I didn’t have the privilege of asking after the daughter I’d surrendered.
Conflict coated Cova’s gaze and her lips tightened.
Lydia’s fast-paced birth had been traumatic for us both. According to the midwives who delivered Lydia earthside, it was unlikely I could ever carry another.
I was given one week with her in a private cottage. One week to hold and feed my baby as my body recovered. One week before we traveled back to our family home where Lydia would live under the identity of the unwanted offspring from a distant, unwed cousin. Because my father could never ‘marry me off if anyone knew what a disgrace I was’.
With six siblings, Cova’s husband longed to continue the tradition of bearing a large family. He was ecstatic they could adopt Lydia as their own.
Lydia came from my body, but it was Cova who fed, clothed, taught, and protected her from this world.
“Please, Cova.” The words tripped over the cracks in my dry throat.
“She looks like you.” In a moment of surprising softness, Cova’s voice wavered, “All hair and defiance.”
Heated tears welled as I swallowed the knot in my throat. It had been many years since I’d seen the children—Hollis had made sure of that—although I’d written and sent gifts often.
“Please, send my love.” I sniffled.
“I will.” A guard sauntered by, their armor clanking rhythmically as they passed. Cova waited for distance before she whispered so quietly Icould barely make out the words, “Rey. Did you do it? Did you kill Hollis?”
Every muscle in my body recoiled, just as they had while agents of the Crown turned over my apothecary, haphazardly collecting my glass bottles and cataloging evidence against me.
I’d nearly fainted when they picked up a bottle of hemlock. The foreign container didn’t have or need a label. And even though I pleaded with them to listen, that it wasn’t mine, the pungent, unmistakable smell coming from the deadly vial was damning enough. Their properties too widely known for the death they would deal to anyone who had a large enough dose. The sentence was immediate.
“Arrest her.”
“Give her death.”
“Guilty, no question.”
I quickly learned the more I said, the less they listened. So I didn’t fight.
