(O'otani)

            When I wake up, my entire body feel heavy. No, not heavy- drugged. I drag myself up, cursing my decision to drink the second cup of Isoveri tea. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I just wanted to fall into a deep sleep instead of lying stiff in bed, listening for the sound of distant hoof-beats.

            I stand up and stretch. The light filtering in through the window is warm; I see nothing different when I look through the cracks in the iron bars. The courtyard below me is empty. The desert sky is still the same shade of brilliant blue, broken up only by the outline of the city in the distance.

            I don't know what I expected. The twenty riders below my window, waiting to wave good morning to me? The city burning in the distance? Something catastrophic, maybe, to match the dread crawling around inside of me. The riders are back, each beat of my heart seems to whisper. Whatever reprieve I've had, it's over now.

            It's all over now, isn't it? They have Shira in chains. They have me locked in my room, defenseless. They have the palace, the city, maybe even the country by now. All I can do is wait for whatever comes next.

            A chill runs down my spine as I imagine what that might be. A thousand images flit through my mind, each more morbid than the last. A guard with a gun to my head, but this time he isn't told not to shoot. Sholu Verlaina's lips curling into a smile, a knife in his hand. Me, bound to an X-frame, blood running from hundreds of shallow lacerations as a guard pushes me to reveal secrets I don't know. A hand holding me underwater, my lungs begging for air.

            Shira, bound in chains. His face bruised. Shaking like a leaf about to fall, his eyes grabbing at mine, silently begging me to save him. You promised, Oé. You promised-

            I start to pace the length of the room, warming up my muscles. My hands clench and unclench at my sides. Fear continues to bloom inside of me, a caustic flower. I hold out my hand and notice it has a slight tremor.

            I will not be afraid, I will myself, pacing faster. Fear is the enemy. It makes you dumb and blind and defenseless. I've conquered fear before.

            Shortly after Arn D'Verin agreed to take me on as his student, he learned I was afraid of heights. He made me stand on top of the parapets and look down every morning until it no longer caused my heart to race and my palms to sweat.

            Fear is just a signal, he told me. A message readying you to fight. Receive the message, then banish the fear and prepare yourself.

            But it's not that easy now, is it? I can't prepare. I have no weapons to sharpen and strap to my thigh. No dagger to hide in my boot. I can't even prepare myself mentally because I have no idea why we weren't shot that night. No idea what they're saving us for.

            I run through a series of drills just to keep from crawling out of my skin. By the time I think to check the clock, it's eleven thirty. I still- I expect Halima at ten every morning.

            What if they found out she lied about my illness to feed me information? My heart rate picks up as I imagine all manner of horrible things happening to my little maid.   

            She's fine, I reassure myself. She's smart and nowhere near as reckless as I was at her age. She'll stay out of trouble.

            When she doesn't come by twelve, my pacing becomes almost manic. I'm surprised I don't wear a hole into the floor. The clock ticks forward, slowly, and my panic grows despite numerous mental exercises to contain it. It's almost one o'clock before a knock comes at the door.

            "Halima," I sigh in relief as soon as she slips into the room. "Goddess, where were you? I thought they'd hurt you-" I pause, seeing she holds a large bundle of fabric in her arms instead of a breakfast tray. "What is that?"

            She opens her mouth but doesn't answer. I notice for the first time that her eyes are bloodshot and swollen. Her arms shake slightly, too, jarring the package she carries.

            "Halima," I repeat, removing the bundle from her arms and setting it on a chair. "What do you know?"

            "It's a dress," she manages to say in a halting waver.

            "What are you talking about?"

            "I brought a dress, miss. He said you're to wear it."

            "Who is 'he'?" I ask, knowing the answer as soon as I see the expression on her face.

            "Sholu," I say quietly.

            "Yes."

            "Sholu's sent me a dress." I almost laugh at the absurdity of getting a gift from the man who's orchestrated my family's murder. "Do you know why?"

            She looks away from me. Her chin quivers and tears begin to leak from her bright eyes, though I can see how hard she's trying to contain them.

            "Just tell me," I instruct in monotone, steeling myself.

            "You're to wear it to the- the execution." She chokes out. "They've set up a gallows in the town square, miss, and Sholu said they're going to execute the prisoners in an hour. And everyone has to go- we all have to go and watch-" she stops, breaking down into sobs.

            I should be the one sobbing, shouldn't I? I should be the one wrapping my arms around myself to contain my misery. Instead, I find myself wrapping my arms around the crying girl in an attempt to comfort her.

            "Don't cry," I whisper through her hair. "It was the likely ending anyways."          

            "May-maybe it's not for you," she says, trying to hold on to a shred of childish hope.

            "Don't be a fool," I tell her, holding her tighter. "It's for the prisoners. The boy they brought back in chains, and me." I feel cold, too cold, like I'm hovering above my body and observing our conversation. Like reality is only as solid as paper. "At least now I know why they didn't kill me with everyone else. They wanted to make a public spectacle of it."

            Halima cries harder, clutching at me. "Oh, miss," she sobs into the crook of my neck. "They- they can't- you can't die! They can't do this!"

            "They can. Sholu and his homegrown army can do whatever they like, they've proved that." I push her back so I can look her in the eyes. "This isn't a hero story, remember? I told you no one was coming to save me, didn't I? Didn't I?"

            "Y-yes," she stutters, "but I- I still believed that- that somehow you'd be okay."

            "Foolish," I murmur, cupping her cheek. "Foolish girl." But I'm also talking to myself, because some part of me believed that, too. Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite a month to process, I still had hope. Hope is hard to kill and resistant to logic.

            "You killed two guards," she says. "You're the Izsaiki, beloved of Aramizsa and the Goddess Zsavina. I thought-"

            "We both thought wrong," I tell her. "I killed the guards because they didn't know I was armed and they were ordered not to hurt me. That's all."

            "I'm sorry, miss," her eyes meet mine, and I see a depth of grief in them a girl her age should never possess. "I'm so sorry I can't do more. I'm sorry I can't help you."
             "You have helped me," I soothe, folding her into me again. "Halima, if you hadn't been here I wouldn't have survived the last month."

            "All I did was bring you food."

            "You kept me sane," I tell her. "You did more for me than anyone else. You even lied to the guard for me. You've been so brave."

            "This isn't right," she chokes. "You- you're the Izsaiki. You can't die like this. Like- like a criminal!"

            "At least it'll be quick. They're not going to torture me. There's no show trial to sit through. It could be much worse."

            "No," she says through her tears. "This is bad enough. This is- everything is all wrong. This isn't how it was supposed to be. I- I don't know what's true anymore, miss." She seems to dissolve into me, her little hands gripping me hard enough to bruise. "I don't know what to do! What do I do now?"

            Even though I'm the one slated for execution, I pity her for a moment. Her mother died birthing her and she lost her father to the Chalian Flu years ago. She grew up in the palace serving me. Over the past month, I've offered her some stability, some portal back to the world she knew before Sholu blew it all up. And now I'm to die, and Shira's to die, and the Dimaraste and all we stand for will die with us. The last heirs, strung up in the summer heat.

             Shira- my heart constricts. I have failed; the sword has finally fallen. My hope lived because he lived. If he's going to die, then maybe it's best I die, too. I meant what I said before. I don't want to be the last Amarin alive, not if it means a life alone in a changed world haunted by the ghosts of all those I've loved.

            I don't want to live inside of an echo.

            In a way, this is the death I would choose. Not the gallows, not this age, but if I had the choice, I'd want to leave this world with Amshira by my side. We were born a month apart. We grew up side by side, bloodbound, two vines planted separately that grew twined into a ball so tight it was hard to see where one of us began and the other ended. We lived side by side, and we'll die side by side. We'll meet the goddess hand-in-hand.

            I feel like I did at the Founder's Feast the moment I accepted there was no possibility of escape. Strangely free. The end is decided, but how we get there is still up to me. I'm not entirely powerless.

            "I know what to do," I tell Halima. "You're going to go to my closet and find something for me to wear. Something- authentic. If I'm to die, I'm going to die as myself." I pick up the dress, cringing at the acres of flowing orchid fabric embellished with gold beads and pearls. "I will not wear this thing and hang there like some dead exotic bird, and let Sholu point to me as an example of the excesses of the nobility. I won't be a spectacle."

            "O-okay," Halima says, grasping for a purpose. "Okay." She wipes her tears on her sleeve and goes to my wardrobe. "I know just the thing, miss. Just the thing."

            She pulls out my training uniform and I smile.

            "It's perfect," I say, like I'm picking out clothes for a ball and not my own execution. The moment is almost too surreal. But it is perfect- it's the outfit my teacher, Arn D'Verin, gave me to spar in.

            With Halima's help, I bind my chest with the long strip of white cloth, then pull on the leather breeches. They're thin enough to be breathable but still thick enough to block the dulled point of practice swords. Finally, she hands me a close-fitting maroon tunic to wear over the binder. I strap my sheathe onto my thigh, even though my knives are gone.

            Halima plaits my hair simply, pulling it tight so it won't get in the way in a fight. I like the thought that it won't blow in the breeze or get in my mouth when they bind my hands behind me before I hang.

            "T-there," she says, smiling the saddest smile I've ever known. "You look like what you are now, Izsaiki. You look like a warrior."

            I close my eyes and take a breath. It feels precious now that I know they're numbered. Yes, I look like a warrior. And I feel like one. I want to live. I am afraid. But the fear doesn't consume me. I am at their mercy, but I will not be their puppet. I will die honorably, at least.

            That leaves only one thing left for me to do, I suppose. I turn to Halima.
             "You have to leave the city."

            "What?" Her eyes widen with immediate fear.

            "You were safe when Sholu wanted me alive because you were my maid." I explain. "The guards needed you to keep me sane enough not to try to hurt myself or beat against the door for hours on end. But the second I die, that safety expires."

            "I- I can't possibly leave," she says. "I've only ever lived in the palace, miss. And besides, it's too dangerous out there. The riots, the gangs... if they knew I worked in the palace, miss, they'd kill me. I'll be safer here."

            "You won't." I insist. "Don't you see? The second I die, you become a target. I killed two guards and wounded two more. They'll jump at the chance to hurt you, just because they know I cared for you and you for me. If not just because you're loyal and young and defenseless."

            "I'll be careful," she tells me. "I'm just a maid, miss, they won't pay that much attention to me-"

            "Listen to me!" I hiss. "You can't afford to be a child anymore, not now! The second you hear I'm dead, you leave!"

            "I-"

            "They will kill you!" I say more loudly than I mean to, but finally Halima seems to understand. 

            "Go into the city. If they're letting people leave, go to the north gate and find a family. I'm sure plenty of others are fleeing the chaos. You stick near enough to them that travelers think you're not alone. Take the north road until the river splits near the Lorayan Plateau, then take the left fork and head west until you get to Rizsava. You should be able to find work there and it's a small enough town that it should be mostly ignored by the soldiers and the gangs."

         "If the gates are closed, find an inn and hole up. Wait until you get a chance to leave, then leave. Don't tell anyone where you're from or where you're going, don't go out after dark, and get yourself a knife to carry. You're small, but if you jab quick and run away it could save your life."

         I look back at the dress on the chair. It glitters in the sunlight. I reach and tear off a handful of pearls and gold beads, then put them into Halima's hand. "Here. That should be enough to keep you for a while. Try to find a place to exchange them for actual coin, and let no one know you have them or you'll be robbed. Sew them into the lining of your tunic if you can."

         She blinks at me, absorbing everything I'm telling her as best she can. "I don't know if I can do that, miss. I'm not brave like you. I've never even left Arzsa-"

         "You have to," I tell her, closing her hand over the pearls. "Promise me, Halima. I'm your lady. You have to promise to do this for me."

         "Alright." She swallows. "I promise."

         "Swear it on the goddess."

         "I swear it on the goddess."

         "Good," I say. "Now swallow the gold."

         "What?"

         "The guards will search you. Swallow it now."

         She looks unsure, but a sharp look from me gets her to open her mouth and shove the gold and pearls inside. She hesitates a moment longer, then forces herself to swallow. She chokes, then swallows again.

         "Good girl," I tell her. "You're smart. You'll be okay. Just be cautious."

         "I will, miss," she assures me, tears still shining in her eyes. But now there's something else there, a glint of steel that gives me hope. I couldn't save Shira, I couldn't save myself, but maybe I can save this child. This child who has stood beside me with unwavering loyalty, who has pulled me back from the edge of insanity by the virtue of her presence. Who has given me some small peace this last month, when grief and fear threatened to swallow me alive.

         I owe it to her. And in a way, it feels like a final act of rebellion. She's innocent and loyal and she deserves a life. I hope my advice, my handful of pearls, might help give her one. 

         The door opens and we both straighten, looking to what will come next.