If Eldoris wasn't a particular sight to see, then Andana was much, much worse.

It wasn't so much that she couldn't stand the stench of rotting fish. She'd stopped in and even lived in port towns before, and knew that any expectations she'd had prior to arriving would need to be drastically lowered.

But even then, port cities were alive, rich with trade and abundant with markets and sellers almost throwing their work at you in exchange of coin.

Port Andana was none of those things. The town was silent and still as death, but it wasn't for a particular lack of life, so to say. After they'd debarked from the ship to a ghost-like port, they'd shoved her in another one of those dark, cold prison carts. Through the window, Zerlinda saw road after road after house — a sure sign that if people didn't live within the town's walls now, they had once.

But there was no smoke floating through the chimneys of those few distant homes, and no children playing games of ball in the streets with all their friends.

It was as though the entire city was dead.

Zerlinda gripped the bars of her window as she looked on to the horizon. There were few people on the street, unlike Eldoris's bustling crowd at every hour of the day. Something about it looked off, like a fragment of reality.

Three children came into her line of sight. They sat by a worn-down fountain, sputtering a stream of water so thin it could barely even be called a stream. The children cupped their hands and drank, but nearly half of that water puddled at their feet.

It wasn't enough. But it had to be. Because sometimes life didn't give you a chance to have more.

She'd been there. Before she traded her life to be in the service of a so-called God who'd turned His back on her from wickedness. Before she fell into an endless cycle of murders, bidders, and blood-money.

But at least, she'd lived, and so had Adalia.

Her heart sank. When —if — Adalia woke up, she'd be alone. She'd never been alone before. It hadn't been safe for her to be, especially with the illness which somehow always knew the worst possible moment to strike. When they were on the road. When Zerlinda was held up by a client. When no apothecaries could be found for miles. A wicked, cursed coincidence that no magic could get rid of.

But wasn't that life?

The wagon came to a sudden stop. Zerlinda paused for a breath.

Two.

At three, her door swung open. Light flooded the wagon. She shuffled back to its furthest corner, shielding her eyes from the light. Through squinted eyes, she could barely make out the Kynător standing there.

"We've reached our destination."

He didn't say it, but the lingering feeling at the pit of her stomach told her it would be her last.

♛

The noose loomed in the distance.

They'd searched her before the chains had come on, just to make sure that she wasn't one of the fools who'd bring a knife to their own execution.

She probably would have, had she not lost her father's dagger when the pirates attacked.

But it was too late for that now.

Her white dress was nearly torn to shreds and blackened by ash and soot. Even then, it looked too pretty a garment for her. Her hair was tangled in heavy knots and matted to her head from sweat and whatever else had lied on that wagon floor.

She hadn't seen herself in a mirror and was thankful for it. The look of cringe every guard had thrown at her told her all she needed to know.

She hadn't slept the entire time, holding out for the hope that they'd feed her, or that some miracle would free her of the chains cutting into her skin.

Neither of those things happened. Her head spun, dark spots clouding her vision from the hunger. She took as much of a step as the chains at her ankles allowed her to. Every step made her feel as though she'd faint.

The only thing keeping her from falling back entirely was the lack of distance between her and the other prisoners. They'd all been chained together roughly an hour ago. An attempt at making sure they didn't somehow escape.

There was no escaping this. Even if a man or woman somehow got past the hundreds of guards scouring the courtyard, the gate barred anyone from leaving in one piece.

Not that she'd considered it. She was at least three days and an entire boat ride from home. Even if a miracle somehow led her back to Eldoris, Adalia would likely have been dead by then.

And that wasn't to mention her mother, who'd disappeared without looking back. She wouldn't die with her on the mind. Pushing those treacherous thoughts aside, Zerlinda raised her chin and took another small step.

Guards unlocked the chains of ten more prisoners and lead them up the podium. They made quick work of tying the noose around their necks. Skill, or rather, expertise.

A man ⁠— surely a duke of some sort ⁠— read their crimes from a scroll of paper. He droned on and on. Zerlinda only heard fragments of it. Theft. Violation of Crown property.

Murder.

A hangman pulled the lever. The trapdoor beneath the prisoners came open with a creak. There was a sharp gasp —first from the prisoners, then from the audience gathered to watch.

It was over as quickly as it'd begun.

When she'd first begun thinking of her execution, three years ago, Zerlinda thought it would be beheading which would kill her. She could practically feel the cold ax as it made the clean-cut through her neck. Her head would roll in a pool of blood, but she'd make sure her family was nowhere near and wouldn't see it occur.

Somehow, the hanging, in front all of those strangers, felt worse. It wasn't just the suddenness of the life draining from the eyes of the prisoners, or the way their bodies went as limp as dolls. Or perhaps it was all part of it, accompanied by the crack of bones as those people — some criminals, others just desperate and hungry — took in their last breath of air and danced the hung man's final dance.

The same guards who'd put them up on the podium took them down, tossing them to the pile of bodies on the side. They'd be left there to rot, never buried. You didn't bury a criminal. That would mean someone cared enough about them to let their darkened souls drift to the underworld, if not the depths of Hell itself.

By not burying them, you promised to rid the world of those criminals. Forever.

And maybe that was the horrifying part.

The scene repeated once. Twice. Each step closer meant another ten dead. Fear coiled at the pit of her stomach. Terror wrapped its arms around her heart, squeezing so tightly it might as well have stopped beating. But still, she walked, conscience heavy.

A cold sweat broke out over her body as she was lead up the podium. Wooden stairs cracked beneath the weight of her and her crimes. Her heart by now raced. She swallowed with difficulty as the noose was swung over her neck. She'd imagined how it would feel once, but the pressure of its presence was not something to be imagined.

This was real, whether she wanted it or not.

There was a man hung next to her. "What was your crime?" He asked, voice heavy from held back sobs.

She thought his question through for a moment. She couldn't count on her hands the number of people she'd killed to honor her vow of allegiance to Hades, let alone those she'd gone after for money or those who'd died when she'd fought back from assault. And that wasn't counting the number of times she'd stolen from merchants and marketplaces and apothecaries, no matter how much she knew they'd needed the money.

Because in life, it was the more desperate one who lived. Her very life was a crime if the laws regarding The Unbranded meant anything now.

The man must have taken her silence as an answer. "You've heard by now of the rebellion, I assume."

Her eyes widened. She'd heard of everything but an uprising. The King could not be overthrown. If King Magellan was ruthless enough to kill his own brother and said brother's wife and child, as whispers said, no rebellion would bring him down.

She tried to imagine a world free of his clutches. Among other things, rumor said Magellan was the last of his bloodline. Yet even then, another royal would come out of the shadows and claim that throne for his own.

Nerissa would never have a true, fair leader. There was no hope in holding onto that possibility.

But the man at her side went on anyway, and for a moment, Zerlinda thought she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"They caught us at the gates with swords. There were hundreds of us. They had us all captured within minutes." The fool glanced down. Perhaps reality had finally caught up to him, too.

The same man as earlier read out their crimes, an endless list that seemed to know no end.

"Do you have a family?" The man nudged her further. Lord, how could one so close to meeting his death be so chatty?

"A sister." Her mother wasn't family as far as she was concerned. She'd stopped being apart of it the moment she turned her back and left her two daughters to die.

"I have a son." He said. "And one day, he'll finish what I started."

She whipped her head to the side. "Do you not care that such foolish hopes could kill him as they did you?" She snapped, and either this man was more of a fool than she'd thought, or the fear had melted his brain wholly.

"But that's the thing," he began again, that hopeful look in his eyes shining once more, "The King ordered our execution from fear. If he fears us, it means we have a chance at one day liberating the country of his reign."

After The King's role in her father's disappearance, nobody wanted Nerissa liberated more than her. But there was a line between dreams and reality. She didn't tell him that, though. Let the fool die a happy man, at least.

"Say your prayers now, or be silenced for the rest of eternity." The crime-reading duke gripped the scroll in his hands tighter.

The hangman reached for his lever. 

She braced herself.

An arrow flew through the air and planted itself in the wooden post near his head. Zerlinda swore she saw him flinch.

The crowd parted. A dark-skinned woman clad in armor sat atop a tall white horse at the gate.

"Stop, in the name of His Majesty, King Magellan." Her voice rang clear and true, and for half a moment, Zerlinda wondered if the miracle she'd been praying for had come true.

The woman made eye contact with her from across the courtyard.

"I am the Captain of His Majesty's guard. He demands a certain Zerlinda Archaren be pardoned." She dismounted, a golden scroll in hand. The duke grabbed it from her hand immediately.

Her words sunk in. Suddenly, despite the weight of the noose pressing against her neck, Zerlinda felt light again. Almost sickly so, with a million thoughts racing through her mind.

She was the last person in the country to deserve a pardon. Unless something of significance had occurred on her way to the execution, this wasn't possible.

Or was it?

"And why, if I may ask?" He demanded, looking down at her. Zerlinda lent ear to their conversation, her heart racing, though a part of her told her not to bring her hopes up.

She raised a brow at him. "Why, to purchase her as a slave, of course."

Reality shattered like glass, and Zerlinda knew now why she'd never before allowed herself to dream.

 She wished the hangman had pulled that lever, after-all. 

♛

If you liked this chapter, please leave a like and comment! As my birthday is this week, I thought I'd upload daily from now until Friday. Tune in tomorrow to find out what will become of Zerlinda!