My stomach rumbled loudly. I licked my dry and cracked lips, tasting salt. Either from tears or blood, possibly both. Were my eyes even open? In the endless void of darkness, I couldn’t tell.

          After a miserable ride to the Capitol, I was dragged, in the dead of night, through the snow and thrown into a small, dark, smelly cell. I’d refused to eat or drink, enraging my captors, which resulted in the humiliating experience of being force-fed drugged water once a day. A light sedative to keep me “calm,” as one helpful guard explained as she poured cupfuls of water down my throat, massaging my neck to loosen the muscles when I clenched down to keep from swallowing.

          Not. Again.

          Throwing up only resulted in the process repeating, over and over, until the drug took effect and I passed out. My screaming fell on deaf ears. My tears got the sneers of scorn. Hours, minutes, and days passed in a blur, only cut through by my forceful feedings. By the third feeding, my mind might as well have been a jellyfish in the deep ocean, malleable and useless. In the dark cell, devoid of light, the rancid smell of my own vomit, mold, cold metal, and sweat, I floated in a sea of garbage. Peasants had better treatment than this. Bile rose in my throat, hot and tangy. I couldn't throw up; they would hear and force me to feed again.

          Curling up in the slimy corner, uncaring that my dress was ripped, the fabric ruined by grime and other filth, I hugged my legs up to my chest, the chains on my wrists rattling, and hid my face in between my knees.

          They don’t need you. No one has ever needed you, the voice whispered like the wind on a cloudy night

          “I’m innocent,” I whispered to the darkness that swallowed my words like a light in the fog.

          Freedom, it taunted, begged, and cajoled. Freedom.

          Was I so gone that I was hearing voices? My mind bled into color, drifting away from the smelly confinement. What I wouldn’t give to be outside in a field of summertime flowers. Clean air. Warmth. Although the idea of drinking or eating made my stomach queasy.

          You want to live, it stated. We want to live. 

          Of course, I wanted to live.

          I was a coward. Fleeing from Traonian–when others more noble had accepted their defeat and execution–into Rodion’s arms, despising the god-worshipping country yet benefiting from the safety it gave me. Gutless. Scared. Coward. I knew. I intimately knew how vile I was and the lengths I was willing to go to. What was strength without a strong backbone?

          I had to live. I must live. My fingers curled around my bruised knees, disregarding the throbbing in my shoulder, possibly torn, as I hunched over my legs, pressing my forehead against my knees. The pain helped alleviate the fog in my brain.

          I can help you, the voice whispered, soft like a mother soothing a crying child. I want you. I can give you power if you give me freedom.

          Maybe I did have the Madness? 

 

 

***

 

 

Three days, three forceful feedings later, I knew my time was ticking. I had a day, possibly less, to escape. Lying in the dark, wallowing in misery, wasn’t conducive to escaping. Earlier, whenever time was, morning or evening, I crawled around the small cell, my hands trailing around the floor and walls as tall as I could reach, mapping out the dimensions and where the door was. I could lie down flat and almost touch the walls with my outstretched arms and feet. 

          As I touched the moldy, cold walls, I contemplated. Anything to deflect my mind off the disgusting, slimy walls. Father had mentioned I had Dahala in my possession, yet how would he have known? My bags hadn’t even been unpacked before we’d been whisked off to dinner. I knew they betrayed me. I just couldn't quite figure out why. And who exactly?

          Was the Crown Princess also in league? Were Yna and the Prince, despite having vastly different ideologies? There was a link I was missing, and no matter how many times I teased the ideas over, I was unable to put the pieces together. Even Rodion and my father differed in politics. Father and the Crown Princess had as much in common as I and a woodland creature. How could all these people be in the league? 

          What did I miss?

          Freedom, it whispered. An almost constant plea I’d just begun to ignore, like crickets on a summer night. Free me.

          Yes, I was currently working on that. 

          Footsteps outside my cell captured my attention. Something was different unless I was losing more time than I’d realized; the guard had come only hours ago to give me water. My toes tingled from the paralytic effect of the sedative. Crouched low, I stared ahead at where I thought the door was in my dark cell. 

          The door opened slowly, creaking under its weight. Light from the lanterns in the hall shone into the cell, temporarily blinding me as I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, squinting at the silhouette of a man in the doorway.

          “Lovely, Claudia,” Rodion laughed. “Look at you, worse than a gutter rat. Smelling like the garbage you are. Thrown away when used.”

          “Fuck off,” I snapped, my voice hoarse.

          If he was no longer going to play our stupid game of marriage, what point did I have in being nice? He took a step forward and waved off the guards when they tried to follow him in.

          “No need, a strong wind would push her over. Look, she's wobbling. A newborn fowl is more of a danger.”

          Oh, do not count me out, even a worm can squirm. My legs gave out from under me. Gods bless me, I glared up at his laughter. The guards acquiesced to his demand and let him in, alone.

          “Knock twice when you want out. We will wait.” A female guard hung a lantern on a hook by the door. I'd felt it earlier, but thought it was for shackles. 

          My husband’s ugly red lips pulled up into a delighted smile. Shadows made his face more angular and sharp. He looked like a monster from the darkness–Xas, the Dark God came to life. The type children whispered about stealing them at night. Compounded with the all-black clothing he wore underneath his cape, for the mourning of the late Traonina king, despite being an Astardoese.

The light reflected off the shiny purple Traonian brooch, holding his blue Astradoses cape around his neck, and my ring on his left hand. I ground my teeth. Those didn’t belong to him. Assessing the finely dressed man, his posture, self-assured smug smile, and confident swagger as he ventured into the grimy cell, I was reminded that he had never been trained as a warrior. 

          “Why?”

          “Why you? Why are you here? Why now?” he taunted.

          “Yes.”

          Rodion threw back his head with a laugh. “When you commit so many crimes, what’s one more stacked on for good measure? Extortion of Duchess Von Liltence, hoarding and storing weapons, spreading baseless lies and rumors about Yarin, conspiring to spark war and break the century-long Treaty of Ihubet, witnesses saw you pushing your sister down the stairs, profiting off of the sale of ‘SpicedAir,’ stabbing an Astardoses lord, blackmail of various lords and ladies, and orchestrating Lady La Qeter’s execution three years prior.” He bent at the waist, a manic smile on his face. “Did I miss anything?”

          I shifted and pulled my feet under me; the heavy shackles on my wrists jingled. “I couldn’t kill the king while I was in Astardosa,” I told him calmly, glancing down again at his brooch.

          He reached out, gripping my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat and tilt my eyes back to stare into his. I despised his green eyes. His red lips made me sick. Forcing myself to shiver, I played up the defenseless, scared child. My submission drew him in. He licked his lips.

          “The new queen says you did. And who would stand up for you, Claudia? They fear you. Von Shezels are notoriously insane and dangerous. Secretly, I suspect the crown hopes your family line dies out; you all certainly kill each other fast enough. At least I’ll get a new wife.” Rodion released my hair and ran his fingers down my face, tracing my nose and lips. “I like how Bianca’s eyes widen, like yours. Too bad she’s uglier than you, all that white hair like an old dead woman. Lovely, Claudia, I wanted you to cry for me. In all our play and fun, you never cried for me. If you give me some tears, maybe I can slip in a poison, and you can take your life with dignity. I heard that Yarin asked for you to be torn apart. Yet maybe then you’ll cry.”

          Darkness take me, his sexual infatuation with crying was sick. Almost as disgusting as his gross love for horses.

          “What do you get out of this?” If I could figure out his angle, maybe the others’ reasons might click into place. 

          Clammy fingers curled around my neck, pressing. “Ten times your dowry. The minute entertainment I’ve gotten from having you is a drop in a lake compared to how much more I want in financial compensation.”

          “You worship a god. A partnership between Astardosa and Traonia will never last. We are the free people of the light, and you all are co-dependent kneeling Sunsetters.”

          “Everything can be compromised after the subjugation of the other countries and the destruction of the lesser gods' temples. Yahai wants the other gods gone. You, Traonians,  want all gods gone. The world only needs one god, the true god. Not that you will be here to see it. Any last words, my lovely, lovely Claudia?”

          “No, please,” I made my voice wobble. “Give me my ring.”

Inhaling sharply, I tightened the muscles of my throat, pushing tears to spring from my eyes as my nose scrunched up. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Rodion hissed out, grinned, and leaned closer, his fingertips brushing against the tears trailing down my cheeks. His nose almost brushed mine. Yes, good. He fell for my trap.

          Ramming my head forward, I smashed his nose in at the same time I grabbed his brooch with both hands. He shouted and pulled back, his cloak ripped, clutched in my hands. I had it.

          “Crazy bitch,” Rodion slapped my face. I let myself fall to the side. 

          “You will pay for betraying me,” I said, glaring up at him, my cheek stinging.

          “You’ll die how you deserve, alone and in pain,” Rodion spat. He ripped my ring off his finger and threw it down. He knocked twice, took the lamp, and slammed the door behind him.

          His footsteps echoed and faded. Pushing out more tears, I sobbed louder, screaming that I was innocent and I hadn’t done anything, demanding that the guards let me see my father. While making a racket, I fumbled the silver brooch in my hands, feeling around the edges until I’d found the pin at the back. In the dark, it was more of a challenge to bend my wrist awkwardly as I attempted to stick the pin into where I thought I remembered the keyhole in the thick iron shackles.

          I stuck myself multiple times, which only added to the fake tears flowing down my face and the occasional gasp of actual pain in between forced sobs. I cried and worked the pin in the keyhole, unsure what exactly I was doing but desperately willing to try.

          A few hours later, my face felt gross from tears and snot, a headache had moved behind my eyes, and my wrists were wet with blood and sweat, but I unlocked the shackles. Relief had me quieting, breathing in deeply to calm my heart rate and ease the pressure on my throat and chest. I was free. Next came escaping prison.

          Undressing silently— the process slow, and at times frustrating without a maid— I managed to undo my dress and unlace my corset. I waited a bit longer before resuming my fake crying again, feeling satisfied and smiling through my fake tears as one of the guards pounded on the door of my cell, telling me to “shut up.”

          “Make me, you scum-sucking parasitic buffoon,” I taunted the guards. “I bet your knees are bruised, and you dream of being frosted by a god.”

          That caused vulgar words to be thrown back, but they didn’t open the door.

          Ugh, now I had to cry more. In between new sobs, I ripped at my corset with the crooked silver pin, pulling out the whalebone ribbing that held it up. Now, I had weapons. Not the best, but they could be stabbed into the flesh, and that’s what counted.

          Freedom, the voice whispered. Give me freedom.

          Soon, I assured myself. On hands and knees like a peasant, I searched the disgusting cell floor for my ring. It had rolled into the far corner. With my first smile in days, I slipped the ring on.

I was patient, breathing evenly, mentally rehearsing my plan over and over. When I heard movement, a key in the iron door, I moved into position. My cell door opened.

          I threw my skirt on the figure in the doorway, surprising them, and swung my shackles at their face. The first guard stumbled forward into my dark cell. I moved to the side and let them fall. The second guard advanced. I sprang down, shoving the whale bones into the woman’s thighs. She howled. I rolled behind her and kicked her into the dark cell, then quickly shut the door, turning the lock with shaking hands. The two guards yelled, pounding on the door. I threw the keys to the cell off to the side and swiftly climbed up the stone steps.

          I had to escape and get out of the castle. Once out, I could find allies and escape until my innocence could be proven. At the top of the steep stairwell, I pressed my ear to the wooden door, holding my hand against my mouth, smothering my pants, and listening. 

          My heart pounded fast enough to take flight like a hawk in the sky, preparing to swoop down and snatch up a rat. Gripping the doorframe, my knees wobbled as my vision blurred. I didn’t have much time.

          I opened the door gently, careful in case it squeaked. A glance up and down revealed the long hallway to be empty. I didn’t have time; I had to move. I chose left. Careful of each step, I tiptoed as fast as I could manage, making minimal noise. Right before every doorway, I paused to listen for sounds from outside. A few doors along the hallway echoed with voices, and I was careful not to open those. At the end of the hallway was a different door, this one wooden and iron. I could hear birds outside of it and the familiar howl of winter wind.

          Yes, one step closer.

          I can help you get freedom, the voice said a bit louder, to start over.

          I glanced behind my shoulder, but no one was there. Clenching my teeth in preparation for the cold, I opened the door. A chilled wind, full of snow and ice, rushed into my face. I slipped out and found myself in a courtyard full of snow and clumps of purple Gadlis flowers, always in bloom, even despite the freezing temperatures. The sunlight lit the morning sky, a softer blue not quite peeking out. It smelled fresh and clean, which I was not. An old tree stump, a frozen-over pond, and beds of dead flowers decorated the small, walled courtyard.

          In the corner, on a bench, a dark-skinned girl with long, tightly braided black hair full of beads sat in a long white fur cape. As if the wind had turned me to ice, I froze. Yna. 

          She turned and looked straight at me.“Beliett told me you would come. I prayed for your repentance, and I have been rewarded to see it through.” The frosted kneeler stood, and a hand reached behind me to close the door.

          The Eight usurpers have betrayed you, too, the voice said as if speaking about colors in a painting. I would not betray you. 

          I whirled around, and my jaw dropped. Dressed in similar white, the first prince of Traonia, Callum, shut the door. On either side, guards wearing full, thick black armor closed in on me.

          A trap.

          Within a heartbeat, I was forced onto my knees, winching at the bruises growing on them, my hands behind my back and two swords pointed at my neck. Yna glided to stand next to Callum, placing a hand around his waist. A head taller than the prince and broader, Yna cut an intimidating figure wrapped in white fur. At her hip was the gourd she was never seen without. The rough skin of the gourd was decorated with intricate designs and overlaid with carved wooden beads that matched the ones in her hair. When she moved the inside liquids sloshed, and the beads clicked against the gourd like a wind chime.

          Callum raised the point of his sword from my chest to my chin, forcing me to look up at him. The blade sliced into my skin. “You dare try to escape judgment? My beloved asked to personally see your death carried out after the torment you’d inflicted on her and others. I admit I was happy to grant such a simple request.” A trail of blood rolled down my neck.

          Up close, I could clearly make out the manifold of intricate white tattoos that decorated Yna's arms, shoulders, and neck. displaying that she was a frosted kneeler, blessed by her patron god, Beliett. My blood boiled at the sight of a silver crown embedded with shining purple and red jewels, sitting atop her black hair.

          Birds trilled happily, and the wind whipped around the tiny courtyard. In the distance, a clock tower chimed seven.

          Yna looked down her broad nose at me, wide, brown eyes full of pity. Well, if I was going to die, I’d take a chunk out of her if it was the last thing I did. Springing forward, I went to claw at her face, but was caught and yanked back by the guards.

          “You’ll never fit in. You will always be a dirty, god-worshiping commoner Sunsetter. You’re a threat to our way of life. My only regret is that I won't be here to see your eventual assassination.” I spat at her feet, not caring how crass I was being.

          “You dare­–” Yna cut off Callum with a shake of her head, beads clinking.

           “For so long, I thought you were the epitome of nobility. But rank never gave you any of the traits a true noble lady should possess. You’re supposed to be kind.” Yna’s jaw clenched, and she tightened her hands at her sides. “I swore I’d make you pay for what you did to Serris. I’ll change people's minds. There can be harmony between the countries, more than just the treaty.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, freezing on her skin like gems. I despised staring at her hideous white tattoos, a show of devotion to her god.

          “As long as gods and magic exist, there will never be any harmony.” I spat the word.

          I can help you. I can offer you what you most desire in the world, the voice— I was beginning to suspect was not a hallucination— continued to tempt me.

          Yna wiped the frozen tears off her face. “Gods grant us protection and guidance. You do not understand.”

          I wanted to yank every hair off her head and then drown her in a tub full of Gadlis flowers, burn the white tattoos off her skin, and then throw her into the arctic seas above Traonia.

          Yna folded her hands in front of her. “The Eight Gods offer mercy to those deserving, but you are not one of those. Only the gods may decide who is worthy to live or die.”

          I chose you, the voice continued. To me, you have value.

          Darkness take me. Of course, in my last moments, a god would sneak into my head and speak with me. But how? I ate the Gadlis flower every day. I was supposed to be immune to gods and magic and dreams.

          “You are delusional if you think that any Traonians would follow a single god. We don’t need a god,” I shouted. Lunging forward, the guard’s hand on my arms tightened, and I twisted in their grasp.

          Callum slapped me across my face so hard my head snapped to the side, and my ears rang. “Shut your mouth. This idiotic feud has gone on long enough. The world needs true unity and peace. No more segregation or lines. You and the Von Shezels are standing in the way of progress.”

Was the prince crazy? How had I never seen that before?

          “You’ll ruin us all.”

          “You’ll be dead,” Callum stated. Yna rested her cheek on the top of his head.

          Their affection sickened me.

          Yna tilted her head to the side, listening. Was she hearing her god? She glanced up at the slightly cloudy dusky sky and then down her nose at me. “It’s time.”

          “Your death is my wedding present,” Callum told me, waving his hand. “My sister even allowed this unusual execution to happen, as long as your head is presented to the court after.”

          Forced to my feet, I wiggled to get out of the tight grips restraining me. Useless. They dragged me to the old stump in the courtyard. I screamed, struggling like a fish on land, snapping my teeth and twisting with no avail.

          In front of the stump, rough hands shoved me to my knees. Around the stump, a dozen or so large Gadlis flowers bloomed, vibrant against the snow and shadows from the rising sun.

          “There will be others. You will die.” I spat at the two.

          The female guard to my left gripped the top of my hair and forced my neck against the wooden block, shoving my face into the bloom of a large Gadlis flower. Someone pressed their knee to my back, holding me down, punching the air from my lungs.

          The six-petaled flower was a welcome scent compared to my own foul odor. Warm and rich, with a deep tone of honey, the Gadlis smelled like the comfort of a supportive embrace on a dark, rainy evening. Tragically fitting that the flower of my homeland would be the last scent I smelled.

          From the left corner of my eye, I saw the third guard, a man, unsheathe the sword at his side. A sob escaped my lips as a shudder ran down my spine. I was going to die. No, I don’t want to die. This was not how my life was supposed to go. I was a Duchess.

          We lived in a cruel and unfair world, struggling for more, more, and more. My desires are not uncommon. There was no reason why I couldn’t gain my desires other than that they clashed with someone else's. People are selfish and disloyal. Gods are the same.

          All I have will wil be yours, the voice said. Say yes.

          I trusted myself and my ability to survive. But trusting a god? Or an entity? 

          “Why,” I whispered to the flowers. Gods hated Traonians.  The Gadlis tainted our bodies through the generations, causing the hair on our bodies to turn white and our lips purple.

          “May your soul never find peace and wonder in the shadows until the end of time, hungry and wanting,” Yna spoke calmly over the thumping of my heart.

          “I’d do it again,” I wheezed. “My only regret was not poisoning you sooner.”

          “People like you are the reason true change hasn’t occurred,” Callum declared.

          The executioner raised his sword, and the hand in my hair tightened. I shivered, tears of fear filling my eyes. No.

          I closed my eyes and inhaled the heavy scent of the Gadlis, soft petals tickling my dirty face.  No. Please. I want to live. No.

          Betrayed, defeated, and hungry for glory. Join me in vengeance, freedom for freedom. The same voice from earlier whispered. Give me all that you are.

          I was a coward; I didn’t want to die. I would live to be the Von Shezel Duchess and make them all pay for their betrayals by any means. Even making a deal with a god, betraying everything a Traonian stood for. Wars are never won without making sacrifices. I had done many things to survive, scrambling to the top, constantly feeling as if I was sliding down a mountain made of sand.

          Yes, all that I am, I agreed to the union. “I want to live. I need to win.” In any manner possible.

          A giggle filled my mind, like the ringing of a bell. We will both begin again.

          “And so it is,” Yna proclaimed.

          The sword swung down. Red blood splattered like rubies against the white ground and clothes. I couldn't even scream in pain as my vision blacked out, and there was nothing.