Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (39 page)

Though clouds blanketed the sky, it took Kyrin several moments to be able to see when they emerged in the courtyard. She pulled in the clean, warm air and focused straight ahead, but her breath
was cut short. Six extra guards stood waiting. She had witnessed gatherings of guards like this before, at executions. Her legs grew weak again, and dim shadows closed in around her vision, followed by a sensation of sinking. But the stab of pain through her shoulder snapped her out of the near faint.

The guards dragged her toward the company, two of whom were Trev and Collin. Kyrin met Trev’s gaze first. His eyes held sadness, though he kept his face blank. At least one person seemed to have pity for her. She looked next at Collin’s stormy expression. It was hard to tell if he was angry, hurt, or concerned about her. Strange to see him so bothered. He stared hard at her until she was just close enough for him to whisper, “How could you do this?”

Kyrin breathed out, but struggled to draw in more air. It was too late to try to explain. If her throat would barely allow a breath, how could she manage words? She shook her head, eyes stinging, and looked away. He’d never understand.

The guards closed around her. Collin took his spot to her left and stared straight ahead, his bunched jaw muscles twitching. With Aric in the lead, they marched silently through the courtyard. Kyrin struggled with the pace, her legs sluggish, but they forced her to keep moving. It must have rained recently. Puddles checkered the stone. In one, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. What a dreadful sight she made—cosmetics streaked grotesquely, hair falling in limp, matted tangles, white shift stained, and her eyes shadowed, with one side of her face bruised.

They passed through the gate and headed straight for the square. A jolt of heat passed through her nerves. Her whole body pulsed with urges to fight and flee, but when she lagged, the guards tugged her forward. This time she couldn’t hold back a groan. Collin glanced at her, but his face blurred behind the welling of tears. She stumbled along as her unprotected feet bruised on pebbles and jagged cobblestone.

Only another block to go. Kyrin trembled. She glanced to her right and caught Trev’s eyes again. He didn’t hold her gaze this time.
Please, help me!
She wanted to beg aloud, to fall at their feet and plead for mercy, but a new, clearer thought took over. She could either be overtaken by fear or fight it. No, she wouldn’t die a coward, sniveling at the feet of men who really had no power over her future anyway. If she were going to die, she would do it serving her God. Her waning strength flared back to life. She held her head higher and her steps gained confidence.

When they drew near the square, a roar of voices rose up. What would cause such commotion? She hadn’t even arrived yet. And even at the ryrik executions, she’d never heard anything like this. A moment later, it came again, even louder, before ebbing away once more like the rushing of waves at the shore. Then the square came into view, and Kyrin sucked in her breath. Thousands had gathered.

A murmur rippled through the mass of bodies as the guards, with Kyrin between them, moved toward the platform in the center of the square. Kyrin looked to her left and right. Hundreds of cold, hard expressions glared at her. Some broke into scowls and jeers. How could they hold such hostility against her? She was just a girl—not some murdering ryrik or depraved criminal. They didn’t even know her.

Then they reached it—the steps leading up to the platform. Kyrin had to swallow down a reaction of fear. These steps led to death. Her heart stopped for a paralyzing moment. And to think, this had all begun with another climb, up the steps to the stage at Tarvin Hall.

The guards shoved her forward. One step at a time, she climbed up to the platform. Her eyes met squarely with Emperor Daican’s, and their gazes held until she reached the top. Here, she looked out over the square. The size of the crowd from this vantage point dizzied her. She’d never witnessed one so large. People packed in without an inch to spare, even spilling out into the side streets as far as she could see. Thousands upon thousands of people with eyes on her. A cold chill twisted through her body.

Her sweeping gaze snagged on one figure. Emotion exploded inside her chest, biting her eyes, and she had to blink to see.

“Kaden.”

Amidst the sea of people, he stood, tense and pale, his blue eyes more pained than Kyrin had ever seen them. Their gazes locked. Kyrin strained against the iron grip of the guards. She would do anything,
anything
to get to him. If only they’d had a little more time to escape, but the dream was dead now—so utterly crushed she had to bite back a sob. Her throat ached to call out to her brother and tell him to go, to escape, to live. She wanted to convey hope to him, but there was only pain.

The emperor’s voice echoed out across the square and broke Kyrin’s focus. “Here she stands, the girl I bestowed with honor and great generosity, only to have her profane our gods and viciously attack me.”

Kyrin’s eyes snapped to Daican.
What?

“No.” Her voice cracked. She gathered her voice to defend herself more loudly from the emperor’s lies, but all that came was a strangled cry as one of the guards twisted her arm. She shook her head desperately. The emperor, however, already held sway over the crowd. Their grumbling and murmuring rose up from all sides of the platform.

“She has shamed us all, following in the footsteps of her grandfather, Jonavan Altair, betraying her emperor and her country, and blaspheming the gods.” Reaching out, Daican grabbed her by the arm. She fought him at first, but she didn’t have the strength to resist for more than a moment. He dragged her near the edge of the platform, where the people could see her clearly. “And what do you, citizens of Arcacia, believe should be the punishment for such a blatant crime as this?”

In one massive roar, they gave their answer. “
Death!
”

The sheer volume of it stole Kyrin’s breath.

Over and over they screamed it at the platform. At her. Fists shook in the air. Courage fleeing her, Kyrin sought Kaden again. This time, Sam was with him, the only thing keeping her brother from fighting through the crowd to come to her defense. She could see it burning in his eyes—the desperation, the anger, the hurt. In her fear, she wanted him to help her and to protect her like he always did, but she knew better. He would be killed right there with her, and the threat of that outweighed the terror of the moment. She pulled in a shaky breath and set her expression. She must be strong now, to show him she accepted this as Elôm’s will, and that he must too. She wanted to show all these people she would not cower at death—that Elôm was in control, and she was prepared to give the greatest sacrifice of service to Him. She straightened in the face of their uproar.

Daican raised a hand and silenced the outcry.

“It shall be as you say,” he announced. “Tomorrow, here, she will die for her treason.”

The air in Kyrin’s lungs rushed out. She wasn’t going to die, not quite yet. She had one more day.

“But,” Daican continued in response to the crowd’s murmur of disappointment, “today she will bear the shame of her betrayal and be remembered always as her grandfather is—a traitor!”

The crowd erupted again. One of the guards moved behind Kyrin. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. At a scraping noise, the tension released. Bit by bit, he cut through her hair. The crowd whooped and cheered as long pieces of it fell around her feet. She closed her eyes and tried to shut them out. Tears gathered against her eyelids, but she would not let them fall. Her weakness would only satisfy the onlookers. She pressed her lips together until the man finished. Her head slumped forward.

“Look at her, the traitor!” Daican encouraged the people’s jeering.

Kyrin stood before them, as good as naked in her shift, with her
hair cut off—a vile object of scorn. She peered at them through strands of hair and cried to Elôm for strength to bear their hatred. Where did it all come from? How could one man hold so much influence over them? Did they even see her as a girl?

Curses and insults flew at her. Then
came the garbage. All manner of rotted food and waste bombarded her as she stood alone and unprotected at the edge of the platform. She tried to duck away, but something hard struck her forehead. Light flashed in her vision, and everything went dim. She pitched sideways, almost numb to the hands that grabbed her and kept her from toppling into the crowd. Kaden’s agonized cry echoed faintly in her head, and a sensation of warmth flowed down her face. Her head lolled to the side, but she forced it up again to look out at the crowd. Though her vision blurred, she found her brother’s wide, desperate eyes. Sam had his powerful arms wrapped around Kaden’s chest to hold him back.

And that was the last glimpse she caught of him. Someone lifted her up from her knees and held her upright until strength returned to her legs. Even then, the ground rolled beneath her, and
she couldn’t form any solid thought. Her head drooped forward. Red spattered the front of her shift, spreading.

It wasn’t until they reached the bottom of the steps that her head cleared and clarity returned. Her guards surrounded her again, and someone had an arm around her. She looked up to find it was Trev. His face was set in a determined frown. Collin must be somewhere behind her, but trying to look back made her dizzy. The crowd pressed in around them and forced the guards to push their way
through. Shouting continued and garbage still flew at Kyrin, but Trev held her close to keep her shielded between himself and Aric.

They inched forward. The tight quarters made it hard to breathe. People reached out to grab her. Someone caught her sleeve and it started to rip, but Trev yanked the man’s hand away. Kyrin’s heart thrashed her chest. Would she make it through the crush of thousands of people with just a few guards? Would her guards even try to protect her if the crowd grew
more fierce? Why would they?

The people pressed harder, their hands reaching closer and closer. A sob pushed up in Kyrin’s throat, and she shut her eyes. They would kill her. She just knew they would kill her. But Trev held her more tightly and kept guiding her forward. Kyrin almost screamed, but that’s when they broke out of the square and the tangled crowd. Aric immediately increased their pace. The houses and shops passed by in a rushed blur, and footsteps and jeering followed them. Kyrin shook all over, wanting to run, but she was hardly able to walk. Eventually, once they reached the palace, the pursuers faded away. Inside the courtyard, the last of Kyrin’s strength abandoned her. She collapsed, but Trev caught her before she hit the ground and lifted her up into his arms. Even now, he was protecting her—his last act as her bodyguard. Why did it have to end like this? If only she could thank him, but her voice failed her.

He carried her all the way down to her cell, where he set her carefully on her feet and let Aric remove the chains from her wrists. Kyrin struggled to remain standing, but dizziness overtook her. Again, Trev broke her fall and lowered her to her knees. With the dizziness came a wave of nausea, and her stomach heaved. She barely noticed Trev back away and join the others outside the cell as the door shut.

The torchlight faded, and Kyrin crawled to the corner and grabbed her blanket. She lay down on her side and pulled her knees up, curling into a little ball. Her forehead throbbed and sharp pains shot to the back of her skull as blood oozed down around her left eye, mixing with tears. Once again enclosed in darkness, she let her lonely sobs echo through the dungeon.

T
he deep, splitting pain in Kyrin’s skull prodded her toward consciousness. She let out a weak groan. Though she tried to open her eyes, her heavy lids parted only a crack. She forced them open again, and this time she caught sight of a faint glow. It didn’t register at first, but then she jolted to full awareness. She pushed herself up and rocked dizzily. Dread clamped a hand around her throat and drove a fist into her stomach. Footsteps and torchlight approached her cell. That could only mean one thing.

She scrambled to gather whatever bit of strength she hadn’t already spent as she thought of facing the mob again, this time to die. Trembling seized her, and tears followed along with the urge to beg for her life. She was just a girl. Couldn’t they let her live?
Don’t go out like this,
a quiet, but stronger part of herself admonished.
Elôm, please.
She let out a small cry, but then forced herself to stand up and meet her enemies with courage.