I sat in a stupor when they came for me. My house lay empty save the few sick lying in my beds. The inspector with the large mustache, who had come to my home several times to investigate this or that death, strolled in as if he owned the place. I tore the man’s head off.

After, I allowed the next man to read the charges against me.

Bribery.

Assault.

Arson.

Murder.

Treason.

I thwarted any attempt to put me in chains. When all men were down, I acquiesced. “I will go without a fight if you allow me some time to get my affairs in order.” As they lay about the room in various stages of defeat, I did not feel the need to explain that my cooperation would be the only means of taking me into captivity. “I love my Sovereign and her word is law. Out of respect for Her Majesty, I will come with you tomorrow and accept whatever judgment and punishment the solicitor and judge decide.”

For hours I roamed the streets.

I beat a few pimps.

Threatened a high-bred husband.

Sally argued with me, but I’d made my decision. All my plans, all our grand schemes, did nothing. I couldn’t protect anyone. My baby died. Being a Carrier had twice widowed me. I’d loved both husbands in a way. My daughter was broken, unable to escape the maze that was her mind. I’d failed. And now that I had unleashed a plague upon the Incola, my usefulness had been consumed.

The Dowager Countess’s home had been grand at one time, but that time had long passed. The columns I leaned against, as I waited for her butler to meet my knock, were cracked and crumbling. He answered the door, his wig askew, sleep in his eyes. It was nearing daybreak. At first he refused to wake my friend, but after I pushed my way in and seated myself in the parlor he had no choice. The Dowager came down quickly, her hair in knots and curls.

She tied her housecoat around her and sat beside me.

“Ernestine,” I addressed her in the most familiar, “tomorrow I will be going away and I need you to take care of my daughter.” Soon enough the gossip train would make a stop at her house so I went ahead and said it. “I am not a good person. I have killed and maimed, corrupted and cajoled.” Details were irrelevant. “I endanger everyone I am close to. Dawn may be a bastard but she is my flesh and blood. Young, she still has a chance to turn out well, as your daughters have. The darkness in me does not allow me to raise such a child. I ask you, as my only friend: will you take her as your ward when I am gone?”

She didn’t want to believe. “They will come for me tomorrow and I must know that my daughter is taken care of. I will give you half my fortune.” Money simply wasn’t spoken of; to do so was an inexcusable vulgarity. I told her an exact sum and she gasped.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with half of such a sum,” she explained.

“You misunderstand. That is the half I will give to you.” She choked on air. “You will do it then?”

“Now it is you who misunderstands. I would take care of your child even if you had no money. It is an honor that you would choose me. But surely, with that amount of riches you could go abroad; there is no reason you must meet the hangman.”

“The reason is I choose it. I am tired.” I stood to go. “One more thing you must promise me: raise Dawn in secrecy. No one must ever know she is my daughter. All mothers feel this way but in our case it is true: Dawn is special. The world will tear itself apart to have her.”

 

I sat in that tiny cell, awaiting the break of day. Tomorrow I would die. The trial, held in the House of Lords, had been nonexistent. I pled guilty to all charges and sought no mercy. I asked only one thing: that I be beheaded rather than the traditional hanging. This raised much rabble, for there had not been a beheading in 150 years. I insisted this was the only outcome I would allow and one of the officers who’d come to apprehend me argued that my cooperation would be the only way to ensure the judgment was carried out. His injuries spoke as loudly as his words.

And so I waited while they procured an executioner proficient with an ax. They sent for a guillotine from France, but no reply ever came. Paetus’ ban on post continued. It delayed my execution for a week. I forbid Ernestine from visiting me; to do so would start the rumor mill and it could hint at Dawn’s whereabouts. I planned and practiced how to turn my head at just the right moment as to slice my head in two and ensure my brain was destroyed. I would be cremated after.

I’m tired. I failed. I’m a murderer. Sally mocked me. I am sick to death of your moaning! We are not defeated. We are survivors!

Closing my eyes, I joined her in the meadow that was only ours. “I am sorry, old friend. I truly am. You have always been there for me, taking what I cannot bear.” I held her hand in mine. “At the moment of our death, you should go. You can do it, I know. You can ride Dawn.” She would need Sally when I was gone.

She nodded. “I can, though I fear entering her mind again. But…” she began.

“But what?” I asked.

“But what about the others?”

“What others?” Wind whipped my hair and when I brushed it from my eyes, three versions of myself stood beside Sally. The seventeen-year-old me grabbed my shoulders and shoved me to the ground. The preteen me sat on my chest, giggling. I struggled against them until the me who looked as I had on the day of Ambrose’s death put her heel on my throat.

“Sally means us.” The one with a boot cutting off my breath snarled. “We aren’t about to go quietly,” she declared, her eyes blazing red.