It had been two weeks since he had been thrown back into his cell to wait for the executioner. Liam lay in wait for the guards who were coming to take him to his execution. Today was the day the king had set for him to die, and he was having none of it. Liam had loosened one of the stones of his cell and held it in his hand under the coarse blanket on his cot. He had to prove his innocence; he would not be put to death for something he had nothing to do with except the misfortune of witnessing it.
Liam’s heart pounded as he heard the guards approaching his cell. They were laughing as they came up to him. “Are you ready to be quartered?” One of them asked gleefully.
“Or burned?” The other asked.
“Or both,” they chimed together with a chuckle.
Liam felt sick as they joked so flippantly about his death. He waited for them to open the door to his prison cell, his heart pounding harder. Liam waited for them to come in the small room before he attacked behind the small wall of privacy in front of his cot, stone raised high. He hit the first guard with the full force of his strength. A sickening crack sounded, and the guard went down with a gush of blood over Liam’s hand. He started at the felled guard—he thought he’d killed his last man in the war.
Liam yelled when he was tackled from the side. He was flipped onto his back by the other guard, and Liam raised his hands to his face to shield himself against the rain of punches coming down. He didn’t have time for this.
He kicked out to get the guard off him. Liam was tempted to run out of the cell, but he had to make sure the guard wouldn’t follow and recapture him for his execution. Liam came to his feet and steeled himself. It was him or the guard, and he chose the guard. He grabbed the guard by his hair and beat his head against the floor until he stopped moving.
Liam wiped the blood from his hands before poking his head out of the cell. There were some advantages to being in a cellblock of his own—there were no other guards coming to help the fallen. Now he needed to figure out how to get out. He looked at the guards, contemplating taking one of their uniforms, but both were drenched with blood. They would raise more suspicion than if he just walked out.
He’d heard there were sewers running under the palace that dumped out into the ocean a few miles away. Looking around, there wasn’t much choice. He could either go further into the dungeons to find this sewer, or he could try to sneak out from the surface.
Inhaling deeply, Liam turned to go further into the dungeons. The surface would only get him killed, and he hadn’t murdered two guards just to die now. He didn’t have any other choice but to find the sewer, and fast. If he didn’t, he’d go down in a fight with the guards. He would not be paraded in front of the people as a traitor before he was killed. The walls got darker as he went further down, and Liam grabbed a torch from the wall hook before he risked coming across a corridor without any light.
After descending several more levels, Liam could follow his nose to find the sewer. The smell was overpowering once Liam came to the end of the hall. He held his torch farther out in front of him to see what came next—there was no closing wall at the end of the hall. Instead, there was a platform and a murky river beyond it. Liam grimaced before he spotted thigh waders. He settled the torch in one of the wall hooks before slipping on the boots. He didn’t want to think about what was on them, what he would walk through in only moments.
Liam grabbed the torch from the wall again and followed the stairs down into the murk. He gagged as his steps stirred the smell. It was worth it. The smell was worth it. His freedom would be worth it.
He scowled at the sucking sound his legs made as he walked.
It was worth it.
The smell was worth it.
His freedom would be worth it.
Liam kept those three thoughts at the forefront of his mind as he followed the flow of the filth. The river got higher on his legs the farther he went. He couldn’t tell, but he thought the ceiling was getting lower.
It was.
It was getting lower, and Liam soon had to stoop to avoid his head scraping the ceiling. He supposed it was willful ignorance for him to think that he would have an easy walk right out into the ocean. He wasn’t in the gardens; he was in the sewers. Sewers probably designed to only allow waste to escape.
The ceiling continued to fall, and soon liquid spilled over Liam’s stolen boots. “Ugh,” he groaned, stomach turning and threatening to empty.
It was worth it.
The smell was worth it.
His freedom would be worth it.
Liam spotted a small light at the end of the tunnel and reluctantly dropped his torch. There wasn’t much room left to hold it, anyway. When the ceiling became too low, he dropped to his knees and crawled the rest of the way. As the end came nearer, he had to lie on his stomach and pull himself through the muck—and occasionally his own vomit.
It was worth it.
The smell was worth it.
His freedom would be worth it.
His hands gripped the lip of the end of the tunnel. Liam inhaled the fresh—or at least mostly fresh—air and let out a whoop. He was almost there. He just needed to—
His stomach fell. The drop below him was at least sixty feet. No wonder there were no bars at the opening. Who would climb this height and crawl through a river of shit just to invade the palace? There were better ways, and the builders knew it.
Gripping the lip tightly, Liam pulled himself carefully out of the tunnel. He would try to climb down instead of jumping straight into the Bragasso Ocean. He just had to keep his grip from slipping before he—
Liam yelled as he fell back.
He had to turn.
He couldn’t land on his back. He would break it and drown, and then all of this would have been for nothing.
Liam barely got his feet down before he hit the water. He tried not to yell, but his mouth filled with water anyway. He clawed his way to the surface and sputtered, gasping for breath. He swam until the water was clear, rinsing his mouth of the foul taste of sewer.
He’d done it.
He’d escaped, and he’d survived.
Liam’s clothes had stains on them that would not come out in the salty water. Liam would need to find a place where he could get new clothes, and fast. He would head for the Salatian border to escape from the soldiers who would soon be searching for him. After the war, they would not be welcome in Salatia. Once he crossed the border, he would travel down to Glessic.
He waded in the water until he could no longer smell the waste. He would travel eastward toward Reung and Dorcia. Dorcia would be the place for him to gather lasting supplies until he could get to Glessic. Like his fellow soldiers, he wouldn’t be welcome in Salatia as an Anatalian, and he did not intend to stop near people.
Liam trudged onto the sandy beach and lay in the sun for a moment. He wouldn’t have long to rest, but he wanted to bask in the sun. Just for a moment.
When he was finished, he took off his boots and dumped the contents, scrunching his nose. Liam washed them out in the waves, his legs and feet included, before he made his way along the coast to the forested area. He would be safer once he had more cover. He felt vulnerable in the open.
Night would fall soon, and he would rest until then. He planned on traveling through the dark to get ahead of the inevitable search party.
Liam felt tension leave his shoulders when his parents’ home came into view. He knew they wouldn’t be there, but he could visit their graves, at least. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to the house, but his mother had kept a bag under the floorboards with clothes for all of them and money in case they ever had to leave in a hurry. He’d thought her crazy for it—he still did if he was honest with himself—but he was thankful for it now.
As Liam got closer, he saw the garden was overgrown and browning, and the grapes in the fields were swollen to near bursting. No one had taken the place of his parents yet—good. No doubt, people were still reeling from the war and hadn’t had time to fill the position of a single viticulturist.
Steeling himself, Liam opened the front door.
Everything looked the same as the last time he had been there, except for the rotting food in the kitchen. Liam was a little surprised the house hadn’t been ransacked for supplies. He went to his parents’ room, pausing to take it in. He thought of taking the marriage quilt his mother had made from the bed, but if his parents had died of plague, he should touch nothing other than the bag under the floorboards.
Liam knelt on the floor near the corner, pulling at boards until they started to lift. He pulled out the pack and removed his mother’s clothes before changing his mind and putting them back. He could use his mother’s skirts as a blanket if there was a chill in the night.
As much as Liam wanted to stay, he shouldn’t linger anywhere long. He went to the back where the graves would be. They were side by side under one of the trees. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel; he’d thoroughly mourned them while he was in prison; their passing held a distant sorrow for him now. They were better off where they were, without having to live with the shame that not only was their son accused of treason, but was also now a murderer.
“I’m sorry.” He rested his hand on the raised earth. “I love you.”
Liam looked over his shoulder, eyes wild. He’d spotted soldiers on the road and darted into the forest to the left. He hoped they hadn’t seen him, but he lost hope when he heard shouting behind him.
“He’s over there!”
Liam let out a curse and broke into a run. He held his arm in front of his face to keep any low-hanging branches from hitting him. He tripped on a high root, going down hard. Liam gasped, curling into himself. He couldn’t stay there long. They would catch him if he did. He groaned as he uncurled and stumbled to his feet, trying to run again.
He was tackled from behind soon after, falling on another root. Liam gasped for breath, wiggling against his assailant.
“You’re under arrest, Private Fulton,” one said. “You’re to be taken back to the capital for execution by order of His Majesty.”
“No!” Liam yelled. “I’m innocent!” He struggled to get out from under the soldier. “You can’t take an innocent man to his death.”
“You’re not an innocent man, Private. You murdered two men in your escape.”
The two other soldiers pulled Liam up, holding him between them. Liam ripped his arms from the soldiers and took off at a run. He left the forest and went to the road for a faster run. It would be easier to find him, but he was close to the Salatian border. Anatalian citizens were permitted to cross over the border, but no Anatalian soldiers were permitted to enter the country. It was the safest place for Liam at the moment.
“Stop him!” One of the soldiers yelled, slightly out of breath. “He can’t cross that border!”
Liam urged his legs to go faster. The border was in sight. He had to get to it, or he’d be dead. He could not see any Salatian soldiers patrolling the border, which could be either good or bad for him: good, that he could get through the border with no question; bad, because so could the soldiers in pursuit of him. Liam hoped they were more afraid of the consequences of going into Salatia than they were of not catching him when they had the chance.
Breathing hard, Liam pounded over the wooden bridge poised over the Frasisca River separating Anatalia and Salatia. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw the soldiers had stopped at the bridge. Liam grinned, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees. He wanted to revel in this moment, but he knew if he gloated too much, he would be welcoming them to Salatia.
“Watch your back, Private. We’ll be waiting for you,” one of the soldiers called over the bridge. “And we won’t let you get away next time.”
Liam only nodded and turned around to walk further into Salatia. He was free.
For now, at least.