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It was the witching hour, that breathless gasp between dusk and dawn.
A time when sleep was the heaviest, when dreams were the strongest. When the world drank in the last of the night’s shadows before the coming of the sun.
I stood like a sentry at the window, watching it unfold.
Soon, the blacksmith would be rising, firing up his forge. The crates outside his cottage were stacked with broken axes and dented blades, all waiting to be smoothed clean. The shepherds, too, would be awakening; the boys who tended the goats leading them into the hills to graze. Those who fished would be not far behind them, trudging along the worn pathway towards the sea.
Soon, the children would be gathering in droves, parading to the forest to gather wood for my great fire. It was part of the tradition, a point of excitement. They would stack it on the pyre, happily counting the hours and drawing lots to see who’d get to set it aflame. Tonight, they would dine on roasted pheasant for supper, another tradition for the closing of the day. A spooky tale would be told in hushed voices around a fire. They’d fall heavily into bed, and wake up fresh the next morning—already forgetting the details, readying to start the new day.
They would be dining on pheasants, but I wouldn’t be among them. I would be drifting over the tree-tops, dissipating over the harbor, curling in little wisps towards the sky.
That’s neither here nor there.
I had felt broken after Erik left the night before. Broken and bolstered all at the same time. I had thought it a cruelty, in the beginning; his sweet confession when describing the path not taken, the wistful longing behind his eyes. I’d thought it was a cruelty, but I saw now, it was probably the kindest gift he might have given. In honor of this, I had decided to take his advice.
It changed nothing to be afraid, to torment myself with inescapable fears. The outcome was already written, the only thing I had left was time. I would spend it doing other things.
I would spend it saying goodbye.
“There, that’s better.”
For the first time since I’d been imprisoned, I gently untangled the chaotic nightmare that had become my hair, combing and unbraiding, running my fingers along the waves. Once it was finally loose, I spent a full minute shaking my head back and forth, fast as I could. It flew in a chestnut halo around me, whipping the sides of my face. I laughed, surprising myself.
Then I laughed again.
When I was finished with my fun, I braided it up again carefully, checking my reflection in the puddle of water still sitting on the floor. I’d forced myself to drink a little of it a few hours earlier. That had been disgusting, but it had settled some floating part of my brain. There was blood on my face, a big streak down my chin. I frowned a little, wondering why no one had told me. I’d certainly had enough visitors. With a benign smile, I dipped a corner of my sleeve into the puddle and scrubbed myself clean. First with the cloth, then with my fingers. I ran them over every inch, my chin and jaw, my temples and cheeks. When that was done, I smiled again. It was only the start.
I blew the puddle and watched the ripples, I tried to make myself sneeze. I ran from one end of my cell to another, tilting a little. I jumped skyward, hummed and whistled.
The tiniest joys I might have forgotten. The ones I’d never get to do again.
I dragged out old memories, fishing them from the depths. It was difficult at first, my smile grew brittle and my lashes were fringed in tears. But I forced myself through it, moving steadily and chronologically, so there wouldn’t be any I might forget. Feast days in the winter, and long walks alone in the forest. The day Trina found me rolling a barrel towards the harbor, having decided I was going to sail it out to see. Lost teeth and broken fingers. A cat I’d loved fiercely before it died.
When I came to the end, I threw my gaze outward—to the darkened window. Feeling more like myself, I stretched as far as my chain allowed me, whispering into the sky.
“Hawk?” There was no part of me that expected an answer. The tower stood alone in the center of the village square, there was nowhere it could hide that I wouldn’t see. I called again anyway, listening for the rustle of wings. “Are you there?”
Another few seconds of silence, then I pressed my fingers to my lips and lifted them into the sky. It was probably for the best, given that the beast was clearly some kind of trickster-demon. But I had decided to love it anyway, and I offered up a sweet goodbye.
What now?
The sky was still dark, the torches had burned to nubs in the settlement beneath me. I hadn’t slept properly in days, but there was no part of me that was tired now. I stood there a moment, my entire body thrumming, then I lifted my hands slowly in front of me, palms towards the sky.
At first, there was nothing but a flicker. Just the tiniest glow of heat. Then what started as a spark, quickly turned into a halo—as though I’d reached into heavens and taken a piece of the sun.
A smile lit my face, illuminated on the wall behind me.
It had been weeks since I’d practiced, even longer than that. It wasn’t the easiest thing, to summon the energy, and Trina always complained that afterwards, the house smelled of burnt ozone and devilry. I always teased it was her latest hair serum. I’d sometimes been slapped across the face.
I closed my eyes, willing the light to burn brighter. What did it matter if they could see me from the courtyard? What would they do—call me a witch? My smile grew brighter, as the light seemed to swell around me. Never in my life had it come so easily. I threw out my arms and let it suffuse me completely. Brighter than a sunrise, dancing like a flame—
“By the gods!”
My eyes flew open with a gasp, landing on the man in the doorway. There hadn’t been any reason to hear him, because he hadn’t knocked. The door was simply open and he was standing in the frame; his eyes like moonlit saucers, the light of my golden halo reflecting on his face.
I gasped again, arms falling to my sides. “Erik!”
The light vanished in a blink and the cell went dark. Almost non-functionally dark. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best of ideas. An ironic smell of burnt ozone and devilry wafted slowly over the room, as we stared in perfect silence, bracing ourselves at opposite sides.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t...I didn’t know you were there.” I lapsed into silence, looking at him uncertainly. Never had I seen such a pallor, there was a chance he might faint. “I didn’t think I was going to see you again,” I added tentatively, flashing a look into the hall. “Why did you come back?”
It was good I’d asked that precise question; he might not have pulled himself together otherwise. His breath had lodged somewhere in his throat, and he was looking so off-balanced, you’d think I’d tilted the actual floor. But the question broke through, the same as he’d been asking.
With a look of sudden determination, he took a step inside. “I came back for you. I’m getting you out of here.”
* * *
Erik and I stood on opposite sides of the tower, staring across the space in between. A resounding silence had followed his declaration, but it seemed to ring back in endless echoes.
I’m getting you out of here.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
There was a glitch in his expression, the slightest of modifications; like he’d been sprinting somewhere, fast as he could, but had to adjust his stride for something unseen.
“It means I have no intention of letting you die today,” he answered quickly, casting a look over his shoulder. “It means I’m breaking you out of this place.”
His eyes said something more, as did his outstretched hand.
Let’s go!
But I could only stand there and stare.
“You’re breaking me out,” I repeated slowly, unable to process it. The landing behind him was empty, there wasn’t a person on the stairs. “Out of...prison?”
His eyes flicked to the puddle on the floor. “Have they not been feeding you?”
“You can’t break me out of prison,” I countered, utterly shocked. I nearly added something embarrassing like, that’s against the rules, but thankfully, kept it to myself. “Have you gone mad?”
However Erik expected this conversation to happen, it clearly wasn’t anything like this. A kind of spasm rippled across his face, and his fingers drummed restlessly at his sides. At no point did he turn away from the stairs; he was always angled, at least partially, to see them.
“Liv, there isn’t time—”
“No, this isn’t...” I raised a hand between us, shaking my head. There was something almost like anger inside me; he was deviating from the plan. “We talked about this already, “I murmured, picking up speed. “There’s only a few more hours. I had finally started to—”
He took a step forward, motioning to the door. “We need to leave.”
“I cannot do it,” I exclaimed, taking an equal step back. “I told you why.”
His face cleared at this. At last, I was making sense. “And you will not be breaking out of anywhere,” he said with quick assurance. “You will not be using your powers to confirm some dastardly plot.” He reached into his pocket, drawing something into the light. “I have a key.”
My mouth fell open in shock. There it was, sitting on his palm.
“Where did you get that?” I asked in astonishment.
He slipped it back into his cloak. “I have my tricks.”
My eyes drifted over his shoulder. “Where are the guards?”
There was a slight pause.
“...they’re fine.”
Not what I asked.
“Come on,” he said again, reaching towards me, “we need to leave.”
I pulled back just a little, feeling a sudden chill.
A thousand times, I had imagined this moment. A thousand times, over the course of the last few days. Sometimes it was him coming for me, sometimes it was Trina or even the king.
Someone would always come—that was the point of it.
Yet something had always stood in the way.
“Erik...they will know it was you.” Our eyes met for a suspended moment, holding fast in the shadows. Then I took a step away. “I will not have you die for me.”
At this point, the young bannerman threw up his hands, looking ready to strangle me himself. He cast another look down the stairs, before lowering his voice to a furious whisper.
“But I should let you die for me?” he challenged. “You would put that blood on my hands, to carry forever?” He shook his head firmly. “I will not allow it.”
“It was my choice,” I argued with equal exasperation, “there is no blame! There, look”—I waved my hands at his chest—“I absolve you. Now go, before somebody sees—”
“I cannot believe you are arguing with me.”
“Come on—”
“I cannot believe you would even—” He caught himself swiftly, trying to keep hold of his temper. “Are you really going to make me abduct you from prison? On the day of your execution?”
My eyes narrowed menacingly. “You wouldn’t dare.”
* * *
Erik and I had different ways of telling the story, different ways of remembering what happened next. But on a single point, we managed to agree: We played depressingly into the stereotype.
“Put me down!” I shrieked in a muffled whisper, banging my fists against his back.
I had not imagined he would actually reach for me. I could not have anticipated his speed, even if I did. Before I could even pull in a breath, he had crossed the tiny cell and lifted me straight off my feet, drawing a blade from his belt at the same time, and hacking through my rusted chain.
By the time it clattered to the ground, we were already moving.
“You cannot do this!” I hissed, lost in the folds of his cloak. “You cannot free me, if I don’t want to be freed!” He continued moving like he hadn’t heard me, flying down the spiraling stairwell with me slung over his shoulder. “You idiot! I demand you release me this instant!”
It was impossible to see his expression, dangling backwards and upside down. It was impossible to see anything but the descending stairs. But he managed to make it clear using nothing but the sound of his voice. That and his rather colorful use of profanity.
“Streð mik,” he cursed to himself, never breaking stride. “You are, without a doubt, the most exasperating girl I’ve ever met. I take back everything I might have said otherwise.”
I pounded at him again, enraged it wasn’t making the slightest bit of difference.
“You realize how insulting this is, don’t you?” I demanded, thrashing my legs beneath the grip of his hand. “You realize that I gave up everything just to keep you from getting trampled, and now that the nightmare is almost over, you’ve come back here to throw your life away?”
He paused suddenly, peering around a corner. “On second thought, you’re rather uplifting.”
I let out a frustrated cry.
“Erik—”
“Shh.”
He put me down in a second, flipping me gently over his shoulder and setting me beside him on the stairs. It was done so fast, the best I could do was keep from falling over. It wasn’t until I’d grabbed his arm for balance, I suddenly understood the reason why.
My voice caught, as cold terror washed over me.
Is that...?
It wasn’t a guard—that had been my first thought. It wasn’t even a soldier, though I was stunned we hadn’t come across one by now. It was an old man I’d seen sometimes around the village. A candle-maker. He was delivering tapers, slipping them into sconces along the stairs.
We watched from around the curve as he made his way gradually towards us, lugging a basket and whistling a tune under his breath. My breathing stopped, and my fingers sank without thinking into Erik’s sleeve. Any moment he was going to see us. There wasn’t anywhere to—
“Oh, gods!”
I covered my mouth with a gasp as he flew out from beside me, flipping magnificently over the railing, before landing on the other side. The man barely had a chance to lift his head before he was struck from behind, falling without a whisper into the waiting circle of Erik’s arms.
He just attacked the candle-maker. He just ATTACKED the candle-maker.
We are both going to die.
“It’s all right,” Erik said quietly, almost dispassionately. He was already moving, dragging the man around the base of the stairs. The basket had spilled behind them. “Can you get the candles?”
It took a second to make sense of the question, then my eyes flew back to where they were scattered and rolling across the ground. Without stopping to think, I dropped immediately to my knees, scrambling to pick them up. All the while, I darted sideways glances.
“What are you going to do with him?” I asked frantically, watching as Erik dragged him towards what looked like a closet. “Erik, please tell me he isn’t—”
The door opened, and I stopped cold.
“He isn’t dead,” Erik answered softly, laying him gently on top of the pile. Because it was a pile of men, that were gathered in the closet. All the soldiers I’d been looking for; I saw only now where they’d gone. “He’ll wake up fine in the morning, I swear it.”
I stood up slowly, the candles still rolling at my feet. “Erik, what did you—”
“None of them are dead,” he said quickly, though a spot of color appeared in his cheeks. “I never wished...but they will be fine, all of them. They didn’t see me,” he added, almost to himself.
I stared at the back of his head, wondering why that was possibly important.
“You’re breaking me out of prison,” I said, understanding for the first time.
His eyes lifted to mine, finding me there amongst the candles. We stared for a moment, then he nodded in silence, never breaking my gaze.
Holy crap.
It was like I’d just been given the information, like I’d received it for the first time. A kind of shock came over me, framed on both sides by an almost nauseating fear. But there was something else there as well. A spark of something warmer, something to which I’d already said goodbye.
It might have been hope.
“How can I help?” I whispered, almost afraid to move. Before he could speak, I found myself volunteering, “I’ll be very quiet.”
And I’ll stop hitting you.
He stared back with a measured expression, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. It would probably have been the perfect opportunity for him to cut his losses, and leave me there amongst the candles. But he strode abruptly forward, taking me by the hand.
I glanced down in surprise as he pulled us behind the rising stairwell—pointing through the shadows to an exit that lay just behind. It was smaller than the main door, leading somewhere to the east. That was the best I could say of it. The tower was in the center of the courtyard square.
How are we supposed to do this? It’s going to be impossible!
Like I’d spoken aloud, Erik squeezed his fingers around my hand.
“The night patrol has already changed,” he said quietly, “and we’ve still got another hour before dawn. There’s been a company of foot soldiers training in the square, but they will be gone this morning—sent on a perimeter check beyond the southern wall. If there was ever a time...?”
My head was spinning. I found myself clinging to his hand. “There’s a company of soldiers—”
“They will be gone this morning,” he repeated. “The guards have switched and the courtyard will be empty. This will be our very best chance.”
I nodded at top speeds, or perhaps I was merely shaking. The calm acceptance I’d been cultivating in the tower had shattered into a million pieces. Shot through with bright stabs of color, with that accursed hope. I drew in a breath and squared my shoulders, trying to make myself steady.
“Our best chance at what?” I asked. “What’s the plan?”
I was hyperaware of the man standing in front of me. I was hyperaware of the closet full of bodies at my back. I was equally aware that with every passing second, dawn was fast approaching.
Erik was right to have made us hurry. We hadn’t much time. “You know the service alley that runs behind the kitchens?” he asked in a swift undertone, feeling that pressure himself. “The one where you attacked a men with a sewing needle that day?”
I didn’t attack anyone.
...I was stopped.
I clenched my jaw, but nodded.
“We’re going to aim for that,” he continued, jerking a finger behind him. “We’re going to leave through the side door and keep low to the ground. With any luck, we can make it to the alley without being seen. From there, it’s a clear path over the fence and into the forest.”
I nodded again, trying to keep it all straight.
Out through the side, and low to the ground. Over the fence, and—
“You want us to climb over the fence?” I asked incredulously, trying to determine whether he was serious. There wasn’t time for banter, and his face was solemn as a grave. “Erik, I can’t climb over that fence. No one can. That’s the reason they built it so high—”
“We’ll make it, I promise. Now, are you with me?”
I looked down at the space between us, at his open hand.
It didn’t seem possible he could have been standing there. It would have made more sense if the entire thing had been a fever dream, and I was still back in the confines of my cell. Even if it was real, I didn’t understand why it would be happening. The man had risked enough just by speaking up for me in the courtyard, and then again for the king. Now he would risk this as well.”
Are you sure?
I gazed up at him, trying to find the courage to ask. His gaze was steady on mine, with eyes of the clearest blue. Without stopping to think, I slipped my hand into his, ready as I’d ever be.
“I’m with you,” I whispered.
He held my gaze a split second, brightening with an unlikely smile. Then in a fluid motion, he stepped us over the remains of the candle, and shouldered open the door.
Only then did we discover the tragic flaw in his plan.
The courtyard was not empty. It was filled with a company of men.
