"And God help you if you are a phoenix,
And you dare to rise out of the ash.
A thousand eyes smolder with jealousy,
When you are just flying past"
-Alanna Davis, 32 Flavors
"The Lady Delia, formerly of Eldorne, the last living ringleader of the rebellion against his Majesty King Jonathan III, no doubt merits the sentence of death for her treasonous actions. His Majesty is, however, merciful, and has suggested that she be given the sentence of life imprisonment instead of death. The court has decided to heed His Majesty's request, and the Lady Delia, formerly of Eldorne, is now charged with life imprisonment. No doubt you wish to thank His Majesty for his merciful intervention on your behalf."
The magistrate turned to me as he spoke those last words, and I glared at my feet. One of the guards behind me pushed me forward towards the throne where 'King' Jonathan sat. I would not yield to this, the final insult. I would not bow down and thank this man for his .mercy. The word made me want to spit. "No doubt you wish to thank His Majesty for his merciful intervention on your behalf," repeated to magistrate. "I will not." I said. My voice was quiet, yet I knew by the whispers around me that my words had been repeated even to those in the back of the courtroom, spilling outside to the mob waiting there. I smiled to myself. They would surely kill me now. But no, at a word from that boy - I refused to think of him as king - the guards grabbed my arms and began dragging me away. I found my feet, and walked with a dignified gait out the door. I would not allow people to see me being dragged out like a common thief.
The last words I heard from that hateful room were those of Jonathan, almost remorseful, saying "Alanna was right about you from the beginning."
The anger boiled up in me, and I thought for a moment it was too strong, too much for my body to contain. I thought it would burst out of me, but it did not. I maintained my rigidly dignified march towards my cell. And it was all of it, every humiliating moment, because of that woman.
Others would insist that she was not the only player in my downfall, but I know better. If it weren't for her, Jonathan would NEVER have gotten the Dominion Jewel - if it were not for her, Roger could have killed him when he was a boy. But no, that girl had to be constantly meddling, constantly reaching for things that were out of her reach, yet somehow constantly reaching them. I know that everything was that unnatural woman's fault, and nothing would ever convince me otherwise. And oh, she was unnatural. What woman would masquerade herself for years as a boy? What woman would ever suffer through the pains and hardships of knighthood? What woman would fight?
I would. I had, but with the subtle arts assigned to my sex. I had not usurped the brutish arts of physical combat, but nevertheless I had not been successful and she had. Revulsion surged deep within me. It tasted like bile. "Your chambers, lady."
The guard's words were dripping with sarcasm as he thrust me into the cell. I tripped, stumbled forward, and fell into an undignified pile in the middle of the small room. The guard laughed gruffly, said something that sounded like 'they should have killed you, traitor', and slammed the door behind him.
I wish they had killed me. Then at least I would not have had to suffer through the endless days and nights that would make up the rest of my life in this prison cell. The words struck me as funny, and I began to laugh. I had not laughed in what felt like months, and even now it seemed hollow and without humor, tearing from my throat painfully, until I realized that I was not laughing, but weeping. My whole life I had been in a prison cell, so why did having the prison cell be literal instead of figurative change things? My whole life I had been fighting a losing battle, and this was the end result.
Was it all my own fault then? For fighting? Did it have nothing to do with that woman - Alanna? The unfairness of it all smothered me, and I felt like a little girl again. Why was it that Alanna could fight against conformity and ended that fight the King's Champion, while I had fought against that same conformity, and ended my struggle in a prison cell? And why was it when I was little that I had never been allowed to run outside, or play with the boys?
Once more I was a little girl, stamping my foot in anger and outrage.
"I wanna go play with Rekkan and the others! It's not fair, how come THEY get to play war outside, and I have to stay in here?"
"Delia, Delia, don't be foolish. You're a girl. Girls don't fight and play war." My mother had insisted. "But I want to!"
My mother had sighed, shaking her head. "I don't understand you, Delia. You are a pretty girl, so why on Earth would you want to go outside and spoil your looks playing in the sun? Not only is it unseemly for you to be playing with the boys, but what if there was some accident and you got hurt? You could never keep up with them, and they might hurt you without meaning to. What if you scarred your face, or broke your nose? Why, all hope for a good marriage would be lost!" "I don't WANNA get married! I wanna play war and fight with the Rekkan!" "Delia, what is wrong with you? Every girl wants to get married." "I want to fight!" I had insisted, glaring up at my mother. "Girls don't fight!" "But I WA-" "Debrah!" my mother shrieked, "She makes my head ache! Take her away!"
I had been whisked away to my room, out of my mother's sight. Debrah, my nursemaid, had scolded me for troubling my mother, and forced me into the sort of gown that pretty little girls should wear. I hated it. I looked out the window, and wanted to escape. I wanted to run and play and.fly. I had almost forgotten about that, about my childhood dream that I would sprout wings and fly away. It was rather silly now that I think about it, but it was very real back then. I would stand in front of open windows, or on the top of the walls, and lean out as far as I would dare. I would feel the wind whipping my hair into my face, and when I closed my eyes I would pretend that I was alone. I would pretend that my mother and Debrah wouldn't come to take me away and lock me in my room to sew, that I could really fly away and be free from it all, in control of my own destiny. It was all so simple then, so pure. Things had changed, of course. I never realized my dream of flying, or even of 'playing with the boys'. At twelve or so my mother had packed me off to the Mithran cloisters where I would be taught to be a lady by professionals. I had resisted, but unlike Jon's precious Alanna, I had no convenient twin brother, and was packed away. It was my first major last battle, a bitter milestone. Was that where it had gone wrong? It was there that I had met David, and it was there that I met Cybil. It was there that I learned the value of fighting, not with sword or club, but with whispers and smiles. No matter what cruel retribution my struggle has earned me, I cannot regret my lessons of friendship from David, nor my lessons of cruelty and triumph from Cybil.
"The Lady Delia, formerly of Eldorne, the last living ringleader of the rebellion against his Majesty King Jonathan III, no doubt merits the sentence of death for her treasonous actions. His Majesty is, however, merciful, and has suggested that she be given the sentence of life imprisonment instead of death. The court has decided to heed His Majesty's request, and the Lady Delia, formerly of Eldorne, is now charged with life imprisonment. No doubt you wish to thank His Majesty for his merciful intervention on your behalf."
The magistrate turned to me as he spoke those last words, and I glared at my feet. One of the guards behind me pushed me forward towards the throne where 'King' Jonathan sat. I would not yield to this, the final insult. I would not bow down and thank this man for his .mercy. The word made me want to spit. "No doubt you wish to thank His Majesty for his merciful intervention on your behalf," repeated to magistrate. "I will not." I said. My voice was quiet, yet I knew by the whispers around me that my words had been repeated even to those in the back of the courtroom, spilling outside to the mob waiting there. I smiled to myself. They would surely kill me now. But no, at a word from that boy - I refused to think of him as king - the guards grabbed my arms and began dragging me away. I found my feet, and walked with a dignified gait out the door. I would not allow people to see me being dragged out like a common thief.
The last words I heard from that hateful room were those of Jonathan, almost remorseful, saying "Alanna was right about you from the beginning."
The anger boiled up in me, and I thought for a moment it was too strong, too much for my body to contain. I thought it would burst out of me, but it did not. I maintained my rigidly dignified march towards my cell. And it was all of it, every humiliating moment, because of that woman.
Others would insist that she was not the only player in my downfall, but I know better. If it weren't for her, Jonathan would NEVER have gotten the Dominion Jewel - if it were not for her, Roger could have killed him when he was a boy. But no, that girl had to be constantly meddling, constantly reaching for things that were out of her reach, yet somehow constantly reaching them. I know that everything was that unnatural woman's fault, and nothing would ever convince me otherwise. And oh, she was unnatural. What woman would masquerade herself for years as a boy? What woman would ever suffer through the pains and hardships of knighthood? What woman would fight?
I would. I had, but with the subtle arts assigned to my sex. I had not usurped the brutish arts of physical combat, but nevertheless I had not been successful and she had. Revulsion surged deep within me. It tasted like bile. "Your chambers, lady."
The guard's words were dripping with sarcasm as he thrust me into the cell. I tripped, stumbled forward, and fell into an undignified pile in the middle of the small room. The guard laughed gruffly, said something that sounded like 'they should have killed you, traitor', and slammed the door behind him.
I wish they had killed me. Then at least I would not have had to suffer through the endless days and nights that would make up the rest of my life in this prison cell. The words struck me as funny, and I began to laugh. I had not laughed in what felt like months, and even now it seemed hollow and without humor, tearing from my throat painfully, until I realized that I was not laughing, but weeping. My whole life I had been in a prison cell, so why did having the prison cell be literal instead of figurative change things? My whole life I had been fighting a losing battle, and this was the end result.
Was it all my own fault then? For fighting? Did it have nothing to do with that woman - Alanna? The unfairness of it all smothered me, and I felt like a little girl again. Why was it that Alanna could fight against conformity and ended that fight the King's Champion, while I had fought against that same conformity, and ended my struggle in a prison cell? And why was it when I was little that I had never been allowed to run outside, or play with the boys?
Once more I was a little girl, stamping my foot in anger and outrage.
"I wanna go play with Rekkan and the others! It's not fair, how come THEY get to play war outside, and I have to stay in here?"
"Delia, Delia, don't be foolish. You're a girl. Girls don't fight and play war." My mother had insisted. "But I want to!"
My mother had sighed, shaking her head. "I don't understand you, Delia. You are a pretty girl, so why on Earth would you want to go outside and spoil your looks playing in the sun? Not only is it unseemly for you to be playing with the boys, but what if there was some accident and you got hurt? You could never keep up with them, and they might hurt you without meaning to. What if you scarred your face, or broke your nose? Why, all hope for a good marriage would be lost!" "I don't WANNA get married! I wanna play war and fight with the Rekkan!" "Delia, what is wrong with you? Every girl wants to get married." "I want to fight!" I had insisted, glaring up at my mother. "Girls don't fight!" "But I WA-" "Debrah!" my mother shrieked, "She makes my head ache! Take her away!"
I had been whisked away to my room, out of my mother's sight. Debrah, my nursemaid, had scolded me for troubling my mother, and forced me into the sort of gown that pretty little girls should wear. I hated it. I looked out the window, and wanted to escape. I wanted to run and play and.fly. I had almost forgotten about that, about my childhood dream that I would sprout wings and fly away. It was rather silly now that I think about it, but it was very real back then. I would stand in front of open windows, or on the top of the walls, and lean out as far as I would dare. I would feel the wind whipping my hair into my face, and when I closed my eyes I would pretend that I was alone. I would pretend that my mother and Debrah wouldn't come to take me away and lock me in my room to sew, that I could really fly away and be free from it all, in control of my own destiny. It was all so simple then, so pure. Things had changed, of course. I never realized my dream of flying, or even of 'playing with the boys'. At twelve or so my mother had packed me off to the Mithran cloisters where I would be taught to be a lady by professionals. I had resisted, but unlike Jon's precious Alanna, I had no convenient twin brother, and was packed away. It was my first major last battle, a bitter milestone. Was that where it had gone wrong? It was there that I had met David, and it was there that I met Cybil. It was there that I learned the value of fighting, not with sword or club, but with whispers and smiles. No matter what cruel retribution my struggle has earned me, I cannot regret my lessons of friendship from David, nor my lessons of cruelty and triumph from Cybil.