Eavan lay on the floor, too stunned to retaliate or even speak, while the
guard hoisted Kate to her feet again.
"Take her back to her cell," Pyrte commanded, "She dies at daybreak." The guard snorted a laugh at Kate's expense, and dragged her from the room again, using well-aimed kicks to keep her moving towards their destination.
________________________________________________________________________
Dawn, as was customary in the realm of Darkness, was nothing more than a graying of the skies, lightening what was an utter black to a lighter, though no less gloomier, gray. Kate opened one eye - the one that wasn't swollen shut - forgetting, for a moment, where she was. When the realization came back to her, she nearly snarled out loud. As soon as she opened her mouth, though, she regretted it, because shooting pain blasted over her face, and blurred her vision.
Before she could recover, heavy footsteps in the corridor announced the presence of that drunkard of a guard. He noisily unlocked the cell door, tugged it open, and clomped inside.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he'd assume she was asleep. It was no use. "Gerrup!" he shouted, and grabbed a handful of Kate's once faille hair. "T'day you die, traitor!" He shoved her out the door and down the hall, apparently enjoying his line of work, since he found great hilarity in Kate's inability to fight back. The farther they walked down the hall, the more voices Kate could hear coming from outside. She hid her disgust behind a placid mask-like face. 'So,' she determined, 'he's decided to invite the entire Kingdom to witness my death.' They would all watch her die with as much enjoyment as a child watching a parade of flying pigs would . . .
The heavy wooden door at the end of the hall swung open, its iron hinges creaking with age-old strain. Kate fully understood and envied its lament, wishing that she had a life so easy as the life of a door. Funny, the things a person on her last leg of life thought of.
Almost silvery sunlight poured into the square, voices chatted idly amongst themselves and the sounds and smells of a large crowd made themselves known to Kate's delicate senses. She wrinkled her nose.
'Great. My last few minutes alive, and I've got to inhale peasant-stench all the while.' Both of Kate's hands were tied behind her back, and her feet were shackled. To top it off, Kate was in clothing not fit for the beggars that grinned toothlessly up at her. This, she decided, was not how she wanted to be remembered in the history books. 'The Girl Who Cried Fiend,' the books would say, and children years from now would remember her as the disgraceful woman who tried to assassinate her bdear/b father.
She couldn't let Pyrte win. She had to seek revenge. but how? Kate hadn't any more time to ponder, because just then her head was smashed down onto what was known as the 'chop block.' Kate cringed, catching a glimpse of the bloodstained slab of oak before stars filled her gaze and her already battered head throbbed.
"Welcome," said that sickeningly pleasant voice, "to the end of your life." Pyrte sneered at Kate from his place on the dais, drumming the scarred fingers of his right hand upon its arm. "I certainly hope you thought that attempt was worth your life. I know I do, since that's what I'm taking as retribution."
"Take her back to her cell," Pyrte commanded, "She dies at daybreak." The guard snorted a laugh at Kate's expense, and dragged her from the room again, using well-aimed kicks to keep her moving towards their destination.
________________________________________________________________________
Dawn, as was customary in the realm of Darkness, was nothing more than a graying of the skies, lightening what was an utter black to a lighter, though no less gloomier, gray. Kate opened one eye - the one that wasn't swollen shut - forgetting, for a moment, where she was. When the realization came back to her, she nearly snarled out loud. As soon as she opened her mouth, though, she regretted it, because shooting pain blasted over her face, and blurred her vision.
Before she could recover, heavy footsteps in the corridor announced the presence of that drunkard of a guard. He noisily unlocked the cell door, tugged it open, and clomped inside.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he'd assume she was asleep. It was no use. "Gerrup!" he shouted, and grabbed a handful of Kate's once faille hair. "T'day you die, traitor!" He shoved her out the door and down the hall, apparently enjoying his line of work, since he found great hilarity in Kate's inability to fight back. The farther they walked down the hall, the more voices Kate could hear coming from outside. She hid her disgust behind a placid mask-like face. 'So,' she determined, 'he's decided to invite the entire Kingdom to witness my death.' They would all watch her die with as much enjoyment as a child watching a parade of flying pigs would . . .
The heavy wooden door at the end of the hall swung open, its iron hinges creaking with age-old strain. Kate fully understood and envied its lament, wishing that she had a life so easy as the life of a door. Funny, the things a person on her last leg of life thought of.
Almost silvery sunlight poured into the square, voices chatted idly amongst themselves and the sounds and smells of a large crowd made themselves known to Kate's delicate senses. She wrinkled her nose.
'Great. My last few minutes alive, and I've got to inhale peasant-stench all the while.' Both of Kate's hands were tied behind her back, and her feet were shackled. To top it off, Kate was in clothing not fit for the beggars that grinned toothlessly up at her. This, she decided, was not how she wanted to be remembered in the history books. 'The Girl Who Cried Fiend,' the books would say, and children years from now would remember her as the disgraceful woman who tried to assassinate her bdear/b father.
She couldn't let Pyrte win. She had to seek revenge. but how? Kate hadn't any more time to ponder, because just then her head was smashed down onto what was known as the 'chop block.' Kate cringed, catching a glimpse of the bloodstained slab of oak before stars filled her gaze and her already battered head throbbed.
"Welcome," said that sickeningly pleasant voice, "to the end of your life." Pyrte sneered at Kate from his place on the dais, drumming the scarred fingers of his right hand upon its arm. "I certainly hope you thought that attempt was worth your life. I know I do, since that's what I'm taking as retribution."