How long before more families swing from the ropes or die a slow death within their entrapment?
These people need us.
“They’re not stupid. They’re desperate. They want a chance for a new life, and they’re hopeful a king can give it to them.”
Cords of muscle in Zander’s neck tense. “You’ve made your point, Romeria.”
“Good. So you agree with me.”
“You do not know what you are suggesting.”
“I know how to survive, and these people won’t survive without you.” I think of the nobility standing in Cirilea’s court, of touring the gardens as if all is right in the world, and it makes me shudder that they are the ones making the decisions for these people; they are tasked with solving problems. “Islor needs to start seeing what kind of king you are and what you stand for, not the lies Atticus is spreading. Look at all these people, Zander. Really look at them, and imagine where Islor will be in six months, a year, five years, when fear takes over like it’s already taking over here.”
His hazel eyes drift among the group of solemn faces, stalling on the children.
“If you believe in choice, then let these people choose to follow you while they still can.”
Zander sighs. “You are right. You are always right.”
“I know.”
He makes a sound, not quite laughter. The mood is far too heavy for that. With a deep breath, he steps forward, holding up a hand for silence.
The crowd quiets instantly.
“I am Zander, the true king of Islor, and regardless of what you have heard, or what you will hear in the coming weeks and months, I have no wish to destroy Islor. In fact, I am desperately trying to save it.” His baritone voice carries over the crowd, much like it did that fated day in the arena. “Most of you have likely heard about the poison that tears Islor apart from the inside out.”
A few gazes dart to me. What must this look like, for those who know the truth of its source? We can’t worry about that now, though.
“But there has been another poison flowing within Islor long before this one, and it has been seeping into our way of life for far too long. I have never hidden my vision for the future of the realm from the court. In fact, I have spoken about it at length, to the great discomfort of those who fear change. It is one reason I am standing here now instead of in Cirilea. But my vision holds true. I wish for an Islor where mortals and elven coexist as equals in peace, where there are no keepers, where mortals are not property, where there is prosperity for all.”
A buzz swells over the crowd as gasps and whispers meld, from shock to hope to anger.
I watch the keepers closely as Zander’s words sink in. Wives lean into husbands, and husbands lean into their wives, lips flapping with outrage. I can imagine the things they’re saying.
It’s impossible.
It’s not right.
He means to kill us.
“It’s a good thing you ain’t the king no more, then!” a man shouts, and several others echo it. The noise stirs courage, and a small crowd moves in toward the male legionary blocking their passage.
He’ll cut a handful down within a breath, but how many will eek through? How many more keepers will this show of bravery inspire? And how many innocent lives will be lost to collateral damage? It’ll be a slaughter no matter what.
Panic swells inside me, and with it, a fiery heat, one I recognize from last night. On instinct, I reach deep within, and it surges. My affinities are becoming familiar, accessible. Like opening a cupboard door and finding my options waiting for me to grasp.
And what better time to test them.
With a steady gaze on the broken gallows, I reach for that strength, and in my mind’s eye, see the wood burst in flames.
The blaze that ignites sends nearby spectators stumbling and scattering.
I shift my attention to the pillories next and torch them as well.
“Now you’re showing off,” Zander mutters.
“Jealous?”