Random Snippit

I carry myself, chin held high. Even though I face the noose, I cannot and will not falter. I will not stumble, I will not fall. I’m shaking, every limb. The crowds jeer. I want to see him one last time, but I know that if I do, I will realize it will be the last time our waking eyes meet, and I don’t want his last memories of me to be the pure and utter fear moments before I breathe my last.

Perhaps it’s foolish of me to count the stairs to the gallows. One. They gave me the dignity of breeches, at least. Two. I don’t need this maddened crowd seeing up my skirt as I die. Three. Why am I worrying about something as trivial as that? Four. I’m going to not be worrying about anything, soon. Five. I wonder if it’ll be nice, not worrying any more.

I don’t want to start observing the crowd again, but something nudges my head up, some strange internal prompt. So I look up. And what do I see but a crowd filled with my rebels, my brothers, my sisters, my friends. I see my allies, banded together so often as we fought against oppression. They are here, to witness my demise.

They are calling obscenities at me. I feel only resigned, even though I should feel betrayal. I did this for them. But they must blend in, and why risk themselves for me? I was a pawn, a tool, and I understood that from the beginning. Nothing more.

For some reason, I search for Caleb. I can’t find him, not the brown hair or the tall, proud posture. Oh, my Caleb. My dear, sweet Caleb. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.

A rough rope is around my neck. A shudder passes through me, settles down to stillness. Things seem to be coming from very far away. I can feel the binds holding me from touching the magic of this place. I retreat to my core, the way I was taught by Mother, the way that I do when things get overwhelming, the way I do when I need to use my Magegift. It is peaceful. Quiet. I shall die content.

There is a sudden, piercing whistle, one that I know well, one that I was trained to respond to immediately. The rebel call to arms. My head jerks up, just before I feel the bonds holding me fall away. Completely. Not physical bonds – the ones that hold me from the magic. Without thought, without prompting, everything is clear, and I dive into my magecraft, severing the rope around my neck with a blade of air, bringing it around to down the guards and finally cut the cuffs holding my arms together.

Caleb runs out from underneath the platform I stand on and holds a single hand out to me; Lynn is not a step behind him, sword out, faintly surrounded by the glow of her magic. I jump into Caleb’s waiting arms, and he sets me down gently, holding me so tightly I fear it might break my ribs. I don’t care.

“To the King, to the King,” Lynn calls over and over, pausing long enough to cut down two guards who think the three of us easy prey. The rebels fall in around us, and Lynn takes a moment to look back at us.

“It’s good to have you back, Am. Caleb’s a nuisance without you, arrogant thing.” What had it taken to convince her that it was alright to endanger the Heir like that? As Guardian, she would protest to that under any circumstance. And yet, that was Lynn’s strange way of a warm welcome. The swordfighter had missed the mage.

My thoughts cannot leave Caleb for long, however. A shield falls around the two of us, created by my magic…