At Midnight, I Become the Queen Who Executed Me

The Open Gate

The bridge commander wanted permission to burn the span.

He had come to the palace himself because no one at the gate would carry that order without a royal seal. His boots left mud on the prison stair. He smelled of horse sweat and smoke.

"The last of the soldiers are across," he told Ilyra. "We can stop the pursuit now."

"What about the civilians?"

"There are always civilians."

Maelin saw Ilyra's hand close. It was her own hand, with the signet digging into the palm, and she knew how much damage it could order.

"How many?" Ilyra asked.

"We couldn't count them. Carts, pack animals, families following the regiment. If we wait, the riders come with them."

"My brother keeps a ferry below the bridge. Joren Fen. Has anybody seen him?"

The commander stared at the queen.

Corven answered before the man could ask. "The surveyor's brother. A potential witness. Answer the question."

Maelin hated him for rescuing the lie so easily. Then she hated herself for noticing when the whole west road was on fire.

"A boatman has been taking children across," the commander said. "Dark beard, scar on his chin. He's still on the far bank."

Ilyra turned toward the stair.

Maelin caught her sleeve. "You can't leave the bridge open indefinitely."

"Watch me."

"They'll come through the gate in our soldiers' coats. They'll be inside before the watch can separate them."

"Then separate them now."

"With whom? The men you're saving can scarcely stand."

Ilyra pulled free. "You find reasons so quickly. Do you practice while you eat your plums?"

The commander looked between them. Corven told him to return to the gate and keep the approach open until the queen arrived. He obeyed because Ilyra nodded, wearing Maelin's face.

Maelin followed them upstairs. Every step hurt Ilyra's ankle. Corven offered an arm. She refused it, then had to grip the railing with both hands while he pretended not to see.

"Your body isn't used to your pride," Ilyra told her.

"And mine isn't used to your haste. You'll tear the calf if you keep running on the balls of your feet."

It was a petty answer. Maelin was grateful for something she could still give back.

They reached Drift Gate shortly after three. Lanterns hung above the arch. Beyond them the bridge was full of people, a slow dark mass pierced by small flames. A cart had lost a wheel near the far end. Two men were trying to drag it clear while its owner struck them with a stick, unwilling to leave everything he possessed.

Ilyra climbed the gate steps. From below, Maelin watched people notice the white robe and the royal mark. The murmuring rose. Soldiers stood straighter. Refugees began calling out to her.

"Your Majesty!"

Ilyra gripped the parapet. She had wanted to be heard. Now she could hear too much.

A girl on the lower stair caught Maelin's sleeve. She had lost one shoe and was carrying the other as though it could explain the loss.

"Where's my mother?"

Maelin looked around. Hundreds of people, lamplight, smoke, no face she could match to the child. She wanted to order a guard to find the woman. Every guard she could see was holding a weapon or a barrier or someone falling.

She lifted the girl onto the wall beside her and took the remaining shoe. Its lace had knotted around a twig. Maelin worked it free with fingers still stiff from the irons. The child kept asking the same question, growing more frightened each time Maelin failed to answer.

At last a woman with flour on her coat pushed through the crowd. She caught the girl and scolded her for wandering. Then she saw Maelin's prison shift and pulled the child away harder.

Maelin held out the shoe. The woman snatched it without thanks and vanished. Above them, someone blessed the queen for opening the gate.

Corven took two soldiers onto the bridge. Lieutenant Tavin stayed by the gate, sorting the arriving men into one line and civilians into another. He had a narrow face, a red scarf and a voice that somehow reached people without frightening them.

He handed a child a piece of apple. Maelin remembered appointing him. She could not remember his first name.

"Burn it," the commander said beside Ilyra.

She didn't answer. She was looking for the boat below the bridge.

Maelin climbed halfway up the steps. Her legs were shaking. "Fen."

Ilyra ignored her.

"The captain can't hold the road much longer."

"My brother isn't back."

"I know."

"You don't know him. Don't say it as though you do."

Below, a man in a torn uniform stumbled into Tavin. The lieutenant caught him by the elbow. Maelin saw the man's other hand move beneath his coat.

She shouted.

Tavin turned too late. A blade flashed once in the lamplight. The man shoved him against the wall, pulled the gate bell's rope and disappeared into the crowd.

Everything happened together after that. Soldiers drew swords. Refugees tried to get back onto the bridge. Someone fell under a cart. The commander's order to lower the outer barrier was drowned by the bell Tavin could no longer stop.

Ilyra ran down the steps. Maelin got to Tavin first.

His scarf was wet. She pressed her hands over it and felt blood rise between her fingers. He looked at the prison shift and tried to push her away.

"Stay still," she said.

"The queen—"

"Is here."

He looked over her shoulder at Ilyra in the white robe. Relief loosened his face. Maelin wanted to tell him he was looking at the wrong woman, but the lie comforted him, and she couldn't bring herself to take it.

Ilyra knelt beside them. Her borrowed hands were clean. She tried to make them useful, pulling cloth from her robe, but Maelin had already covered the wound and there was no room for more fingers.

Tavin died looking at the queen.

Corven returned with three children and a cut across his forehead. He saw his lieutenant and stopped so abruptly that the youngest child ran into his leg.

Nobody explained. The open gate had explained enough.

From the river came a shout. Joren Fen was bringing the ferry in. Six children huddled in its bottom. He jumped into the shallows, laughing with relief, and pulled the bow onto the mud.

Ilyra stood. For a heartbeat joy crossed her face. Then she looked down at Tavin.

Maelin saw her understand that both things were true.

The commander closed the outer barrier once Corven's remaining men were through. The bridge burned on the far side, fired by the pursuers now that they could no longer take it intact. People on the near bank watched the flames eat the cart whose owner had refused to leave.

"Say it," Ilyra told Maelin.

"What?"

"That you warned me."

Maelin looked at the dead lieutenant. "It won't make him less dead."

Corven knelt, took off the red scarf and folded it once. His left hand shook. Ilyra started toward him, then stopped.

On her wrist the crown mark burned again. Below it, a thin blue line crept up the queen's arm, pointing back toward the palace.

The clock struck four.

For the first time all night, Ilyra wanted to give the body back.