Evelyn Disgrace

Chapter Thirty - Evelyn Tiras

I am no noble soldier, I chant. I deserve to be dead. But I'm alive, and I will do something with my life.

I am no noble soldier.

I am no noble soldier.

I am no noble soldier.

The words follow me up the pile of bedsheets. They mingle with the blood on my hands, red bubbling up from the cuts caused by the broken glass of the window. They beat with the throb of my heart, each pulse so loud in my ears that I don't recognize the carriages trailing away from the house. Not carriages. Prison carts.

I am no noble soldier.

They caught them. I didn't want to believe it, but they caught Vena and Aster. Now Vena is going to be shipped off to who knows where, and Aster's going to burned at the stake.

Burned.

At.

The stake.

I can't let this happen.

Putting on foot out the window, I find a safe spot on a ledge that acts as décor. Then I edge my way off the sill, and find fresh purchase for my feet. Steadily, I make my way toward a larger portion of roof.

When I reach it, I look down. The ground is at least ten feet below, and I don't want to break any bones. Preferably.

Why are there no pipes or something?

Why did my father have to be so cheap? Maybe then we wouldn't have had such leaky roofing when rain hit, and maybe then I wouldn't shatter my legs.

Ten feet. It isn't terrible, but neither is it ideal. If I can land softly enough...

I jump. And fall. And crash hard onto my feet. Durgat.

With my leap, my heart pounds with adrenaline, and my legs feel shaky. But not broken, and that's good enough for me. Near my landing pad is my family's garden of rocks. I heard that the previous owner of this estate constructed that garden so lovers could throw stones at their windows. But they never expected someone to murder them with those jagged things.

I pick one up. It will come in use.

~

I've found him. He sits in a carriage, all pompous and proud. General Welk even peels an orange, as if the world is alright and he hasn't just murdered a fourteen-year-old boy. He will see his folly. It will come at him like a rock in a sling.

I grip the harsh stone in my hand, the jagged points impressing intensely into my skin while producing blood from my cuts. It almost feels fitting for the stone to be bloody. Blood for blood. Pain for pain. All for Nat.

There is the carriage driver, who is probably still adjusting to the crazed boardwalk of Vera. Foolish people. Do they not realize that Vera is a gondola district?

Then there is a young man sitting next to Welk. They're chatting up a storm, and it's quite unhelpful to my mission. At least the general won't see the rock coming.

As if fate is on my side, the young man shifts and opens the door to the carriage. Then he steps out and begins talking to the driver. My chance has arrived.

Slipping across the wet puddles of the boardwalk, I can feel the water soaking into my boots. I grip the rock further, more blood easing from my palms. Part of me cringes from the pain, but the other part embraces it. For some reason, it feels nice to punish myself. I suppose this stone will punish both me and the general.

The young man attempts to light a cigar into the rain, and after three unsuccessful tries he goes to find shelter in another shop. Probably doesn't want to smoke up the carriage. He laughs at the general, "I need some more bullets, too! Gave my stock to Progue, the new kid." Then he walks away and into a shop. My true chance has been clarified.

In moments, I am right next to the carriage. Right next to my target. Nat's justice is at my fingertips, clutched in my hand and covered in red. I ignore the pain, and swing open the carriage door.

The moment is slow, and I pick up the details of General Welk's features. His lined face full of pride and surprise. His chest full of badges and honor. His head whirling with praise and medals.

Not any longer.

"For Nat," I whisper, before slamming the rock into the general's head.