A Kingdom of Bones

IX | nine

It isn't long before I realize sleep isn't an option. But it feels like it's been an eternity; me laying in bed in utter silence, staring in fascination at the beaming light of the lantern's fire doesn't help time go by fast. I couldn't help but to wonder why she left them on.

At first, that's all I think about. But after a moment of being hypnotized by the flame, I become aware of the wet streaks slipping down my cheek. It hits me suddenly, without any sort of thought or warning before. I have to bury my face in the moth-eaten flannel of the pillow, the musty smell filling my nose, as I struggle to keep my composure. It doesn't smell like home. It isn't my cotton pillow cover my grandmother made me for my Seventh year. It's a dirty, old blanket sewn over a large lump of wool. I want to be home. I want to be peaking around the corner of our hall, watching my father sneak his way into the house past everyone's bedtime, yet always managing to wake me as he goes. In my mind, the scene replays; he fixes him a bowl of whatever Mother made, sits down at the table and enjoys his meal as he thoughtlessly twists his knife deeper and deeper into our poor wooden table. He always had a habit of playing with it during dinner, watching the silver glint of the blade catch on the light above the table. It was the only time he didn't look angry. And now that he's gone, I regret not sitting with him at that table. Maybe if I had tried harder, maybe if I made an effort, I could have salvaged what little relationship we had.

The tears come harder now. My sobs rack my body, worsening as I fight to hold back any noise. Images flood behind my eyes, of my father and my brothers sword fighting outside, of Celeste on his hip plucking away at the ripe fruits, of him watching me graduate to be the best female sword wielder in my class. That day he smiled. A smile meant for me.

What would he think now? Would he be disappointed to know I refuse to be their Queen? Would he be angry? Had it been something he was fighting for? The thought seems ridiculous, but I'm not so sure it isn't possible. He died on that stage for conspiring with a pirate. Could it have been Ellis? He had been the one to initiate the riot.

That leads me to think of Ellis and of all the Freemen. They are doing this for a cause, to put me on that throne. How many others died trying to put this into action? How many died because they thought I could be Queen? A shiver runs up my spine and I have to bite down on my lip to keep myself from screaming in sadness and frustration. I owe it to those people to try, or at least that would be the decent thing to do, but just the idea of being a token of a rebellion makes me nauseous. That isn't me. I'm not fit for a throne. I'm barely fit to be in this at all. Good sword wielding skills aren't enough to get me through this. I want to pinch myself, to make sure I'm not dreaming. When we were children, West used to tell me to do that when I had night terrors, nightmares that are so bad I couldn't tell the difference between dream and reality. At first I thought he was just telling me that to see if I'd actually do it and he'd laugh at me if I did.

But it becomes clear hours later as sun light starts to appear from under the door that I'm awake. I thought, cried, and drained myself into the morning of the next day. Not a hint of sleep came to me, but I'm not surprised.

I jump when there's a knock at the door. It's the first time I moved for hours.

"It's me," a muffled voice calls from outside the shack. Even through the thick wood I can tell it's West, but I don't have it in me to respond. I figure if I ignore him, he will go away for a few more hours. But no such luck. "It's West," he says, louder this time.

Suddenly something soft and big slams into my face. I jump up, swinging out my hand to throw the pillow to the side. I narrow my eyes at Merilda. "Get up and go out there before he says something else or I will strangle you both for waking me up." she threatens, or maybe promises, I'm not so sure.