The Balance (First Draft | Discontinued)

Chapter 13 (Aleksander)

There was one patch of light coming from the gas lights in hall, but Aleksander stayed in the corner of the cell, well away from it. He ran his thumb over the palm of his hand, the one the queen's soldier had ground his boot into. The cut was already scabbed over; it would heal within a few days, despite how deep it was. The bruises on his body would fade in hours. What wouldn't recover as quickly was his pride.

And here I thought you didn't have any of that left, he thought mockingly. But it seemed that he did. And he couldn't bear that he had lost- damn her, hadn't she taken enough from him? The heavy weight of cold iron around his wrists reminded him that, no, she had not. He shouldn't have threatened her boy, but she was going to have him beaten regardless. At least it had been on his terms.

Aleksander wrapped his arms around his middle, shivering. Only a thin sackcloth shirt protected him from the bite of winter. It had been the guards' idea of entertainment as well as a matter of practicality: it wasn't hard to cut through sackcloth. Sighing, he leaned back against the stone walls, ignoring both the rough, frigid touch of rock and the rattle of chains.

His ears pricked up as low murmurs came from the hall. Boots against rock, light reflecting off of polished buttons... these were soldiers. He knew exactly why they were here. He knew exactly what was coming. But it didn't stop his blood from pumping a little faster, his muscles from tensing until they felt like coiled springs under his skin.

Into the light stepped Major Nilssen, his eyes as bright as the medals on his uniform and flaxen hair shining under the warm glow from the gas lamps. He gestured to one of the other soldiers to unlock the door and stepped back as it opened with a sharp creak. The soldiers unshackled Aleksander as well, then hauled him up. His ribs flared from the pain of his beating, but he didn't make a sound.

Aleksander and Nilssen walked side-by-side, the other soldiers following at a distance. For several minutes, there was silence, just the five of them climbing the narrow stairs. He wondered if anyone would believe it if one of the soldiers just happened to fall down the stairs and crack his skull on the stones. He doubted it.

"I'm going to enjoy this, moravskansk," said Nilssen quietly, not even looking at Aleksander.

I'm sure you will.

"Perhaps more than I should, but if anyone deserves it, you do." He stopped at the top of the stairs. "Tell me something. How does it feel to murder so many people? How does it feel to stand over the body of an innocent child and know that their blood is on your hands?"

Even a few steps below, Aleksander was taller. He looked the major square in the eyes and said, "I wouldn't know. I've only killed the Rikensk."

But he could still feel the bone crush to pulp under his fist, still hear the rattling last gasp in his ears- still see those blue eyes. He shook his head once to clear it all out of his mind, his neck cracking. Nilssen's lip curled and his fists clenched. Wordlessly, the major kept walking, boots now clicking against glossy wood as he made his way into the hall. Provoking the major probably wasn't a great idea, but Aleksander didn't care. Plenty of people had lost friends and relatives; plenty had lost them to Aleksander specifically. Nilssen wasn't special.

The five of them passed through the hall, morning sun shining into their eyes. The doors at the end of the hall grew closer and closer; Aleksander's chest tightened more and more. It's just another battle, he told himself. No surrender, no quarter. A very one-sided battle, but nonetheless, he would win it. He had to.

Nilssen held open one of the doors and Aleksander stepped through into the courtyard. It was one of the few parts of the castle that wasn't modernized, a call back to its older, darker history: a green area enclosed by the stone walls of the castle, girded by an ovate pathway made of rough, uneven brick, and yet the grass grew tall and wild, swaying in the wind like a hanged man.