The Grim (Ravens #3)

xxxiv. blood and blade

A/n: Trigger warning, this is a pretty dark chapter. Nothing is described in detail, but violent implications are pretty heavy. Also, this was reposted from last night because I decided to add a third scene to this chapter rather than the next one. 

 Emma Gail Harlem did not feel afraid until she had been marched to the highest level of the cement kingdom she knew better as a prison than a palace. Still bound and with a metal around her neck, the girl was shoved into the throne room, where the royal couple was awaiting her. A sinister smile sat upon the king's face, and his queen glared with such an icy demeanor it sent chills down even Emma's spine. But she was not afraid.

She was not afraid until a guard handed the chain around her neck to the king, and he gave it a hard tug, pulling his prisoner onto the ground. It was then when she first felt fear, when she had scrambled onto her knees and knew that her freedom—her life—was no longer under her command.

"I have to say I was impressed with your dedication," Hunter said, his posture smug and condescending. "Cutting the tracker out of your own arm, I mean. Most girls would not be so daring. But something went wrong, didn't it? Because somehow you ended up right back here."

"I thought I was far enough from the borders." Once a guard removed the gag from her mouth, her tongue was dry and she had to cough to clear the dust from her lungs. "Clearly I wasn't."

"Or you were under misguided information."

"I'm not sure what you mean, sire."

"You mean you didn't plan to leave at the very same time as the High Midwestern Fortress?" This time it was Queen Sonja challenging the old assassin, her words slicing through the air as sharp as her stare. "Don't try to play with us, girl. We know you've had your sympathies for them. Do you not remember why you were last in the ring? In the brig?"

"Of course," Emma nodded. "You're right. I did plan to run while they were leaving. There were less guards in the woods, less of a risk of getting caught."

"But you do have sympathies for them," the queen continued. "So why should we believe your return is not part of a treasonous plot?"

The prisoner did not miss a beat before delivering an answer. Arbitrary at first, yes, but as she spoke she solidified her alibi. And of course, she would not dare lie. Not about this. A lie could deter the success of the whole mission. But lies were not necessary, were they? They never were before. "Sebastian Augustus was from the woods," she began, "And so was I. I'd heard the name. He was a legend of sorts. I recognized it as soon as you gave me the assignment."

"So then why could you not carry through? Why could you not perform job?"

"Because he could have been me." The room was silent, waiting for her to finish her story, and so she took a deep breath and continued. "We're both from the woods. He didn't know me, of course, but he could have. Never far apart. But somehow, he ended up in the Fortress' path, and I ended up here. He is as much a part of the Fortress as I am of Monarchia. Neither of us got the chance to choose, and so to kill him for accepting his new position would be rather hypocritical, no?"

"That doesn't answer the question. Why should we believe that you being here is not dangerous for us?"

"How could I have contacted the Fortress?" Her heart dropped, but still, she knew better than to lie. Instead she'd simply tiptoe around the truth, planning her answer as she spoke. "The tracker was still moving until just before I ran, but you knew that already. It never went to the motel again. And I don't—I don't have contact with them. I can't communicate with them."

The truth was hidden in the little details: saying "it" instead of "I never went", a present "can't" instead of "couldn't," for in the present she could not speak to the other city. They could hear her through the tiny chip behind her ear, but they were silent back. She need not lie.