A Choice of Treason

by Bitter Irony

It was late summer, and the Latarya family had finally fallen. Almea, the last queen, had locked herself away in the stone tower before me to escape the rebels. I sat on a rock in the battlefield, watching the common army surge around the fortress.

“It is time for you to keep your promise.”

Commander Halion stood over me, sunlight glinting off his drawn sword. I closed my eyes and swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. Something sliced the air near my head, and I heard the echoing clang of metal on metal. When I opened my eyes, Halion held the sword out to me, hilt first.

“Are you ready?”

I closed my first around the sword. It felt very heavy. “No.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Yes.”

Halion nodded. I didn’t know what he meant by it. “Will she let you in?”

“Maybe.” I hauled myself to my feet. The soldiers were giving me a wide space, I noticed. Even the Commander seemed colder than usual. “Should I do it now?”

Halion spat on the ground. “No, you should wait until the Harvest is over,” he snapped, with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

I bowed my head, but he had no more to say. With the sword weighing heavily in my hand, I started towards the tower door. It took seven men to open it before me. After me, none had the courage to close it.

Once inside, I began the painful climb up the Latarya Stair. Almea would be in her own chambers, I knew, near the top of the fortress. Perhaps she thought the stone lions outside her door would defend her, or maybe she had given up hope altogether. I wondered for a moment how she would react to my betrayal, but quickly berated myself for being a fool. By the time Almea realized what I was doing, she would already be dying.

But still, it amazed me how difficult it was just to climb the stairs. Something made me drag my feet, and it wasn’t just the weight of the sword. For all that I felt prepared to be a traitor, I was not ready to become an assassin.

I had let Halion and the common rebels into the city: when they burned the Palace, I allowed them to trap Almea in the fortress and slaughter her guards. I had all but killed her already, this woman—this girl—I swore to protect. What more could Halion want of me?

To keep my promise. How I wished I had known from the beginning how hard that could be! I was firmly caught between a rock and a hard place. Yes, Almea was young, and impatient, and selfish. Yes, she had nothing but her blood to recommend her, and even that was losing its value. But did she truly deserve to die? Was death truly the price we should pay for inability to act out the part Fate had cast us in? If so, then no one was more deserving of execution than I.

But just as I had promised to protect the Latarya family all those years before, I had also promised the rebels that I would remove them. All of them. I would keep that promise--the rebels would show no mercy if I did not. Either Almea or I would die before sunset.

Almea’s door loomed before me. The stone lions--the symbols of her family--crouched on either side. Their ruby eyes glinted in an unseen flame. I covered Halion’s sword with my cloak and raised my fist to the door.

“Come in,” Almea called, before I had knocked twice. Her voice sounded thin and weak.

I opened the door with a gentle push. Almea knelt in the middle of her room, with her back to the door. A feeling of relief spread through me, but it was quickly followed by crippling guilt. How could I strike her down from behind?

“My Queen,” I whispered.

She turned her head to me. Her thick hair covered her face like a veil, and she parted it with her small hands. The air around her held the scent of roses.

“Are they coming?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “They won’t hurt you.”

She laughed faintly. “You mean they won’t kill me. But there are worse things than death. Disgrace…torture…poisoning the minds of my people…”

“Almea,” I said gently, “they are your people.”

She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders trembled. I realized she was crying.

“What am I going to do?” she moaned. “I’m scared, so scared. Will you help me?”

The question took me by surprise. “What is your wish?” I asked automatically.

“Kill me.”

She said it so simply. I could not help but refuse.

“Never.”

Almea dropped her hands in surprise. Her face was white and streaked with tears. “But,” she said softly, “Isn’t that what they sent you to do?”

“Yes.” There was no use denying it--I could not lie to my Queen. The hilt of Halion’s sword rubbed against my hand, but I couldn’t drop it. I clenched my fist tighter. “I won’t do it. You don’t deserve death, Almea.”

“Do you think they will let you free until they have seen my blood upon your sword? They do not expect you to kill me; they do not think you have the courage. When you return to them with a clean blade, they will kill you and capture me. I could not bear that.”

I fell to my knees. “I will not take your life, my Queen.” As I spoke, an idea took shape in my mind. I drew my sword and quickly ran it across my arm, wincing as blood flowed over the blade. “Take it,” I said thrusting the sword at Almea. She grabbed clumsily at the hilt and stared at me, wide-eyed and waiting for more instructions.

I fumbled with the clasp on my cloak. My arms trembled with fear and pain; my hand slipped, driving the sharp edge of the clasp deep into my finger. I tore the cloak off and flung it at Almea.

“Put it on,” I said. She did, tucking her hair away deep into the hood. “Now go down to Commander Halion and give him the sword. Don’t speak, and don’t let him see your face. Do you understand?”

She nodded. The hood completely concealed her face and any emotion I might have found there. “And then?”

“And then you run.” I started to reach out to her, but retracted my hand at the last moment. Who was I to touch the Queen I had nearly betrayed? “Your kingdom is lost to you, but you can find another place. There is a whole world out there, Almea. You must find a better place. For my sake.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. The air stung the back of my throat. “Now go!”

“But what will happen to you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

She stared at me for a moment longer. Her hand brushed my cheek; I lightly kissed her fingers. And then she was gone.

Her footsteps faded on the stairs outside the door. A shudder ran down my spine, and I lay down on a couch by the single window--to watch the army on the field below; to watch the last Queen, Almea Latarya, as she fled her own country. To smell the air of late summer.

I wait.