Chapter 9

“Wait,” Judica says. “You weren’t hearing petitions with me. Someone tested her DNA after she won a match...” Judica’s eyes widen and her mouth gapes. “Was Lark fighting you?”

Mom’s nostrils flare. “That has no bearing whatsoever on the hearing we are about to hold.”

The corner of Judica’s mouth turns up. “Doesn’t it? I’m not asking anything in an interrogation room, but I hope we can be honest with one another in private.” She crosses her arms. “Which is it, sister? Are you so pathetic you were defeated by a human? Or did you know her treasonous secret and commit treason yourself to help her? I’m not even sure which is worse.”

I’ve never seen Judica smile quite so big.

“Your sister,” Mom says, “had no idea what her friend was. I watched the entire thing. But as you know, Chancery detests violence, and I haven’t yet taught her to handle a blade. Those things hampered her in a challenge against her dearest friend in the world. We’re aware of the deficiencies and are working on a solution. It’s not of your concern.”

Judica scowls at me before she jerks the door open and storms out, stomping toward the petition hall. Before I can follow her through the doorway, Mom places a hand on my arm. “We will talk about this later, but tell me you understand the importance of your ignorance.”

I nod numbly.

“I’ll burn the world down to protect you,” she whispers.

Or cut off her best friend’s head without regret, apparently.

Her hand tightens on my arm painfully. “But I’d prefer it never comes to that.”

Me too. And I really hope Lark survives this. I’m afraid if I beg for her life, Mom will decide to teach me a lesson or something.

Judica’s already seated when we reach the petition hall. The gathered crowd has swollen to an absurd degree. Every seat is taken, and dozens of evians are standing in the back of the room. My heart sinks. This hearing won’t go unnoticed. Even if her body has already been removed and all evidence of her decapitation expunged, word of Lyssa’s sentence has clearly spread widely.

Mom ascends the steps to her solid wood throne, carved to look like a tree, its branches spreading out to the right and left over the smaller thrones for Judica and myself. I take my place to her left side without saying a word. Unfortunately, even from where I’m sitting, and even though she’s kneeling on the hard marble floors a dozen feet lower than me, Lark’s stricken face is directly in my line of sight.

Her gray eyes are full of unshed tears, and she looks decades older than she did an hour ago. Her mother was right. She never should have asked for a favor from me. I doomed them both.

I inhale deeply to keep from sobbing in front of hundreds of my mom’s most important subjects. I need to hold it together right now, because Mom’s affection for me gives Lark her only chance of surviving this. I wrack my brain, scrambling for any idea that might save her.

I can’t think of a single thing.

“Lark ne’Lyssa Alamecha, daughter of Lyssa ne’Davina Alamecha,” Mom says flatly, her words reverberating off the fifty-foot ceiling, “you are half-human.”

Lark doesn’t speak, but a tear rolls down her cheek. She’s standing trial for who she is. Her mother died for Lark being different than the rest of us, but Lark is the exact same person she was yesterday. Everyone liked her just fine then.

This is wrong. The certainty of that washes over me. How can it be treason to be who you are? I want to stand up and scream it to the rooftops, but that’s exactly what Mom cautioned me not to do. I’ve made enough mistakes today to last a lifetime, so I keep my mouth shut, but I’m howling inside.

“You don’t contest my statement.”

Lark shakes her head and bows deeper, until her nose nearly presses against her chest.

“Lark, look at me,” Mom says.

Lark slowly raises her face. She knows she’s about to die, I can see it in her eyes. But what hits me in this moment is that she welcomes it. Her mother is gone, her secret is out, and Lark wants it all to end.

“Did you know you were half-human before you received word of your mother’s treason?”

“Of course she didn’t,” I say. “She had no idea.”

Lark’s eyes turn toward mine, toward my voice, but she doesn’t even register that she knows me. Her entire face is blank. “I’ve always known.”

I grit my teeth. “But she couldn’t have done anything about it, not before, and not once she turned eighteen. She wasn’t given a choice. How is her very existence a crime?”

Mom turns toward Judica. “Heir?”

“She should have turned her mother in. If she had confessed, she’d have been spared. Cast out, but not killed. But she didn’t do that. She tricked my soft-hearted sister into accepting the mockery of a challenge I hear she lost.” Judica sneers. “Lark’s as traitorous as her mother.”

Rage and despair flood my body in equal portions. How can I do nothing? How can I say nothing while Lark pays for my mistake? But what can I do? I couldn’t even defeat a half-human. Never in my life have I hated the core of who I am as much as I hate it right now. If I weren’t so weak, if I were a warrior, maybe I could do something to save my only real friend. But nothing I do will help, because I’m useless. Worthless. Weak.

“Lark ne’Lyssa Alamecha, I sentence you to death by execution. My daughter Chancery Alamecha will carry out the sentence.”

I try to refuse, but no words emerge because my throat closes off.

“I’ll allow twenty-four hours for each of you to prepare. Chancery is the only person allowed to see or speak to Lark in her cell during that time. I grant you each the mercy of saying goodbye.” Mom swallows. “And the execution will be conducted privately, not here in the petition hall.”

Murmurs from the gathered crowd fill the space, rising like smoke toward the rafters. I don’t know many things, but I do know one for sure.

There’s no way I am going to execute my best friend.

Two guards yank Lark to her feet and march her down the middle of the room and out the door. Mom stands up and begins her descent, beckoning for me to follow. Judica hops up, but Mom turns back and shakes her head. “You need to train. Chancery’s going to help me select a gown for tomorrow’s gala.”

“I need to train?” she whispers. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

Mom’s eyes flash, and Judica bobs her head stiffly in acknowledgement. When I walk past her, my steps wooden and shaky at the same time, Judica slams her shoulder into mine and nearly sends me sprawling down the steps. Of course she has no empathy for me. She has no friends of her own, so she couldn’t even imagine how I feel right now.

Once we walk through Mom’s doorway, I close the door, and it’s like that motion snaps something inside of me. I collapse into a pile, tears streaming down my cheeks to soak the carpet. Cookie frolics around me, darting toward me repeatedly to lick my face and bump my hands. She can’t comfort me, because nothing will make this better. I know I’m way too big to fall apart like this, but Mom doesn’t chide me. She sinks down next to me and pulls me against her chest. I clutch at her, not sure what can possibly be done, or what could ever make things right again.

I wish I’d come straight to her room and told her the truth. Why didn’t I trust her to fix everything? Mom always fixes everything.

When the tears let up enough for me to form any kind of words, I hiccup, “I can’t. I can’t do it, Mom.”

Her hands stroke my hair. “I know you can’t.”

Wait, what? I straighten. “Huh?”

“You won’t kill your friend, but everyone needs to believe you have.”