Rise An Eve Novel

tunnel was under the wall, about the location of the girls in the wild. I refused to speak, letting the Lieutenant hit me until one of the soldiers stopped him.
    “You’re acting without the King’s permission. Where is he?” my aunt asked again. She held on to the ends of her shawl, tightening her grip to steady her hands. In her face I could see the way Clara tensed when she was angry, how her skin grew splotchy and red.
    “He has ordered this,” the Lieutenant yelled. He walked behind the cluster of soldiers, motioning for my aunt to step away. “Genevieve is responsible for an assassination attempt on her father.”
    My aunt Rose had never paid much attention to me within the Palace walls. She was always so preoccupied with Clara, worrying over what she wore, what she ate, fixing the stray curls that sometimes fell down around her face. I’d never seen her like this—she was practically yelling at the soldiers, each word leveled with a determined fury. I suddenly wished I’d known her better, that we’d spoken more. “You cannot do this,” she repeated, raising her voice.
    “The King has asked me to step forward for him in the interim,” the Lieutenant said. “While he recovers.”
    My aunt called to someone in front of the main doors, running out to meet him. Charles was arguing with one of the other soldiers—the same one who’d guarded the holding cell for the earlier part of the day. He’d spent hours trying to convince them to put off the execution, demanding to see my father. From the concrete holding room I could hear him, marveling at how carefully he chose his words, not wanting to reveal what he knew. They never responded to his questions, always deferring instead to the Lieutenant. My aunt said something to Charles, pointing as they brought me out of the building. The scene went on around me, but I felt separate, alone. The voices in the front lobby blended together, the words indistinguishable from one another.
    They’d tied the restraints so tight I could no longer feel my hands. The knife and gun had been taken from me. They’d stripped me of the uniform, leaving me in the same clothes I’d had on since I left Califia, the front of my shirt now dotted with blood. I watched Charles as I passed, offering him a quick nod, some tiny acknowledgment that he had tried. I didn’t want him doing any more than he had, afraid he’d reveal his real alliances. I was the one who came here. I’d finished what I meant to do. It wasn’t his fault.
    The doors swung open, and I was outside, the sun stinging my eyes. They pushed me down the curved driveway, past the long row of narrow trees. The platform was still there, set up at the edge of the road. I scanned the great mass of people assembled in front of it, trying to see if there was any way out. There was a metal barricade, nearly four feet high, that I’d have to climb before disappearing into the crowd. The driveway curved toward the street, a good twenty yards I’d have to run. Even if I waited until we were closer, I’d likely be shot before I made it over.
    My legs felt like they might give out beneath me. The soldiers spurred me on, one holding each of my arms so I didn’t fall. It was foolish, I knew somehow, but I was still making lists. Arden would have to be told if I died. I’d want her to know how much I owed her for what she did for Pip and Ruby. Beatrice needed to know that I’d forgiven her before she’d asked. I hoped Maeve, knowing why I’d come here, would allow Silas and Benny to stay in Califia indefinitely. I hoped if there was any way to return to Caleb, I could.
    Charles came down the driveway, my aunt right behind him. He walked quickly, following us, his presence making me feel just a little less alone. There were black stains on my aunt’s cheeks, a heavy wash of makeup and tears. I remembered Clara’s words as we made our way north, how concerned Rose must’ve been, still not knowing where she was. I turned to them, waiting until my aunt lifted her head.
    “Clara’s alive” was all I said—two words, loud enough so she could hear. I wanted to tell her more—about Califia, about how Clara would return if and when she could. But the soldier yanked my arm, turning me back toward the platform.
    As they hurried me to the platform stairs, I glanced up, my gaze settling on the City watchtower. The light at the top of the needle was blinking red—a slow, constant warning. A few people in the crowd had