Within the Walls

Chapter 15

I was never ready for her to die.

I always thought that it would be me to go first. But it is me who lived instead. How am I meant to move forward? Grief presses on my chest, threatening to swallow me whole, and the lack of air in my lungs makes it a simple choice. Blood seeps from the wounds on my back and my attempts to soak it with a cloth fail. One of Hatchman's assistants risks her life by sneaking me a jar of salt. The only thing I say is the shallow promise to free her one day. I whimper and gasp as I sink into the bathtub of warm, salty water. Biting back the cries, I submerge the wounds on my back. I lean my head into the back of the bathtub and close my eyes. I have not seen Ruben in a couple of days. Since the Tranqs arrested us, they have locked me in this room. It isn't so bad; I guess. An assistant brings me two meals each day. There's a bed and this bathroom. It's hard to dwell on anything material when my sister is dead.

By the time I pull myself out of the bathtub, I have tinted the water red. I pat myself dry and collapse into bed. The pain on my back, and the agony in my heart drags me to sleep. When the grey light of morning wake me up, I lift my head from the pillow. My heart throbs. I know, as I force my feet to hit the ground, that from this moment on, just like it was when they banished my parents and when I touched the River, everything about my life will never be the same.

I drag myself into the bathroom and peel the gown off my body. Dressing into my black pants and singlet, I do not allow myself to dwell on the wounds etching my back. The salt bathes have helped speed up the healing, and I am grateful. My hair falls down my back in knotted waves. I rake my fingers through the mess, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Someone knocks on the door, and Sir Fulton waltzes into the room. He blows out his chest and grins. "Good morning, Elizabeth," he coos as if he is not about to take me to the ceremony.

I want to scream at him, swear, tell him exactly what I think about him. Instead, I stare at him like a deer just as it realises it is about to be shot by a hunting arrow.

Fulton grabs my wrists, ties them together and shoves towards the door. He leads me through the hallways of the research and quarantine wing of the palace before we emerge up a flight of steps and cross the ballroom into the foyer. My boots squeal as they skid on the tiles from digging my heels into the floor in defiance, yet he drives me forward. I at once know the fate that awaits me on the other side of the door. Yet one thought consumes my mind: they have imprisoned Aston for the last few days, and the thought of him being tortured sends my stomach churning. Anger burns through me.

The door swings open. Fulton directs me through the threshold and up the steps of the stage. As expected, the stage is like it was the first time I was in a ceremony. They cram the vast courtyard with the Concaves. They are each dressed in their expensive finery, jewels of unnameable kinds of drape over the necks of the women. Gold encrusts the suits of many men, their hair gelled back. The loud rumble of the crowd dissipates as Fulton and I cross the stage. Lord Sneya sits on a brilliant marble and velvet seat. His penetrating eyes meet mine and a smile pulls at his lips. He nods approvingly to Fulton, who at last releases my arms and gives me a purposeful shove to the middle of the stage.

To the far end of the stage, a body sways back and forth in the wind. A noose on their neck and a black sack covering their head. The tell-tale dust purple frock tells me enough.

My knees buckle, and a scream builds in the back of my throat.

Not Madam Sallow. Her kindness, the colour yellow blinds my vision. A guttural cry escapes my lips and I slump to my knees.

Lord Sneya rises from his throne and strides to the front of the stage. He opens his mouth, his voice booming as it echoes across the courtyard. "Citizens of the Floodgates, both Concave and Convex, I order you to pay attention."