The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 37

Evelyn

He came to her in the night, shapeless as a shadow, but so full of his essence that he was unmistakable. There was the warmth of his eyes and smile, the love in his glances and the passion of his stares, and there was the painful yearning.

And there was the loss; the memory of the band she had wrapped around the stone shaped as his hand, and the pain of not knowing if it was still there.

Pain was still an emotion, and better than nothing. It was part of her memory of him now, this long after his death. Every time she thought of him, pain would be there, as surely as the sun rose in the east. It mixed with the feelings of love and trust and warmth, hovered above them like a mist, a curtain between his world and hers.

Soon, that curtain will lift, she told herself when fear took hold of her. You’ll be rejoined in the world of the dead.

But how could she be sure? Just the thought of death brought tears to her eyes and made her feel desperation like nothing she had ever known. She had never thought of death as much as she did then, and it terrified her to the very bone. It was as though some deep part of her, an instinct buried down there with the urge to eat and drink, was trying to stop her from even thinking of death.

Perhaps she was not supposed to think of it, but there was no way to help it. Whenever she tried to think of something else, the urge returned - the eternal question mark, the wonder, the idea that perhaps, if she pondered hard enough, she could break down that wall of fear and make peace.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, she thought. You’re meant to be courageous at your death. The gods do not look kindly on cowards.

She remembered shaking her head and even laughing when men fought against their executioner, denying him their forgiveness or wetting their pants in fear. They were unfortunate souls, cowards and doomed to fail.

Dawn came too early, bringing with it brightness and sunshine. It will be gone by the time I die, she thought as the guards came to take her away.

She was taken first to a small chamber close to the dungeons. It was in the quarters where lowborn guests at the castle came to stay, so Evelyn did not know her way around. It was the strangest feeling; she recognized the view from the windows and the building style as her own home, but she had never seen the doors she passed by, never walked on these stones.

A handmaiden assisted in bathing her. Once she was clean and dry, the girl left the room and returned followed by two servants, carrying between them a chest.

“We’ve brought you a selection of dresses to pick from,” she said, opening the chest.

Evelyn licked her lips and nodded. “Can I be alone?”

Once they had left the room, Evelyn walked over to the chest and knelt down in front of it. It was a pool of colorful silks and rich fabrics, with rare stones and pearls like pebbles that gleamed in the sunlight, and this moment should feel special. She was about to pick out the last dress she would ever wear, but there was no solemnity in her mood. She could not seem to understand that this was not just another day; this was the end of her days. By tomorrow, her body would be gone cold and stiff with death.

She rested her forehead against the edge of the chest. The hard wood was painful against her skin and the sound of her pulse beats filled her ears. Tomorrow, that will be gone, she told herself, and tried to understand. Tomorrow, your blood will be still in your veins. And tomorrow will come, you just won’t be there to see it.

In the end, she picked out a gown from the top of the pile. It was a deep, royal purple with silver threading an intricate pattern in the bodice and puffy, intimidating shoulders shoulders. Her hair was braided so that it clung to the back of her head, making it easier for the executioner’s axe to find the right spot.