She’d been watching the window, waiting for dawn, wondering how long after the trial before her execution. Wondering if it will be a civil sort of death. A hanging, or perhaps they’ll shoot her with a bow the way she murdered King Rolland. She wondered what her father would think when he got word. For that, she felt bad. She didn’t mean to hurt Father.

Darkness loomed in the stairwell when they came for her. She could see them on the road coming from the king’s stables. Only two soldiers.

She lifted her chin and buried the fear of death. Numb to the world, she regretted her foolishness. Coming to Cho Nisi had, in the end, been a sacrifice. She allowed herself to be in Arell’s hands so he could implement reprisal and satisfy his people. Not admitting to guilt earlier had been expedient, for now, he did not need to be lenient.

Iron padlocks rattled, and heavy oaken doors creaked. Footsteps sounded hollow as the soldiers neared. One of them opened her cell and handed her a bundle.

“Wear this,” he said, his voice gentle. He stepped away.

She pulled a white chiton from the bundle, a dress that resembled the one Serena often wore. A simple smock that wrapped over one shoulder and hung loosely over her body. She left her trousers, chemise, and armor in the cell. Soon, the sound of an iron lock clanked against stone, and two men, not natives but Moaton soldiers in uniforms escorted her. One walked in front and one behind. They left the cell door open. Before they unlocked the ingress to the courtyard, one man pointed at her feet. “Take your shoes off,” he said. No explanation why. Perhaps so she wouldn’t run away. It’s an island. Where would she go? She slipped them off.

The sun streaked the horizon, though there were still stars in the sky and crispy cold air that smelled like the frosty dew on a winter’s morning. Perhaps the mountains near her home were blanketed with snow already. A sick yearning twisted her gut. How she wished she were home with her father, her brother, and her sisters. How she wished she could relive those moments on the dock when she decided to sail to the island. Better, she wished she could relive the moment she begged her father to let her fight in Tellwater. King Rolland would still be alive.

She waited in the courtyard with the soldiers as a stable boy ran to the barn and brought back three horses. The horse they put her on had a white coat.

Erika had spent all night awake thinking about this hour and decided the state of dissociation would serve her best—to see herself as not in her body because soon she wouldn’t be. The men helped her on the white horse, untied her hands so she could balance herself, and took the lead rope, mounting their own steeds. They rode through Moaton where she’d met the old man. The town slept. A small miracle for not being paraded in front of a whole village meant perhaps she’d die with a touch of dignity. At least she hoped so.

They rode past Moaton, through the beautiful highland that overlooked the island and beyond. The peak of Mount Ream in the distance glowed in the sunrise. No cloud bothered the sky. The plateau dropped gently into an olive grove, equally stunning as the sun shone its first rays through trees. After that, they arrived at a grassy hilltop near a secluded Bay.

“Dismount,” one soldier ordered after he slid off his own horse. The men were solemn, kind, but stern. One of them guided her down a rocky trail while the other waited with the horses. Once on the beach, he bowed awkwardly.

“Stay here,” he said, and scurried back up the path. The two horsemen departed, leading her mount.

They had left her on a quiet beach with only a driftwood bench and a fire pit where hot embers glowed. She sat down and warmed her hands. Soon, above the sound of the gentle surf, she heard a drum beat and several voices. Men chanting. The sounds grew louder until the elders appeared from around the southernmost bulkhead. There were eight of them. Their dark silhouettes trudging through the sand gave her chills. Her executioners.

The drumming stopped when they came to the campfire. Two men followed in white cloaks. They were barefoot, their hoods covering their faces, but Erika suspected the taller one to be Arell.

One of the men put wood on the fire and fanned it with his drum. The others sat in a circle, not in front of her but with her, which surprised her. If she’d been at home on trial, she’d been on her knees in front of the king, and he would have given her a thumb’s up or down and would have executed her on the spot.

The men placed their drums on the sand behind them and sat quietly.

The chief stood. “King Rolland. A good man,” he began. “He came to our island looking for refuge. He respected our people and learned our ways. He never forgot them.” The men uttered unfamiliar words of agreement. “He married a Cho Nisi woman.” Again, the men voiced agreement. Erika glanced at Arell. She hadn’t known his mother had been an islander, but she could surmise by his dark smooth skin and deep brown eyes that he had Cho Nisi blood.

“He raised one son, Arell, as good a man as his father. King Rolland kept our people out of war, and for the last twenty years we have known peace. Let us give thanks for King Rolland.” Some men picked up their drums and chanted. Erika fixed her eyes on the gentle surf while they sang.

When their song was over and the drumming ceased, Chief Silas went on. “King Rolland left his home to fight for people across the sea. That they might have peace as we do. He was struck down, still a father, still a young man by all rights. He was a good ruler and will be missed.”

Be brave, Erika told herself, fighting tears.

“We have found the person who killed him. Erika Tobias, stand and identify yourself.”

She stood.

“This is the murderer of our king, the one who struck him down in the prime of life and who took away our leadership without thought or care for our people and our ways.”

Arell bowed his head, still covered by shadow, but she saw him peeking up at her.

“We are here to pass judgment on this woman. Our laws dictate blood for blood for the offense of murder. Who wants to speak?”

Several men spoke in their native language, and Erika couldn’t understand anything that they said. Arell cringed once, but other than that one time he displayed no other emotion. As much as she wanted to go through this whole proceeding unaffected, her heart raced, and sweat dripped down her dress. She had cried her tears in the dungeon, and none remained, though. She couldn’t have been more remorseful, but there was nothing else to say. To apologize now would sound obligatory, so she remained silent.

All the men spoke, one after another, and for a long time. Some in Erika’s tongue. Some talked about their grandparents and their wives and children and how the king had been a friend to everyone. Some commended Arell for the good job he had been doing, having come to the throne so quickly and in duress. No one said anything about her that she could understand.

Mid-morning came. Erika still stood, sunlight shining directly on her. Chief Silas beat on his drum and spoke again.

“We as elders have spoken. We must now listen to our king.”

Arell hesitated before he stepped forward. He pulled his hood onto his shoulders and freed his long hair. He held his head up like a king and addressed the men.

“I’ve heard you all. My heart is with you. I loved my father, as you did. When I heard of his death, I wanted nothing more than to seek vengeance. Even to the point of war. As you have.” He pulled a parchment from his belt and stared at it for a long while without unfolding it. Only the sound of the sea and the popping of the fire interrupted the silence. Erika couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing his heart grieved for his father. Why did he stop? Surely condemning her couldn’t be that difficult.

“I’m…I’m having a hard time doing this,” he glanced at the elders as he choked on his words.

“When I didn’t know that Erika had murdered my father, I…” He glimpsed at her and then with shaking hands unfolded the letter as he continued, his head bowed. “Please, just remember how kind my father had been and try to...” He choked on his words and regarded the elders sitting around the fire. “Would my father have the daughter of an allied nation executed?” He paused again, glancing at her with eyes that displayed softness and warmth but also a deep sorrow.

“This letter came to us by the wizard while I imprisoned him in our castle. His information comes from soldiers who were there when my father died. I shall read it to you. Perhaps it will move upon your hearts.” Arell cleared his throat and read.

“I write this account of what had happened in her defense. Princess Erika had been assigned to a small group of soldiers who were to guard her brother’s men-at-arms as they entered a canyon to ambush a flock of skura. When a lone skura circled her brother, she followed it with her arrow, but the beast dove into the bushes near her. Without knowing that King Rolland and his warriors had arrived at the battlefield, and without calling out, without making certain of what she was firing at, she shot…” He looked up. “Our king. My father. An accident. A negligent accident, yes.” He folded the parchment, his hands still trembling, and offered it to Chief Silas. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

“One word before I hand this young lady over to you. According to law, the Cho Nisi elder’s judgment is final. I cannot intervene and I know you have found her guilty.” He glanced at Erika with pain in his eyes. Was the pain on her behalf?

“Before you sentence her, I would have you remember my father, who was a kind man. Even though his people looked down on the Cho Nisi, he took a native for a wife and loved her. He broke the rules, the traditional morals of his people. He thought little of protocol and more of the…” Arell hesitated and stared out at the ocean, lingering on his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, and he choked on his words. “He thought more highly of love.”

Erika could barely hear his last words.

“As your king, I just ask that you be gentle. Like he was. I have spoken in the way of our people. So be it.” He bowed slightly, a formality, and pulled his cowl back over his head. He stepped back and stood next to the other man in a white robe.

She looked away.

“If all have spoken, then we are dismissed. When the sun sets, we will decide.” Chief Silas beat his drum.

With that, the men got up. Some walked down to the water to talk, perhaps about her, maybe not. Others went swimming, others jogged down the beach. Chief Silas dipped a chalice into a bucket of fresh water and offered her a drink. She accepted. Arell did not approach her. Eventually everyone went away. Where to, she didn’t know.

Alone, just her and the sea, Erika lay in the sand to rest under the warm sun. She had gotten no sleep that night in the dungeon, and so slumber came on her quickly. Perhaps it was the drumming and chanting, or just the stress of being on trial and facing death, but Erika dreamed.

She dreamed she was on the beach and as the sun slowly burned it grew hotter until it scorched her flesh, like a fireball. She sat up, her full armor on, spun around, and held her shield to protect herself, wielding a sword at a skura, spitting flames at her, singeing her hair. The dream ended, and she woke.

A high sun toasted her skin. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she smelled. She stood, slightly dizzy from the heat, and walked into the water, diving into the salty breakers as they trundled toward her. The ocean rolled on its never-ending journey to shore. She dove again, deeper, refreshed by the cold water. She surfaced, wiped her wet hair from her face, and walked back to the campfire.

Her long white chiton clung to her body, but Erika gave her appearance little thought until she saw a man in a white robe sitting at the campfire. At first sight, she thought it was Arell, but as she drew near she recognized Chief Silas. He stared at the fire. She hesitated to approach him. She really wasn’t decent, but he turned his head and held out a blanket, which she immediately took, dried her face, and wrapped it around her body over her wet dress.

“Sit,” he instructed, and so she did.

“The elders have made their decision.”

That quick? And only Silas here to sentence her?

He looked into her eyes with a long contemplative glare. “The elders have decided the death of our king was an accident, though a careless accident. Because of that, we cannot demand your blood. As you know, the people of Cho Nisi love their king. The one who died, and the one who lives. For that reason, we cannot have you among us. You will return home to your people. You will never step foot on Cho Nisi again. To do so gives us the right to strike you down. Any warrior may kill you in any manner they see fit if you return.”

The chief did not cushion his words but spoke violence with his eyes as well.

“If we make a truce with King Tobias, it will not be regarding you. I as Chief and elder of Cho Nisi have one other demand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Never lay eyes on Arell High King of Cho Nisi again, nor talk to him, nor have any communication with him.”

She stared at the chief; the pain penetrating deep into her soul, pain that immediately twisted into ire. There had to have been a reason for this added threat. She wanted to snap back at Silas, tell him to make sure Arell never tries to communicate with her, but she didn’t. She just nodded.

“The men with the horses will be here soon to take you to the castle. Your clothes have been returned as well. You will change into them and bring nothing from the island back with you. Nothing.”

She scowled. What did he mean by that? What would she take?

“After that, this day before the sun rises, you will be on a boat headed to your father.” He stood and walked up the hill and out of sight.

Erika spat and threw the cloth he had given her into the fire. Ash flew into the sky as the remnant buried the flames and smoke seeped out from under the wet linen. So too had her life been snuffed out. Perhaps it would have been better if she had been executed.