Within the Walls [NEW VERSION]

Chapter 9

A deep shudder reverberates through my skull as the enormous doors grate open on their hinges. The door shines with its freshly polished marble, flecked with gold. My thumping heart practically echoes off the walls of the expansive hall. The floor is blue and white marble, with pillars rising to the roof. Monstrous arched windows border either side of the hall and candles surround the room, washing the room in flickering yellow light.

As we move through the hall, I notice the carvings of symbols on the walls – of waves, and erupting volcanos, and sick people. At the end of the hall, a set of stairs rises against yet another enormous, arched window. There is nothing but molten darkness beyond. An exquisite, gleaming throne carved from marble and ivory adorns the centre of the stairs. Ivory, from an age when elephants roamed Africa and Asia. Beasts who were long since lost to the greed of humans and the subsequent collapse of humanity. After humans pillaged the earth of its resources and nature, the world took its revenge. There are no more elephants, only the remnants of what we did to them. A small group of humans who clung to survival built a new monarchy within a circle of stone walls.

I draw in a ragged breath, schooling my face into neutrality. Ruben steps across the threshold, into the hall, his strides smooth and seamless. Yet, he fumbles with his fingers, and I can hear his ragged breathing. His hand quivers. Fear. His anguish sends my heart slamming into my ribs. My instincts scream at me to turn and run from the wolf waiting to devour me at the end of the hall. But I force myself to keep up the pace.

A man, with a tight-knit brow, rises from his throne and slithers forward, his toes hovering over the ledge of the first step. His eyes never leave mine, like a snake silently stalking its prey. A poisonous essence cascades from the man's black suit and black cloak, which is flesh silver stitching. The golden crown sits so comfortably on his head that I wonder if he sleeps with it still pinned to his scalp. A shudder slides its fingers down my spine. My skin crawls and I squirm. We approach the bottom of the stairs, pausing a few feet before them. Ruben bows low, and I stick my foot behind the other, curtseying. Every instinct urges me to run, run, run. But Ruben's face remains as stoic and solid as stone. And I can't bring myself to commit another crime. Not when Lyra's life hangs on by a very thin thread.

"Are you mute, girl?" the King barks and I flinch. His deep, braying voice bounces off the surrounding walls and slices into my bone marrow. His hair is dark, greying, and thin. He has groomed facial hair, and a tan, leathered face from too many years trapped in the snares of utter misery.

Ruben nudges me in the rib and clears his throat. If we weren't standing before the king, I would toss him an ugly gesture.

Instead, I pluck up my courage and muster my voice. "No, Your Majesty. My name is Elle Fallon."

"Elle," he says, dragging out the name as if it tastes like a bitter memory from his childhood. "Is that a nickname?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. My full name is Elizabeth Fallon. But everyone calls me Elle."

"Elle," he says again, lowering his brow, and looking at me through his lashes. "Do you know why you are here?"

"Yes."

His eyes rove me, and he bares his teeth. The king clicks his gloved fingers and a man scuttles across the podium. He grips the hilt of a knife. The blade gleams in the twirling candlelight as if it might spring to life and slice someone's throat. My mouth dries as the herald presents the knife to the king, before bowing and ducking away, just as gracefully as he came.

"Does this knife look familiar to you, Elle?" The king's voice rattles around in my skull, dripping with authority. He twirls the knife, examining the sharp blade, before flicking his venomous gaze back to me.