Within the Walls [NEW VERSION]

Chapter 20

Dirt stains the snow. It splashes its murky sludge up the sides of the cart as we bumble along the rickety cobbles, past the piles of it shoved to the side of the Convex roads. The horse's hooves clatter and clouds of steam burst through her nose with each breath as she draws me through the streets, toward the gates. Biles burns my throat and my stomach churns with the impending test. Another exile. My fingers tremble as I place them against the window of the carriage, staring out despite the exhausted sting in my eyes.

I catch the eye of several Convex people. A bony elderly woman whose cheeks sag into the earth, and grey whiskers stick towards the sun as if searching for hope. Her ribs poke out from beneath her tattered oat-coloured tunic. A dead rat hangs from her belt. I offer a smile, but her cracked lips curl into a sneer. Jealous of the food in my belly and the colour in my cheeks.

Startled, I lean back into the cushioned carriage seat and close my eyes. Only as the carriage jerks to a halt do I force them open. My stomach lurches into my throat. Hundreds of Convex people line the street leading up to the gates. Just as they did the other day. Hundreds of heads turn to me, faces filled with terror as if I am an inferno ploughing through a village.

I force my concrete feet forward. One in front of the other. Keeping my face impassive, I acknowledge each group as I pass. A small band of musicians slams enormous drums canvas drums before them, the deep, rhythmic thud booming in my ribs, drowning out the scream in the back of my throat.

When I draw closer to the gates, a wisp of fiery red hair catches my eye. Fastened to the stake from the back of her hands, Lyra hangs her head in exhaustion. I can see her scalp burning from the sun. Her weak body can barely remain upright, and a yellow tint stains her skin. My knees tremble and buckle. I collapse to the ground as pitched wail streams from my mouth, transforming into a scream.

She is the prisoner today. She's about to be exiled.

Hot tears blur my vision as my face twists, the agony paralyzing my muscles. A blond scruffy head materialises, and warm arms wrap around me. Aston's pine needle scent coaxes a sliver of sanity into the recesses of my mind. I swallow. As I wipe my tears and let Aston help me back to my feet, he presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm sorry, Elle," he whispers.

I shake my head. "No, it's not your fault." With another squeeze of my hand, he nods in the gate's direction. I throw up my breakfast.

My teary, hate-filled gaze lands on King Talin. A faint, amused smirk twitches onto his face, and I see nothing but red. I yank a knife from my belt and toss it. The blade spins, slicing through the air as it sails past the king's ears, landing on the dirt behind him. An animalistic scream tears up my throat as I pull out my sword and lunge for the king. Finally, I understand. Every ounce of hatred I once felt for the Tranqs redirected to one miserable man in only a moment. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as my blade brushes his jugular vein and I sneer.

"Let her go," I growl. My muscles waver and my voice cracks, but the fusion of ice and fire burns so furiously it startles even the king.

But the brief flash of fear disappears. Schooled into the practiced look of indifference. "I see your shot still hasn't improved."

Then he turns his head to the crowds and puffs out his chest. "Clear the gates!" he bellows so loud it prompts squeaks and squeals from the Convex throngs. "Curfew for the Convex Sector begins in half an hour. We will arrow anyone on sight caught out in the streets!"

With that, the crowds disperse at once. Mothers grip the hands of their children, yanking them away. Younger people gather their friends and loved ones, helping carry the elderly and disabled out of the streets. The rumble of hundreds of feet and terrorized voices dissipate, and my glare remains on the king. But I slide my sword back into the scabbard across my spine.