A bright red bird, plumage arcing from the top of its head, pecked at a pile of spilled grain leaking from the jaggedly-torn side of a burlap sack. The grain had spilled out into the brilliantly white, fresh snow, and the bird pecked at it, seemingly unbothered by the cold. A few feet away, a blindfolded man stood facing a trench, his hands bound, his head held defiantly high.
Crackkk!
As the gunshot echoed through the air, the cardinal, startled by the sound, took flight and disappeared into the woods at the edge of the town. A spatter of blood painted the snow where the bird had been just a moment before.
Across the village, Delilah watched the bird take wing. She was unbothered by the sound, and continued pulling on the dark leather gloves that were now as familiar to her as the back of her hands. More, even. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight, severe bun, her dark blue uniform neatly creased, and her boots shiny and polished. She straightened her back and adjusted the red and white badge on her chest proudly displaying her rank. Not a hair out of place. Delilah stepped forward and pushed open the door to the building where she would be doing her work.
Delilah’s right-hand man snapped into the high-fisted Imperial salute as she walked in. “At ease, Dimitri,” she said softly, already reaching out to adjust his crooked rank badge. His was similar to hers, but where hers was in the shape of the Imperial wyvern, Dimitri’s was a simple round badge, albeit the same red and white. The giant of a man flushed slightly at his mistake, but Delilah turned and walked away without comment. He fell into step behind her wordlessly.
Delilah came to the room where her assignment was held. Dimitri moved to open the solid wooden door for her, but he stepped aside wordlessly at the raise of Delilah’s hand. After dusting the snow off of her jacket, she clasped the door’s handle and pushed, harder than she thought she would have to. The door creaked open and she stepped inside, Dimitri close behind.
She was immediately struck by the cloying, coppery stench of fresh blood. Her assignment knelt on the floor in the center of the room, the woman’s arms raised into the air by chains, holding her in place. Her blonde hair was streaked with blood, most of it falling loose from where it had been clipped behind her head. Her ragged tank top had probably once been white, but was now so soaked through with blood that it appeared almost black in the dim light of the room. Her head rose as Delilah stepped inside, and even now, chained and bloodied, the flame of defiance in her eyes nearly gave Delilah pause. Nearly.
Delilah let the door slowly shut behind her as Dimitri took his customary place behind her right shoulder. His badge had somehow become crooked again, and though Delilah felt her eyelid twitch in annoyance, she let it be, and turned to her assignment.
The room was cold, Delilah noted. Good, she thought. I need her uncomfortable.
“Alessia St. Clair,” Delilah said matter-of-factly. “How did you come to be in a place like this?” Delilah’s eyes betrayed the smirk her mouth repressed.
The rebel spat out a wad of clotted blood. A drop of it splattered onto Delilah’s shoe. Her lip arch in disgust, but her attention was momentarily snatched away by a bright red bird alighting on the sill of the room’s small window.
“You know exactly how I ended up here, imperial wyrm.” Her voice was weak and pained, but the hatred in her voice was more than strong enough to compensate. Delilah noticed a tinge of an accent from the Southern Provinces, but it seemed repressed. She made a mental note of that.
The smirk reached Delilah’s mouth, now, too, as her eyes returned to her captive. “Yes,” she said, waving a hand with feigned disinterest. “An ambush, a one-sided battle, we both know the story.” The woman’s silent glare did not falter, so Delilah continued. “You are supposed to be some great hero of the Insurrection, are you not? How did the Guardian of Gehstaht fail so spectacularly?”
At that, the hatred in her eyes wavered for a moment, replaced by a pain she hadn’t yet shown. Delilah’s smirk transformed into a vulpine grin, her pleasure with the result of her provocations shown clearly on her face. “You were betrayed.” It wasn’t a question.
The prisoner’s shoulders sagged, her wrists pulling on the chains that restrained her. Of course, Delilah had already known: her agents had informed her of the truth of it. But she had no shortage of ammunition to wield against her assignment.
Before she could continue, her eyelid twitched again as the bird on the sill began banging a nut against the bars, attempting to crack its hard shell.
“I hope you are not too sentimental about the lives of your traitors. You should know, they have all been executed for treason – with the exception of our double agents, of course.” The rebel’s face was once again twisted by hatred. Good. “You know what happens next, yes?”
“I assume you’re going to ‘interrogate’ me,” came the reply, with a vain attempt to sound nonchalant.
“Mmm. Eventually.” Delilah replied coolly, the leather of her glove squeaking as she tightened it into a fist. “‘Interrogate,’ however, would mean I expect answers.” Delilah lowered herself to the ground, her eyes level with the other woman’s. A gloved hand cupped her face almost tenderly, and Delilah’s wolfish grin widened as confusion lit her assignment’s face. “Right now, my dear, I’m just going to make you hurt.”
She stood and stepped to the side, nodding to Dimitri. The giant took a step forward and slammed his boot-clad foot into the woman’s stomach with a dull thud. The chains rattled as the breath escaped her lungs with a gasp. Another blow struck her before she was able to claw her breath back into her lungs, and Delilah thought she heard the crunch of a breaking rib. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Delilah reached into her jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out a pristine, laced handkerchief, her assignment’s sobs and gasps already fading into white noise. She bent over to wipe her boot clean of the blood and spit, and she began scrubbing at the dull, red stain. As she worked to restore the pristine leather beneath, the ringing of the cardinal’s efforts began to echo the rattling and gasping of her quarry. Delilah’s jaw clenched in annoyance as the bloodstain clung defiantly to the glossy leather. Her ears filled with the constant rhythm of the cardinal’s bitter work.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The damn bird was back.
Delilah found her eyes once again glued to the sill of the small window to the darkened chamber. Alessia, still chained, bruised and beaten, panted and heaved, the chains still rattling from the impact of Dimitri’s boot in her stomach.
It had been three days. Three days of pain, torture, and fruitless interrogation.
Alessia hadn’t budged an inch.
“You can make all of this stop, rebel,” Delilah said, trying to stifle the irritation in her voice. “Just tell us where to find the princess and we’ll let you rest.”
Alessia fought to find her breath. Her eyes met Delilah’s, and a part of Delilah wanted to scream when she saw the fires of defiance still alight.
“Even if I knew,” Alessia choked the words out. “I wouldn’t tell you.”
The cardinal began slamming another nut into the windowsill, trying and failing to break through its stubborn shell. Delilah’s eyelid twitched, and she felt the anger rise within her. She gritted her teeth and leaned down, the tip of her nose nearly touching the other woman’s. Her eyes were drawn to the cuts and burns on the other woman’s arms, the missing nails and mangled fingers. In spite of herself, she felt a pang of sympathy. She choked down the momentary lump in her throat and focused on the anger.
She is a rebel and a traitor, Delilah thought. Hardly worth your sympathies.
“Why do you even care?” Delilah snapped, the anger rising once more. “Why are you doing all of this for some princess you captured? You can’t imagine…” she trailed off at the genuine confusion in the other woman’s eyes. “What is it?”
Alessia barked out a pained laugh. “You think we captured her?”
Delilah blinked, then blinked again as a loose strand of her own hair fell in front of her face. “What? Of course. Princess Inania is the most leal servant of her father-”
Delilah was cut off as Alessia laughed again. “No, we didn’t capture her. She came to us.” At Delilah’s blank stare, Alessia continued, perhaps sensing an advantage for the first time. “How else do you think we’ve known so much about the Capital? About the Legions? Inania told us everything-”
“You’re lying!” Delilah almost shouted, the loose strand of hair joined by more dark threads. Alessia was grinning now, a gap-toothed grin stained by blood and gore. Delilah thought of the Inania she knew… “Inania would never throw in with- with traitors!”
“It’s true,” Alessia continued wryly. “She has the ear of the General himself.” Perhaps sensing something in Delilah’s voice, Alessia pressed further. “I’ve heard they’ve grown… very close.”
Through the blood rushing in her ears, Delilah’s attention was drawn to the cracking of the nutshell on the window once again. Her eyelid twitched, her hair tickled her cheek, and she felt an entirely different sort of lump in her throat. The cracking filled her ears, filled her mind. Everything around her was drowned out, her focus entirely drawn by that inane, infuriating banging.
With one fluid motion, she reached for the pistol at her hip, drew, and fired. The cardinal on the sill was dead before it could react, its corpse falling to the ground outside the cell with a distant thump.
Delilah was breathing heavily, her gun still raised and her arm trembling. Alessia was laughing again. “Oh, that rattled you-”
“Shut up!” Delilah punctuated her words by striking Alessia’s face with the butt of her pistol. Alessia groaned, a smile still revealing her broken teeth. Delilah whirled and stormed out of the room, Dimitri close on her heels. Snow crunched under her heels as she stomped around the side of the building.
Delilah leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.
She is lying to you, Delilah told herself. Trying to get a rise out of you. She straightened her back and ran her fingers over her hair, smoothing the strands that had come loose. And it worked, you idiot.
Dimitri stepped outside behind Delilah, letting the heavy door swing shut. He watched her closely, his brow furrowed in what might have been concern.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Delilah spat the words in Dimitri’s direction. “I’d take your tongue for that if the Emperor hadn’t already,” she snarled. Dimitri saluted stiffly—but sloppily—and took a few steps away, his back to Delilah.
Delilah breathed deeply, her fingers working at her hair and her emblem, ensuring all was right and properly placed. She found her eyes drawn to the outside barred window where that damnable bird had been perched. Naught remained on the sill but some fragments of nutshell, a spatter of blood, and a single carmine feather, soaking up the blood. On the ground below, the bird’s corpse lay motionless, its blood soaking the snow almost as brilliantly as its plumage. Delilah could see Alessia’s smug grin in her mind’s eye, and with another snarl, she spun and stalked away.
Alessia groaned, long and ragged, as Dimitri wiped the blood off of his gloved fist.
Delilah’s lips were already curled into a grin, but she knew that if she saw herself, it wouldn’t quite reach her eyes. She knelt down, bringing her eyes level with Alessia’s.
“I will ask you again, hero.” She infused the last word with enough derision that she could practically taste it.
“Tell us where you are keeping the princess,” Delilah demanded, though she already knew what Alessia’s answer would be. “And do not even consider slandering her as you did yesterday.”
Alessia coughed and spat out a gobbet of blood onto the floor. “I told you,” she choked out, still coughing. “I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”
Delilah sighed. “Fine, then,” she said, reaching a hand towards the chamber door. “I did warn you.”
She rapped once, twice, three times on the door with her gloved knuckle. “Bring him in,” she commanded, loud enough that she knew her man outside the door would hear.
The door opened with a surge of bitingly cold air. Alessia’s eyes widened, and Delilah suppressed a surge of satisfaction. One of her soldiers shoved another prisoner into the room, a wiry young man—a teenager, by Delilah’s estimations—with a runner’s build and a gag in his mouth. His lightly colored hair was too long, for imperial standards and matted into dense clumps. Dimitri kicked the back of the prisoner’s knee so that he collapsed in front of Alessia.
“Corin?” Alessia gasped. “But you- how?” The question at the end was directed at Delilah, who now smirked openly at seeing the fury somehow still present in Alessia.
“We caught him skirting the edges of the settlement,” Delilah answered, smoothing the wrinkle in her jacket. “Probably searching for a way to free the hero of the Insurrection.” She nodded, and Dimitri tore the gag free of the man’s mouth.
Corin gasped, sucking in greedy gulps of air.
“Alessia,” he said hurriedly. “Do not tell them anything.”
“Corin, you-”
“No, listen to me,” he cut her off. “My life doesn’t matter against the cause. It doesn’t matter what they do to me, you mustn’t tell them anything.”
“I-” Alessia began.
“Last chance, Alessia,” Delilah said with a nearly singsong lilt to her voice. She drew her gun and pressed the barrel against Corin’s temple. The man tried to squirm away, but Dimitri held him firmly in place.
“Don’t do this,” Alessia begged. The anger had vanished from her eyes, replaced by desperation, panic—fear. Her blonde hair, matted with blood, fanned out in front of her face as she screamed and begged.
“It is an honor to give my life for our freedom,” Corin said feverishly. He no longer attempted to struggle, and his eyes drifted shut as he spoke. “Long live the Insurrection.”
“Please, no-” Alessia tried to object.
“Five seconds, hero,” Delilah sneered. She counted down, drowning out Alessia’s pleas for mercy. “Three, two, one…”
She pulled the trigger.
The crack of the gunshot drowned out all sound in the room for the span of half a heartbeat. When she could hear again, Delilah was keenly aware of Alessia’s wail: a single, long sound, more an extended moan than a scream.
Alessia’s eyes met Delilah’s with renewed hatred. Delilah let the gloating smile take over her face, and they glared at each other for a few, long moments.
“He wasn’t a soldier,” Alessia said eventually. Delilah could practically taste the hatred in her voice.
“He was a traitor,” Delilah said simply. She pulled out her handkerchief and began wiping the blood from her gloves. “This is the cost of your rebellion, Alessia. The Empire will give no quarter to those who seek to destroy us.”
“He was a child!” Alessia choked out between sobs. She sagged in her chains, as much as she could with her arms still bound above her head. “He was just a child… I’m so sorry, Inania…”
Delilah’s hands stilled for half a heartbeat at Alessia’s words. She spun on her heel, a snarl already on her face.
“What does she have to do with this?” Delilah demanded. She reached down and grabbed Alessia by the cheeks, smearing the boy’s blood all across her face. “Tell me!”
Alessia met Delilah’s eyes with pure, undiluted hatred. There was something else behind the venom, too—something burning, overwhelming, threatening to pour from Alessia like water burst through a dam. Delilah blinked, but held back the flinch that threatened to betray her.
“I was supposed to protect them from you bastards,” Alessia snarled, and then spat a wad of blood into Delilah’s face.
Delilah stood, slowly. She used her handkerchief to wipe away what of the blood she could, taking care to make small and deliberate movements. When she felt as clean as she could be, she straightened her back and adjusted her glove, and then kicked Alessia’s gut as hard as she could.
Alessia coughed and moaned, the sounds mingling with her sobs and gasps of horror. Delilah kicked her again, and then a third time. She scoffed and spun on her heel, pausing only for a moment. Her face twitched as a few hairs fell across her face. Out of place, once again.
“Dimitri,” she said, without looking at him or Alessia. “You know what to do.”
Delilah opened the door as the first of Dimitri’s kicks landed. Alessia’s groans of pain were little more than choked sobs punctuated by the dull thuds of Dimitri’s blows. Delilah felt her foot just barely stick to the floor, and she glanced down to see the boy’s blood spreading across the floor and under her boots. She sucked her teeth and gingerly stepped over the tide of pooling carmine. As she left the room, her ears filled with the sound of Dimitri’s boot cracking against Alessia’s body.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The next morning greeted Delilah with the sound of birdsong before dawn.
She sighed and rolled onto her side, pulling a pillow over her head in a vain attempt to try and block out the sound. She let out a long groan and rolled back onto her back, pulling the pillow away from her face.
She was in her tent, of course. Really more a pavilion, she supposed. This section of the tent was her bedchamber, as was bigger than the entire building holding Alessia’s cell.
Delilah sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She’d slept poorly, harangued as she had been by visions of Alessia and Corin—and Inania. She was only half-awake right now, and her thoughts were a maelstrom of complicated emotions. The boy’s last words haunted her.
The Insurrection’s lies ruined any chance that boy had at a peaceful future, she thought. If I had not killed him, he would have died a far more painful death.
Her rationalizations seemed flimsy, even to her.
Delilah stood abruptly. She snatched her jacket from where it hung neatly next to the doorflap and her pants from where they sat, neatly folded, next to her bed. She pulled both on hastily and stalked out of her tent.
She hadn’t had a destination in mind. She’d just needed to move. She pulled her jacket tight against the bitter morning cold, stalking through the ruins of what had once been a perfectly serviceable Imperial village.
She passed by the burned-out husk of what had once been the village’s town hall. The once-magnificent statue of the Imperial wyvern was now a pile of rubble, the building itself little more than a wall and a half of charred stone.
Delilah thought back to the events of the battle that had ruined this town. The Insurrectionists had been sheltering in the town, perhaps on their way to or from some secret base or another. A loyal citizen had reported to the Imperial Guard stationed here, and the battle quickly grew out of control. According to official reports, the Insurrection had started the fires as an attempt to cause a distraction so they could escape. Delilah had her doubts.
Why must this war go on? Delilah thought. The Insurrection destroys our homes, our peace, in the name of their freedoms.
She stepped over to a partially collapsed piece of rubble. She could see some writing peeking through the snow cover, and she bent over to brush it off.
“‘May the Emperor’s peace protect us all,’” she read, and then scoffed. “So much for that.”
She let her hand fall to her side. Her eye caught a splash of red inside the ruined walls. In her mind’s eye she saw the cardinal she’d shot, bleeding into the snow, for the briefest moment.
Another one of those damnable birds, she thought. She grabbed a fist-sized chunk of rubble and tossed it near the bird. It winged away, Delilah’s throw not even close to hitting it. Not that she’d really intended to, anyway.
Delilah continued on her wanderings through the ruined village. Without intending to, she found herself at the building where Alessia was kept prisoner. She stepped up to the door, and then hesitated. A gust of wind blew the loose strands of her hair, and she shivered from the cold. Before she could second-guess herself further, she pushed open the door.
Alessia was sleeping when Delilah entered the room—or, at least, as close to sleeping as she could with the position her restraints kept her in. She stirred and opened one eye—the other was swollen shut.
Alessia’s eye was full of such raw hatred and contempt that Delilah couldn’t help but flinch. The other woman stood, allowing her arms to fall to her sides as she leaned against the far wall. Her long blonde hair was caked with so much blood and dirt that it looked brown, and it hung heavily over her shoulders.
“You’re early,” Alessia said simply. “And where is your brute? Are you going to get your own hands dirty today?”
“I- no,” Delilah answered, wrapping her arms around herself in a sort of self-hug. She told herself it was because of the cold. “I just…” she trailed off, unsure why she was even here.
“You look almost human right now, monster,” Alessia spat. “I nearly feel bad for you.”
Delilah frowned. This was stupid, she thought. Stupid. But for some reason, she couldn’t quite bring herself to turn and leave.
She stood silently for a moment. She could feel Alessia’s glare on her like the heat of a roaring fire, and she shifted uncomfortably.
“Why did you say her name?” Delilah asked quietly. She felt like she had to force the words out through the tightness in her throat.
Alessia blinked. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. The fury on her face was briefly replaced by confusion.
The anger returned to her face within the span of a few heartbeats.
“Why should I tell you anything, you bastard?” Alessia snarled. She jerked towards Delilah, yanking her chains taut. Her body was less than two feet from Delilah’s.
Delilah looked away and nodded slowly. “Right,” she said softly. “Of course, you are right.” She turned and made to leave the room. “Stupid,” she muttered to herself as she pried open the door.
“Wait,” Alessia called just as Delilah was stepping over the threshold. Delilah paused, turning her head without moving her body.
“You knew her,” Alessia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t you?”
Delilah was silent for a moment. “I thought I did,” she answered, equally softly. I thought I knew many things.
“She is incredible, isn’t she?” Alessia said. It was almost to herself, and not to Delilah.
Delilah whirled, anger rising in her chest.
“Do not speak as though you know her,” she snapped.
“I do know her!” Alessia shouted back. “She is my comrade, my friend!”
“She can not be your friend, traitor.”
Alessia scoffed. “You really are blinded by the Empire.”
“And you are blinded by ignorance!”
Alessia sighed. “This isn’t going to go anywhere.”
“Agreed,” Delilah spat.
They stood facing each other wordlessly. Delilah forced herself to suppress her anger. It wouldn’t do any good, right now.
“You know,” Alessia said eventually. “I don’t even know your name.”
Delilah hesitated. She knew it was bad practice to give Insurrectionists her name, but…
“Delilah,” she said eventually. “Major Delilah Brouillard.”
“Delilah,” Alessia said, rolling the word around her tongue. “She talked about you.”
Delilah scoffed. “Yes, I am sure.”
“She did,” Alessia said, more insistently. “She talked about your childhood together, at the Palace.” Delilah felt something ugly twisting in her gut at Alessia’s words. “She told me about your roses,” Alessia added softly.
Delilah felt her face twist in anger. “That was-” she began to shout, but stopped herself. “That was private,” she said instead.
“She would be heartbroken if she saw you now,” Alessia said. Delilah thought she should have sounded angry, but instead she just sounded… sad.
Delilah turned back towards the door, her arms still wrapped around her torso.
“She is,” she whispered. Then she was gone, leaving Alessia in the cold, dark room. As she walked back to her tent, Delilah could still hear the songs of the morning birds.
Blood dripped onto the snow. Where it hit, it spattered, and the droplets leeched into the snow like too much ink on a page.
Delilah followed the dripping upwards to its source. On the table in the ruined building sat a young woman, barely older than Corin was. She wore a courtesan’s dress, the ruffling around the neck and breast indicating her profession, as was Imperial law.
One of her soldiers, a young boy named Grant, was loudly gloating to a group of blue-coated Imperial soldiers.
“…and that’s when she said she let the Insurrection pigs fuck her too!” Grant said loudly. “So I dragged her in and executed her for treason, just like the Emperor says!”
Delilah examined the wounds. Defensive, she noted. Blood under her fingernails—probably not her own—and a nasty bruise on her face gave that much away. Her dress was ruined, ripped apart and torn to pieces. The skirt was almost entirely ripped away, and Delilah could see the wounds between her legs, too.
One of the officers clapped Grant on the shoulder. The noise startled Delilah, and she glanced over at the group.
“Well done, lad,” Captain Oliver said, his hand still on Grant’s shoulder. “Traitors must be rooted out, for the good of the Empire.”
“For the good of the Empire!” echoed a few of the surrounding soldiers. The group erupted into cheers and shouts of praise and adulation for the Empire. Delilah felt something squirming in her gut like a fish trying to escape a net.
What is wrong with me? she thought. Just a few weeks ago, I would have been the first to congratulate him. Her eyes drifted to the dead courtesan again, and then to the red-stained snow below the table. She turned and left the ruin, leaving her soldiers to their revels.
Dimitri made to follow her, but she waved him off. She’d be safe, she knew. There were no true rebels in this town. Not anymore.
Delilah made her way towards the mass grave, where the last of the rebels had been executed. She noted the spilled bag of grain—still there, from when the executions were carried out. A patch of faded, half-frozen blood marked the spot where she’d first noticed one of those damnable birds.
She bent down and picked up a few pieces of grain. Frozen solid, she noted. She rolled them between her palms, warming them up to thaw them out. She glanced around, and she noted a cardinal perched in one of the nearby trees. She tossed the newly defrosted kernels towards the tree, watching the bird closely. After a few moments, it stopped its singing, cocked its head, and flitted down the ground where she’d tossed the seeds.
The cardinal was startlingly red against the freshly fallen snow. It hopped between pieces of grain, pecking at them, and Delilah was once again put in mind of blood on the snow.
The crunching of heavy boots on snow behind her warned her of the soldier’s approach.
“Not now, Dimitri,” she called. “I am fine.”
“Major Brouillard?” came the response. Delilah turned, mildly surprised—but mostly irritated.
“What is it, lieutenant?” she asked, trying and failing to hide her annoyance.
“The reconnaissance officer wishes to speak with you,” said the young soldier from a picture-perfect attention stance. “Something about enemy movements nearby?”
Delilah sighed. “Very well,” she said. “Give me a moment. And at ease, by the way.”
“Ma’am,” said the lieutenant, relaxing his salute. “Those birds are annoying, aren’t they?”
Delilah looked back to the bird. It had finished the seed she’d tossed it, and it hopped around searching for more. When it found none, it took wing and flew away. Delilah watched it go until it was a vaguely red speck in the distance.
“I rather like them, actually,” she answered finally. She turned, dismissing the soldier with a wave of her hand. He scampered away, off to whatever task was next. Delilah glanced at the scoutmaster’s tent, and then at the building where Alessia was still chained. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a step.
“What are you doing?” Alessia asked, groggily. Delilah had woken her again entering her cell.
“Shut up,” Delilah hissed through gritted teeth. “Before I change my mind.”
“They’ll kill you for this,” Alessia said.
Delilah paused for half a heartbeat. “I know,” she said.
Alessia watched silently for a few moments as Delilah tried the various keys on Alessia’s restraints. Eventually, she found the right one, and the manacles around Alessia’s wrists and ankles popped open with a soft click.
Alessia’s second ankle wasn’t free for a full second before she lunged at Delilah. She slammed her into the wall with both arms, putting her entire body weight behind the attack. Before Delilah could even react, Alessia had drawn and pointed her own gun at her chin.
“I could end you right now,” Alessia murmured, practically whispering it into Delilah’s ear. “I would be doing the entire world a favor.”
“Do it, then,” Delilah answered bitterly. “Pull the trigger, avenge your friends. I don’t care.”
For a few heartbeats, Delilah was completely unsure whether she would. Delilah thought about whether she would care, and didn’t like the answer she came to.
“No,” Alessia said eventually. “Dying like that would be too good for you.” She stepped away, but kept the gun pointed at Delilah. Delilah noted the threat, but didn’t especially care.
“Go,” Delilah commanded. “The door is unlocked. If you move quickly, my soldiers will not notice in time to stop you.”
Alessia hesitated. The anger in her eyes didn’t fade, but the outstretched gun wavered almost imperceptibly.
“Why?” Alessia asked eventually. Delilah didn’t need clarification.
Delilah looked to the window of the cell. The cardinal feather was still half-buried in the snow, and the exposed parts ruffled gently in the wind.
“I suppose,” Delilah began slowly. “That I just do not have it in me anymore.”
Alessia lowered the gun a fraction. Delilah glanced back to her, meeting her eyes one more time. Then Alessia turned and was gone.
Delilah was left alone in the cell. She reached up through the bars of the window and plucked the feather from where it stuck. She had to pry it free of the thin crust of ice that had formed on top of the snow, but it gave easily. She ran her fingers along it, feeling the individual fibers brush against the tips of her fingers. She was surprised to realize she hadn’t put on her gloves.
She tucked the feather into the inside pocket of her jacket just as she heard footsteps outside the building. She sighed, and turned to leave the room, raising her hands high above her head. She was quickly surrounded by a dozen soldiers, each pointing their guns at her, barking orders and gesturing wildly.
One of the soldiers, overeager, used his gun to CRACK her in the back of the head when she took too long to sink to her knees. She recognized him as the same one who had killed the courtesan from earlier. His face was twisted in pure rage and hatred, a far cry from his earlier demeanor. Delilah had a flash of Alessia’s face in her mind as her vision began to darken at the edges.
Alessia, she thought, as she drifted into unconsciousness. End this. All of it.
The last thing Delilah saw before she passed out was a drop of her own blood, falling from her face and into the snow below, staining it a brilliant crimson.
Delilah stood, her back straight and her head held high, her arms bound tightly behind her back.
She stood on a platform in front of a massive crowd of spectators—one of the largest gatherings of people she’d ever seen. Behind her was her jailor, a stern man who spoke little and showed even less passion. To her right, she knew, was the guillotine, already stained by blood from the day’s bitter work.
“Delilah Brouillard!” came the cry from the Imperial Herald to her left. “For the crime of high treason against the Empire, you are sentenced to execution by guillotine. Have you any last words?”
The words were standard, a common courtesy given to most that the Empire executed. Delilah had thought for days on what to say here, but she’d come away with nothing. She shook her head, and the Herald regarded her coolly.
“Very well,” he said, gesturing to the executioner. “Please take your place.”
Delilah obediently walked to the backside of the guillotine and lowered herself down. She didn’t struggle as the executioner shoved her head into the groove and slammed the heavy wooden beam down to keep her trapped. She thought she should feel afraid, or sad, or angry, or… anything.
The executioner began the long and painful process of feeling the guillotine’s blade to the top so that it could be released. Delilah was left with time to scan the crowd. She wasn’t sure who or what she was looking for. She just didn’t know what else to do with her eyes.
From her vantage point on the platform, she could see a hill in the distance, just outside the city. It was covered in snow, but spring was well on its way at this point. The snow had melted in a small section, and Delilah thought she could see a smattering of red flower petals. Seated next to them was a woman with long, blonde hair.
Delilah smiled gently. A cardinal, its plumage as bright as the flowers on that distant hillside, alighted on the stage, not ten feet from her. It was close enough that she could make out the different shades of red in its feathers. She thought of the feather still in the pocket of her jacket.
The crowd fell nearly silent as the executioner raised a hand. Delilah heard a whoosh, and then a thunk. A cardinal took wing at the noise, flitting off into the sky. On a distant hillside, a woman plucked at the petals of a rose, and watched the same bird fly off into the sky and snow.
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