No. No I won't let them get me.

I roll onto my stomach, sucking in the groans of pain. Dirt wedges into my nails as I claw at the earth, releasing the heat trapped by the sun within. Like a baby, I curl my legs into my chest and push with the might left in me to stand, but my legs wobble and rabid heat builds in my arms. I fall onto my side.

"It's okay. We won't hurt you, but the Straights will if they catch us. Let me help you up." A man's voice coos as if talking to a child. It's times like this I have to remind myself, I still am. Just.

The man wraps an arm around my side, shooting pain through my ribs. I whimper and force his hand away. Instead, he lifts me by my arms, supporting most of my weight as I stand. The three fishermen that jumped into the carriage. Dirt streaks their sombre faces as they help me downhill towards the town, away from the openness of the meadow.

We reach the back gardens of some older houses when we hear the shouting. "Quick. This way." They pull me down into a grove of bushes, the thorny leaves prickling over my skin, just as Straights shout orders to each other. They run towards the burning carriage.

"Why are you helping me?" The question erupts from me, because if I were them, I wouldn't help me: an injured, weak girl now on the run from the Straights. It's a death sentence. These are clearly professional men, in the fishing trade, probably with families of their own to protect—if, of course, they haven't followed the crowds in sending their children to the orphanages.

One of them gives me a grim smile, "We saw those fruitless tackle those Straights to save you. We know where they were taking you. We've seen some... Obscene fates to those children they take to the rock pools." He shudders, unable to continue.

Another, with a tuft of blonde hair, continues, "We were actually going to help them, but then we saw you sneak into that carriage. Then, as if some trick of the eyes, children jumped out. At least a dozen. You saved them. We heard everything. Your shouts for the truth. That the King was taking them."

"I've never felt a rage like this. More powerful than anything I've ever felt." The last man breaths, much older than the other two. "Children. He's taking children." He cradles himself, rocking on his hips.

A rumbling beat of hooves shake the dirt beneath us, hammering into my ears. "It happened here, Sir. The carriage hit the tree, and the other two children were found and taken. But the rebel girl, well, she's vanished, Sir." The man's voice quietens at the last words.

"What a little rascal, eh?" The smooth voice booms from overhead, pulsating fear into my bones, for that voice is one recognised across the whole Kingdom. The head of the guards, closest man to the King and practically as powerful as the man himself—Feath.

"So we're just going to, sort of, take what we've got?" The other voice squeaks, and to that, Feath's laugh responds.

"You think the King will be happy with just the two you managed to retain? Don't be so stupid, Espen. How the King could ever have called you an advisor, I will never know." The silence draws the moisture from the air, but I dare not gulp. "There's only one thing to do. Public beatings. Mass executions. Young and old, doesn't matter. We'll either draw her out, or the public will be so distraught and angered at the pain she caused they'll kill her for us."

The blood rushes from my head, leaving only cold sweat to seep from my skin. It runs into my eyes, and the saltiness burns. I squeeze them shut, too fearful to mop the beads from my brow.

"Can't be too hard to weasel her out. She's the only red-haired one in the Kingdom." Feath chuckles lightly, "Come now. To the square. Pick a child to begin the beatings. That will grab the people's attention. Oh, and spread the word to the other post: I want everyone watching. It's a mandatory viewing. No exceptions."

Even as they saunter off, my stiff muscles barely allow for movement. The men feebly attempt to wake me, to provide words of comfort to a now unaccepting soul. But I know what I must do. My time here was up the minute Mama told me I was no longer accepted in her home. But if by my death Filip has the chance to flee, then I will turn to the everlasting slumber with peace.

"What are you doing?" The men hiss, pulling me back as I begin to creep out from the bushes. I shake them off and wear what I hope they see as a grateful smile.

"You have shown me there is still heart left within the people. A heart which Feath seeks to destroy. If by my death I can rekindle the same flame in which I ignited in you, then I won't have died for nothing." Their grips loosen on my arms, eyes wide as if poised to absorb ever last inch of me. Before I am gone. 

The eldest pulls my hood up to cover my hair, a weak smile paired with dipped eyebrows the last image of him, before I turn and emerge from the bushes. "Are you sure? You are still so young." I manage a firm nod. "Then, we won't let your selfless bravery be forgotten, young miss."

The warmth of sunlight acts as a balm to my sore skin, loosening the muscles a fraction enough to allow me to walk. A slow hobble. I join the crowds emerging from their houses and the markets, fear warping their movements as they shuffle towards the square. For what will be the last time, I inhale the fresh breads and fragrant flowers that lay rich upon the stalls. The chirp and song of birds flutters in the air like the colourful wings of butterflies, never ceasing to droop. The beauties of life that will ease me into death.

The torture must've already begun, for the whimpering of a girl beats around the mute square. As I near the front of the pack, the whimpering turns to howls of pain, the cracking whip flicking blood into the crowd. Many eyes remain shut, only opening a fraction as I push past, desperate to shield from the torture before them.

A girl, only a little older than Filip, top half bare and pressed to the whipping post, hangs by bound hands. Her threads of chestnut hair shield her face, but by the slump of her neck, all could see she had passed out from the pain. Still, the Straight whips on and on, digging deep lines in her back with such force the whip must near the bone.

"Stop." I leap onto the wooden platform, and wrestle with the Straight for the whip. He growls, throwing me off with such force I smash into the whipping post next to the girl. The coppery scent of blood gags me, yet the beaten girl doesn't stir.

The whip twists in the air but Feath holds his hand, stopping the guard from casting it down upon me. "She has come. Remove her hood." He barks the order, and three guards jump to immediate attention.

Force that rivals the falling branches of a tree tug down my hood, almost ripping it from the rest of my cloak. Their knuckles leave heated scratches over my scalp, itchy and burning. The child groans from the whipping post as Feath unties her tiny, rope-eaten, wrists, before throwing her to a woman in the crowd.

"You caused that. That little girl's pain. All for what, thief?" Feath brushes a hand through his sweat-greased, blonde hair.

Fists clenched; I fight from unleashing the intense heat boiling within me. Veins burst within my palms, the heat of blood trickling over my fingers, but I have to remain calm and sane if I am to be heard. "I stole children that you planned to smuggle to the castle. To do what with, Feath? Why does the King steal our children from orphanages? A place built to protect them."

As I stand, watching his slithering smirk peak on his lips, my arms begin to jutter violently. The weight of my accusation now a ticket to sure death, and a force upon my shoulders that will remain until the final embrace. The crowd know it too, for their eyes are wide now; the whites clear like crystalline stars on a clear night, glow in silvery shimmers.

But there's something else about the people of Ravaryn now. The head-down and nose-out way of life no longer keeping the gossips at bay, they turn and whisper. Their fierce chattering dampens the smirk on Feath's face, melting it from his eyes as the embers glow within.

Then it begins: the bells. Ringing, as if the King himself gave cause for celebration, from the churches and libraries across the town and into the lower lands by the fishing village. The clouds soak it in until the pure intensity fills them to burst, speckling rain over the square. A sour smile washes over Feath as a few chants strengthen near the back of the crowd. "We want answers." A strength awakened in the beaten depths of Ravaryn's most impoverished.

"Take her to the castle." Feath's voice drawls as if unfazed by the commotion unfolding before him, a sight never seen within these lands before. At least since the war of the black powder. "Bring the agitators to the platform." He says that louder, and the chanting falters, continued by the few strong enough to handle the fear.

The Straights grab my wrists, pulling me hard towards an iron cart. With my bones being naturally the size of a splinter, I wriggle free and make a run for the crowd, but they capture me again. A heavy blow sends me falling to my face, cracking my nose beneath me. Lifted by a single hand, I fight the haziness to spit into my handler's face. Feath.

"Kill you here, as I so desire, you will be a Martyr. Punish you; torture you to your death within the confinements of the castle, and you will be forgotten."

His words strike bumps to pelt over my skin. The Straights tie ropes around my wrists, the yarn burning into the skin from the friction as they pull me towards a cart. They shut me in, tying my ropes to the iron-bar windows and draining the possibility of new energy to fight back.

A wild animal now neutralised and caged, the clop of horses pulls my cart. Breathless and sore, I can do nothing but stare through the bars as they yank some of the chanters on stage. Lined up. Eight of them, three of them the fishermen that aided me. High status. Good people. The crowd fall to a dead silence again.

A synchronised thump as the swords plunge, and the agitators are no more.