"NO!"

    Later on, Scirocca would remember nothing but falling. Later on, she would remember nothing but her sword hitting the ground, bile rising to her throat as she shook her father's convulsing body. Later on, she would remember nothing but the shouts and shrieks of the Alchemists, the stunned look on Sirok's face as his crimson-stained fingers trembled over his wound.

    "Father," she whispered. "Father - no - please - "

    This has to be a dream, she thought wildly. This isn't real - this can't be real - this -

    Someone was dragging her away. "NO!" she screamed, kicking and thrashing in their arms. "NO! NO!"

    "Drug her," came an Alchemist's voice. "Get her back inside - melt her sword - "

    Something pierced her arm. And then she remembered nothing more....

    She awoke lying down, surprisingly calm.

    She was alone, she realized. She was in the room she'd spent the last few weeks in - the room the Alchemists had assigned her. Several locks had been added onto the doors since the last time she'd tried escaping.

    Escaping....

    An awful sensation gripped her stomach. She wanted to throw up, to scream. No...no, that couldn't have happened. That could've never happened.

    She'd killed her father.

    She'd killed her father.

    "No," she whispered. She sat up, throwing the covers off her body. She was wearing a simple nightgown, made of the same gray cotton as the rest of the Alchemists' garb. "No, no, no." Her stomach was hurting. She stared at her hands, almost expecting to see blood there, but no...she was clean, as if somebody had washed her....

    She stood up, her head pounding, her stomach tumbling over itself. No, no, no. She had to ask someone - she had to know -

    The door opened.

    In strode Alchemist Mossbeard.

    "Scirocca," he said gravely.

    Her heart sank.

    "Why don't you sit?" he said. During all their time together - which hadn't been much - the Alchemist had treated her with the utmost courtesy.

    "What happened?" she said, clutching a bedpost. "Tell me here - please."

    He sighed. "We could not save your father," he said simply. "He...he asked for you before he passed away."

    Her knees buckled. Her hands suddenly felt like rubber - she sank onto the bed, her legs shaking -

    "I am sorry," he said simply.

    "No," she whispered. "This isn't possible."

    "We also found a fugitive with you," he said. "The Queen Majaeyra of Svanvald. Do you know what she was doing here?"

    She shook her head numbly. "No." Zalyne and Brennia...did they escape?

    "Very well. We shall deal with that later. But for now...we can no longer wed. Kinslaying is abhorred in the eyes of the Alchemists, and you must leave by night."

    "But where...where will I go?"

    "Back to the palace," he said simply. "You shall be tried there, along with Queen Majaeyra. She faces the lesser charges of breaking and entering, as well as thievery. We cannot find the scrolls she took from the library, though."

    Scirocca couldn't care less about any scrolls. "And if I'm found guilty...?"

    "You will be found guilty," he said simply. "You slew your father before the eyes of twenty men."

    She bowed her heart, a sob welling up in her throat. It was never supposed to be this way. It was never -

    "You will be executed," he said sadly. "I am sorry, Princess. I know it was not your fault...but the people will not see you so kindly."

    Execution is the least I deserve. "And my...my sister?" She clutched her blankets to her chest, her heart hammering.

    "Already in Scorvald," he said. "She is to be wed to Lord Radeus Sudamo in a week."

    "No." The word spilled out of her throat in a sob. "No, please no. Don't tell me - no - please - "

    "I am sorry, my Princess."

    "Then he'll take the throne," she said numbly. "Sudamo. And Slagvald will be Queen Lleona's - no." Wildly, she thought of killing her sister too - just to stop the marriage - the thought almost made her laugh - what kind of daughter killed two of her family members? She certainly had to be the first -

    Someone knocked at the door.

    "They are here for you," Mossbeard said sadly. "You'll be taken back to Slagheld...but is there anything I can do for you? I am so sorry, my Princess - you deserve much better than this."

    "No," she said, trembling, although she wasn't sure what she was saying that to. "No...just...no."

    "Are you sure?"

    "If there's a potion that could make me forget this," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Then by all means, give it to me."

    A tear slid down her cheek, and hit the bed, blossoming on the blanket. She let out a choked sob, her hands flying to her mouth.

    Mossbeard hesitated. "Very well," he said. "I shall prepare for you a batch of a potion - but be warned, it's very strong - "

    "I don't care. Just - "

    "Let us in!"

    Mossbeard nodded gravely. "I shall meet you before you depart. For now, Princess...."

    I am no Princess, she thought. "Thank you," she whispered.

    "Of course," he said, looking at her sadly. He strode over to the door and unlocked it.

    Outside stood a dozen guards, clad in both the green of Slagvald and the red of Scorvald. All had swords in their hands.

    Scirocca stood and swallowed, holding her head high.

    They led her from the room. Had she held her sword, she was sure she could've fought her way out somehow - half of the guards looked like boys, their eyes wide and their faces bare. But if the Alchemists had truly melted her sword....

    My sword.

    She'd never stopped to think about it much. She'd received her sword at such a young age that it'd always been a part of her, an extension of her arm. She remembered that it'd been much too heavy for her at age six, so she'd trained with a wooden sword for two years...and during those two years, she'd wanted nothing more than to use the real sword....

    The blade had been plain, forged from fine - not exceptional - steel. Nobody, not even Scirocca herself, had expected her to become more than proficient at it.

    But now I'm a master, she thought numbly, as the guards led her outside. People were gawking at her - Alchemists and common folk alike.

    A true swordsmaster can choose if and when to kill, Sirok's master-of-arms had told her, when she was merely eight. A true swordsmaster can cut through shield and armor and clothing without ever touching skin.

Eight...Scirocca had barely started using her metal sword. She remembered how excited she'd been back then, not knowing that the blade would soon consume her life and her reputation. And now my father....

Why couldn't she cry? Why was she so numb to this, as if her first kill hadn't been her father, but a stranger?

They reached a carriage. Alchemist Mossbeard was standing there, holding a small metal locket. He said a few words to the guards and pressed it into her hands.

The Alchemist nodded gravely to her, and that was the last she saw of him....

The ride north took several days.

Scirocca drifted in and out of sleep, taking only water when they stopped. She was not feverish, but she certainly felt so - her head was burning, pounding, throbbing. She never had nightmares, either, but her father seemed to torment her: his eyes wide with disbelief, his lips opening and closing, his fingers trembling, his blood....

It was romantic in a sick sort of way, grotesquely fitting that the man who had subjected her to a life of isolation would fall at her hand.

And she couldn't open Mossbeard's locket.

She knew what laid within: forgetfulness. Bliss. But that didn't feel right - it would be dishonorable and selfish to forget what she'd done to her father.

No...forgetting could wait.

"Get out."

She looked up, her eyes bleary.

Slagheld Keep stood before them, a castle of black and gold and emerald. Her home. The last time I was here, she thought numbly, I defeated a suitor...I can't even remember his name now.

People lined the streets, staring at her as she passed. She realized that she was still wearing her nightgown, a threadbare cloak wrapped around her shoudlers. Her circlet was gone. Now, she could be anyone....

"The trial will be in a few hours," someone said, as soon as she entered the palace. The hall was chilly, like a home that had gone too long without a fire or a good cleaning. "It's in the Great Hall. Get her dressed - nothing too fancy, if we're to persuade the court for a lenient sentence."

Someone took Scirocca to her room. Her servants scuttled around, their eyes fearful and furtive as they bathed and dressed her. Scirocca felt dizzy from the perfumed water - she'd spent too long without food or drink.

"Princess Scirocca?" said a man, as she emerged from her room. She was dressed in a modest gown of green, her hair braided simply over one shoulder. Her handmaids had substituted a headband of gold for her circlet.

"Yes?" she said. Her voice sounded startlingly hoarse.

"I am your lawyer," said the man. He was tall and dark-haired, with strong features and a crooked nose. "My name is - "

"Why?" she said. "There is nothing to defend."

She strode past the lawyer, leaving him gaping.

The numbness hadn't subsided. She suspected that she was in shock - her father had once talked about something like that....

Father...Father, what have I done?

Her hand flew to her throat, finding the locket Mossbeard had given her. She'd taken to touching it in the last few days.

The Great Hall was full of noise. Scirocca entered, ignoring the looks her subjects gave her, as she took her seat at the right side of the Hall. Her lawyer entered after her, gave her a look of pity and confusion, and sat down at her side, twirling his mustache.

People kept pouring through the doors, staring and muttering darkly. She studied Minister Askay Kiaw, the Minister of Justice. He had a bulbous nose and was perpeptually sweating, but they had been relatively close in her childhood. But he'd sentence her to death all the same.

But why should she be scared of death? She'd seen her own father fall at her hands....

"People of Slagvald!" called Minister Kiaw. "We are gathered today to witness the trial of Princess Scirocca Hyrling of the Kingdom of Slagvald...."

He began listing her charges. Kingslaying, treason, kinslaying, thievery, breaking and entering, disruption of a holy ritual...Scirocca tuned him out. Now she felt slightly amused. The Lords and Ladies of the court all looked stunned, and for good reason, too - she'd always been so quiet and obedient....

One by one, her prosecution came forwards. Alchemist Mossbeard had been right: there were twenty eyewitnesses, each of which testified to the same story.

By the time they were finished, the court was muttering so loudly that it took Minister Kiaw several minutes to recover the silence. He turned to Scirocca.

"Princess Scirocca," he said, "do you have anything to say to these charges?"

She swallowed. Her lawyer was staring at her, still twirling his mustache. It occured to her that if she'd talked to him, they'd probably be able to haggle over her sentence. Maybe she could've even escaped death.

But why? she thought. What would be the point of living as a kinslayer? As a traitor and outcast?

She shook her head.

Minister Kiaw stared at her. And then he nodded. "Very well," he said gravely. "Then by the power bestowed in me by the Stone Faith and the Crown of Slagvald...I hereby sentence you, Princess Scirocca Hyrling, to death."

~~

So...where's Jae? What do you think will happen to Scirocca? And we'll have a very special guest in the next chapter. ;)

As usual, please vote and comment! Thanks so much for reading!