Kyra reached into her belt pouch for four pieces of twine and threaded each one around a plank, tying them into loops. They’d be visible from the side of the wagon, but the wood was rough and uneven in color, and she hoped that everyone would be paying more attention to the prisoner than to the execution cart. She crawled underneath and pulled the loops through, then threaded cloth through them so that two long strips ran along the length of the wagon. She tested whether the strips could hold her, hooking her feet over them and spreading the weight of her chest and torso over the length of her arms. It wasn’t comfortable, but she’d be able to hold on long enough. With those preparations in place, Kyra let go again and settled in for a wait. She didn’t dare sleep, but she curled up under the wagon and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible on the hard ground.
Gradually, light started to filter in from outside. The padlock securing the outside door clanked, and Kyra hurriedly pulled herself up so she was flat against the bottom of the wagon. She saw a pair of boots walk in. Metal clanged as the boot’s owners walked around, rearranging equipment. A few times, he threw something on the wagon, and Kyra felt the thud vibrate throughout the frame. Finally, he pulled the wagon outside. If he noticed the extra weight on the wagon, he gave no indication. He hitched a horse to the front. Then a group of soldiers marched toward the wagon—four sets of booted feet surrounding a pair of bare feet in tattered trousers.
The wagon rocked to and fro as soldiers lashed James to the wagon. The planks above Kyra warped with the extra weight, and she eyed the knots in the cloth that supported her, hoping they wouldn’t unravel. James made no noise, and Kyra’s stomach tightened as a drop of blood landed on the ground.
It was an agonizingly long wait before the wagon finally started rolling. As they came closer to the Palace gates, Kyra heard the roar of the crowd, the anticipating energy. Then they were past it and surrounded by jeering onlookers.
The cobblestones rolled beneath her, about two hand-widths below her nose. Kyra had to be careful not to stare too long at them, lest they make her dizzy. It would be easy enough to get sick here, with her stomach tight as it was. Though she tried to spread her weight along as much of her body as possible, she felt a light numbness through her arms. Kyra flexed her fingers and shifted her weight, doing her best to loosen up. She was waiting for a certain street just outside the merchants’ district, where the road became narrower and the rooftops leaned in close. That was when she would make her move.
It was hard to navigate when she could see only gutters and the occasional building foundation, but she managed to keep track of where she was. The wheels in front of her tossed up stones as they turned, and though she managed to dodge most of them, a few left stinging imprints on her skin. The mud was harder to evade, and Kyra soon gave up on avoiding splatters. Slowly, the wagon neared the bottleneck. Three turns away, then two turns, then one.
Ahead of her, the street narrowed and the Red Shields on either side moved to the wagon’s front and back, though there was still enough room along the sides for someone small to squeeze through. Kyra took one last breath. Then she dropped to the ground, scrambled between the still-moving wagon wheels, and pulled herself over the edge.
The scene hit her all at once. The wagon was in a narrow alleyway. Red Shields stood ahead of and behind it, facing a crowd of men, women, and children along the road. The bystanders pressed in on the soldiers, though their screams quieted as Kyra stood up to her full height. She got her first glimpse of James as she drew her dagger. He was, as she’d expected, lashed to the crossbeams on top of the cart. He was thinner than she remembered. There were fresh bruises on his face, and a patch of blood seeped through his tattered trousers above his knee. But his gaze was still quick. In a split second, he took in Kyra’s dagger, the Red Shields around them, the hanging rooftops, and the hungry crowd around them. Comprehension lit his eyes.
Why should they dictate how we live and how we die?