Steel cnging and men shouting warred with the roar of thunder to be heard. The noise grew more distant the farther I walked, drowned out by the shah of rain beating against trees and the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

  Pelting rain blinded me as I made my way up the steep slope. The water turned the ground into sludge, and mud glued me in pce, making each step harder than the next.

  I slogged through, clutching at trees to keep my bance.

  It wasn’t enough.

  I slipped.

  One hand squeezed the bundle against my body while the other wheeled in the air as I tried to keep my bance. Yelping, I fell, nding hard on my side.

  My head snapped down, worry gnawing at my gut. He had to be fine. I breathed a sigh of relief. The bundle in my arm was fine, protected. Not that it made a difference. Still, I clutched it to my chest, humming a broken tune I’d heard from my mother.

  A fresh wave of pain wracked my body, making the previous aches worse. I did my best to ignore it, dragging my free hand across my face, clearing dirt, water, and whatever else clung to me.

  I wanted to sit—to rest, only for a moment.

  I was so tired. But I couldn’t—unsure if I’d ever get back up if I stayed there a second longer. I forced myself to stand, my knees shaky like a newborn colt.

  Opening my mouth, I angled my face upwards and swallowed some water, but it didn’t ease my thirst. Fire cwed at my throat, burning my muscles, veins, and heart.

  It was dark, and the tar-bck sky fshed with lightning. With my eyes on the sky, I searched for a sign or message. There might be something, but I couldn't understand it. All I saw were the shadowy bck forms of the trees closest to me. Maybe that was my sign. I should have accepted the shadows instead of striving to live in the light.

  I shook my head, my eyes falling to the ground. This was more comfortable—my neck wasn't used to being held up.

  I tried lifting my foot, regretting standing there for so long. The mud pulled at my feet as if the world itself were trying to hold me back.

  Rain shing, cold and relentless, the next step was agony.

  Stopping meant sinking.

  Stopping meant giving up.

  Not now.

  Never again.

  I'd found it—fought for it. Freedom—living wasn't possible, but death would be on my terms.

  “Just a little more.” The words comforted me, knowing the end was close. Peacefulness settled where anger and frustration used to be.

  The temple should be near.

  I kept moving, not sure what propelled me. I only had a vague idea of where I was going, driven by desperation rather than logic.

  My next step felt different, easier even though it was harder to move—yanking my foot up and plodding it down. Mud squished between my toes, and rocks dug into the blistered soles of my feet.

  I’d lost a shoe.

  It wasn’t a substantial loss. The clothes I wore were a collection of scraps I found as I wandered the battlefield scavenging from corpses. I'd ugh if I had the energy—it was a far cry from the finery I grew up with.

  A sigh slipped out, swallowed by the yowl of wind whipping through the trees. Finery. Even to the end, I lied to myself. Still, those were better days when the wool covered my eyes, and ignorance was a warm bnket and a comforting touch.

  My body rocked, and the pain was a distant echo, something I knew with aching familiarity but couldn't quite remember, like my favorite dessert, which I hadn't eaten in years. The taste of it was ghostly on my tongue, and the pain was ghostly in my body. I was gd it was gone—both of them.

  I'd be stuck, unable to move, if I remembered either.

  Jaw clenched, I continued forward.

  ***

  I looked through scraggly, water-soaked bck bangs, seeing a dipidated altar.

  I'd imagined something else—majestic, solemn, untouched by time or the world.

  My legs gave out, dropping me to my knees.

  Was I on my knees in supplication?

  It was fitting. We matched—broken down and decrepit, only the desperate seeking us out.

  I wasn’t religious, but facing death, I realized gods existed—they had to. They fucked with my life too much to be anything other than real. I'd unknowingly incurred their ire, or maybe they favored others. Selena, for example. Everyone loved her. I loved her. She was eloquent, gifted, and beautiful. Selena knew what to say and to whom. She knew when to say it, which was arguably more important. She also had the magical might to back her up.

  Not like Jal. Jal was beautiful, but stupid. She didn't understand the value of silence. She lived her entire life hoping someone would hear her, someone would listen. Jal—the illegitimate daughter. Jal—the unfortunate creature born without magic.

  I never escaped that identity. I huffed, ughing at myself. Stop lying to yourself. I'd never tried, not until it was too te. Years ter, it returned to haunt me, and now it is hunting me down.

  The temple stank of piss and strewed about were bones, something having made this pce its home.

  Well, temple was the wrong word.

  It was a cave. Roughly smoothed walls had faded glyphs carved into them. Ancient markings suggested the altar belonged to an old god. I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to know which, and I'd be lying if I said I cared.

  Whoever they were, they were decent enough. I wasn't cold. The whip marks on my back didn’t sting, nor did the burn on my face throb. I wasn't hungry or thirsty—not anymore.

  Only the exhaustion lingered.

  Too tired to stand, I crawled forward, an odd movement, hobbling three-limbed.

  I rested the bundle I'd carried all the way here swaddled to my chest on the altar—peeling away yers of cloth until I saw his beautiful face. His eyes were closed as if sleeping.

  I half expected him to blink and reach his chubby little hand out.

  He was always reaching for me—always happy to see me. He needed me.

  My son.

  The tiny, little, pure thing that came out of me.

  He didn’t have a name. I wasn’t able to think of one when he was born, wanting to choose something perfect, and he passed away before I could decide.

  I refused to do it now—somehow—naming him felt like tying him to me, chaining him to this world. He deserved better.

  Another dry ugh slipped past my cracked lips.

  They murdered him.

  I murdered him. As my stomach swelled along with my heart, I knew he wasn't mine to keep. The happiness—poisonous. The hope—ruinous. My pride—corrupting.

  It would have been better to visit the witch doctor.

  I reached out, to stroke a finger down his cheek, but stopped. He was pale and clean, while dirt and mud caked my hands.

  He shouldn’t have been born—not to me.

  At least they had the decency to poison him. He’d passed painlessly in his sleep. A kindness I didn’t know they had.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice was raspy from disuse. I couldn’t remember the st time I spoke.

  I'd thought myself resigned, but as I looked at him, I wondered about the life he would have had if someone else were his mother. He'd be smart, brave, and kind. My mind wanted him in a field of flowers, ughing. I tried to imagine it, but couldn't.

  I gnced up at the figure carved into the wall. It was hard to tell with how damaged the image was, but she was probably a woman, her garments loose and flowing as she stood by a river.

  I bit my lip, tasting blood. “I don’t know what to say. Please. I’m not asking for myself, but please have mercy on him. I don't ask for much, or maybe it's a lot, but I want him to have a life without pain. He doesn't have to be mine. No, he shouldn't be mine. I don't deserve—please. Please.”

  I bowed down, knocking my head against the ground. I could only use my sincerity to express my desires and feelings. My chest tightened as I thought about what else to say. I should have thought about it before. I knew I wasn't eloquent.

  My thoughts scattered.

  Cnk thud, distinct and familiar. The ment of soldiers. The sound of their armor—like locust wings, pests devouring everything and leaving death wherever they spread.

  The sound got louder—they were getting closer.

  Heart racing, I scrambled back. Arms spread wide to protect him. They couldn't have him. He was dead. They'd won. What more did they want?

  I didn’t think I had any tears left, but my eyes burned as I cried. Vision blurry, I furiously dashed away the tears.

  Couldn’t they leave us alone?

  A fsh of lightning illuminated a figure at the mouth of the cave.

  I couldn’t see his face, but my soul knew him. I trembled, picturing him, that cruel smile half hanging off his lips as he watched me—as he waited. He wore full armor—not a drop of mud marring its gleaming silver surface. There was no crest. That must have upset him, no mark to show his diligence and devotion. A show. Was it too te to realize the part I should have pyed?

  Green eyes gred at me through the slit of his helmet. I stared back, unsure what expression was on my face.

  I felt sick at the trace of regret I saw as his gaze flickered over me.

  Only he entered, but others blocked the entry. They had their swords drawn. Two hands on the hilt, the tip pointed down.

  Bastards.

  They knew what it meant.

  They knew who they were coming to kill.

  They mocked me even in my st moments. A ceremonial stance they never saw fit to perform for me before they did now as I kneeled at their mercy.

  The honor guards send off for their queen.

  “All this for little old me.” My hoarse voice sounded eerie, accompanied by a thunderous roar. My tone was calm, which surprised me. If only I were half as composed during my life.

  The soldiers guarding the entrance weren’t as skilled as the one who entered. They shuffled from foot to foot, sending nervous gnces at each other. I found it funny that they were afraid of me. Or maybe it was the temple. Old gods were notorious for their punishments. Or maybe it was the child's corpse on the altar—war made monsters out of men, but they were still human.

  The green-eyed devil didn't care, though. There probably weren't any sins left for him to commit. “This is the end-”

  “No shit. What else could it be? The beginning?” I said, cutting him off. My hands flopped to my side, and I plopped down, sitting with my back resting on the altar. What was I doing? He was already dead. I’d failed when I was supposed to protect him. Anything now was to soothe my conscience. “Who sent you?” I wanted him to say it, to confirm what I knew, but I also wanted to be wrong. Please let it not be the husband who abandoned me or the father who sold me. Or maybe it's my brother, putting me out of my misery. “Doesn’t matter,” I said before he could speak. “I’m honored they sent a magic swordsman to deal with one half-dead woman.”

  I’d lived my whole life not knowing how much of a threat and nuisance they considered me. I’d been jealous and ashamed that I was less than others because of my birth and ck of magic. Now I found it all pointless.

  “Why did you-” His eyes darted between me and the altar.

  “Not telling you.” I aimed for a singsong tone, but my voice cracked, the words fading at the end.

  He came towards me.

  I eyed him, baring my teeth. I followed his gaze. He wasn’t looking at me.

  I jolted. “Pathetic.” Hand on the edge of the stone altar, I shakily stood. “So terrified of a dead baby. He couldn’t even come and clean up his own mess. He let his p dog do it.”

  He ughed. “Let me? You can’t use magic or fight. Why does his majesty need to deal with you?” Drawing his sword, he thrust it through my chest.

  Mouth open, I looked down.

  It didn’t hurt.

  I touched the wound.

  My vision blurred, and I swayed. With my st bit of strength, I spit in his face. “Did I upset you, dog?”

  He backhanded me, metal connecting with my cheek.

  Hitting the altar, my body bounced and slumped to the floor. Vision blurring, I screamed as he reached a gauntlet-covered hand to my child.

  He startled, turning to look at me. His steps faltered, but only for a second. He turned around, whispering a spell. Fire engulfed the small body resting on the altar.

  The smell of roasting flesh made me gag.

  As he walked past, I reached out, grabbing his greaves.

  He kicked my hand away.

  They completed the salute, swords raised at a forty-five-degree angle, a send-off.

  It turned out it wasn't for me, even until the end.

  I should have lived more freely.