I pass what I can only assume is the night in restless fits of wakefulness, unable to find a comfortable position on the floor. Giving up on sleep, I force myself to my feet and test my strength, pacing back and forth and stretching my near-useless limbs. The skin on my back pulls and chafes with each movement, but I grit my teeth and force myself to breathe through the pain, working until I can move from wall to wall without showing any discomfort.

I rattle the iron bars on the door, then lean my forehead against them. How different would things have turned out if the rebellion had been a success? Would Meg have made a good queen? Would the districts have united? Would there have still been injustice, war, famine? The wasted possibilities cycle over and over, throbbing behind my temple. I rub the ache and cross back to the opposite end of the small cell, gingerly easing myself down into a seated position. Inevitably, my mind turns to Will.

Isolation is relentlessly unforgiving. All this time spent alone with my thoughts has driven me madder than Harmen's questioning ever could. Now, with nothing ahead of me but death and nothing behind me but darkness, I have finally been forced to see through my own veil of stubbornness. I've spent the last five years dreaming of vengeance, flitting about the rooftops in a vain bid to exist outside of the monarchy. I've robbed people, invaded their homes, taken advantage of them, betrayed their trust. I've hurt people in order to fuel my own, selfish agenda. Yes, I've been hurt, but I could never consider myself innocent.

I think I now understand why Will couldn't tell me about his part in my parents' deaths.

We are both victims of a hopeless goal, single-minded to a fault. What I did to Meg was really no different from what Will did to me. Considering how much it pained me to come clean to the Princess after so many weeks of wrestling with guilt, I can only imagine what Will must have gone through.

Try as I might, I can't rectify the guard in my parents' smouldering flat with the person I came to love. Will and the murderous guard are two entirely different people. One is a boy, abused and angry. The other is a fighter, his every move planned and precise. The only thing connecting the two is a rebellious nature. Will has changed, I am certain of that.

I'm also certain that no one has a hope of capturing his heart, not so long as he has a cause to aim for. It's hard to fault him for that, as he was never anything but upfront about his plans. It would be foolish of me to think I could ever matter more to him than an opportunity to change the world, not when I am unsure of what I would do if our situations were reversed. In moments of complete hopelessness, I may have imagined him bursting through that door to rescue me, but now those fancies have all but faded away.

My past mistakes rain down upon me as I wait to hear the sound of footsteps echoing through the tunnel. When they finally come for me, I am tense but controlled.

A key turns noisily in the cell door and it swings open. Lieutenant Griss strides purposefully into the cell, a satisfied sneer curling the corners of his cruel mouth. He signals and two guards step around him. I allow the men to hoist me to my feet and pull my hands behind my back; with some effort, I try to keep my spine straight and refrain from flinching as they bind my wrists.

"This is it, Runner," Griss says, brandishing a torch. I wince at the bright light and unsettling warmth. "I hope you had a good night's sleep; there is quite the crowd waiting for you."

"Must be a slow day," I say, grimacing as the guards finish tying me and grip my arm firmly.

They escort me out of the cell and down the tunnel back toward the gaol entrance. We ascend to the surface, the worn steps proving a trial for my tired legs. The gate guard waits by the front door and I notice that the bruise on his head is now fully healed. He pushes open the heavy door and I am instantly blinded.

I blink as I am pulled out of the shadows and into the sunlight. The powerful rays cloud my vision, shocking after so many days spent below ground. I am dimly aware of our direction, recognizing it as the same route I took when escorting Marc and the other prisoners to freedom. Unfortunately, my solo journey will be considerably shorter.

Gradually, the world swims into focus. I first become aware of the chatter of seemingly hundreds of people, all crowded into one place. There is a path cleared for our procession, leading up to the centre of the square. Guards are stationed on all sides of the expansive yard, ever stoic as they keep the way clear from the surging mass of nobility.

My eyes dart from side to side as I am dragged forward; I search wildly for a familiar face. I catch sight of the ladies-in-waiting, many of whom hold lace handkerchiefs delicately to their lips while they stare at me in wide-eyed disbelief. Among them is Hawk Nose, her pointed snout trained directly on me and a knowing look of satisfaction etched across her narrow features.

I tear my eyes away from the crowd and look straight ahead. A scaffold has been raised in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded on all sides by what seems to be every courtier in the City. I vaguely recall walking this path with Meg, clutching her arm and giggling as we shared confidences. Now, I draw my shoulders back and raise my chin as we march, holding onto the small shred of dignity I have left in knowing that my habit of betraying my friends ended on the day I destroyed the library.

The steps to the scaffold shudder from the impact of the guards' heavy tread. When we reach the top, I am pulled roughly into place. Ahead of me is another raised platform, shielded from the afternoon sun by an embroidered, blood-coloured canopy. The King and his advisors are granted the best seat in the house.

The King is in fine form today, swathed in ceremonial robes and with an ostentatious gold crown circling his high forehead. The medals decorating his vest have been polished to a fine sheen and wink boastfully in the bright sunlight. He sits rigid in his seat, positively seething while Griss steps up next to me, joined shortly thereafter by Harmen's ramrod-straight figure and a gold-bedecked herald.

Shadowed between the guards, Harmen and Griss, I stare out across the square, every one of my sore muscles contracted in an effort to make myself appear as tall and solid as possible. I lock my knees and clench my teeth, forcing myself to stop trembling.

The sheer number of people is overwhelming. Members of a sophisticated, genteel faction, all of them shifting and jostling for position as they crane to get a better look at the accused. My eyes flick back and forth over the swell, scanning the upturned faces in a vain effort to locate a friend. The eyes staring back at me are at times blank, curious or horrified, but every person is firmly rooted in place, prepared to watch the show but unwilling to take part.

The King rises slowly, causing the elderly Board members to scramble to their feet. Gradually, the murmurs subside and an eerie silence falls over the crowd. With ceremony, the herald steps to the front of our platform, facing the King and unfurling a parchment in a dramatic flourish. He clears his throat once before projecting his strong voice across the square.

"Kay Knight, commoner. Accused of treason, conspiracy, destruction of crown property, assault, impersonating a noble, obstruction of justice, kidnapping and theft. The prisoner has been found guilty of all crimes and is hereby sentenced to death, by the will of his Majesty, King Francis." His part complete, the herald takes a solemn step back.

My weak knee begins to shake at the prolonged standing and I fight to keep it straight. I glance down at my feet, for the first time noticing the wooden block placed before me. The pierced surface is pocked with dozens of chips and stained with a brown, tacky substance.

"Kay Knight."

I slowly raise my head. The King has risen to his feet, his cold, black eyes boring into mine from his place above the crowd.

"The acts you have committed against the crown and its people are unforgivable. It is with a heavy heart that I must sentence you to a traitor's death." His booming voice drips with benevolence and from the corner of my eye I can see several members of the crowd nodding their heads in grim agreement.

"May you die with a dignity that so eluded you in life," he continues, clearly revelling in this moment. "Wherever you end up, I hope most assuredly that it is a place of peace."

My hands clench into tight fists behind my back as I swallow the urge to spew a litany of curses straight to his remorseless, arrogant face. Instead, I conduct another sweep of the gathered spectators in a last-ditch effort to spot something, anything, that could suggest I'm not alone.

The King lowers himself back into his chair, sitting regally as he nods his assent. My arms are gripped and I am pushed to my knees, crouched above the block.

This is it.

No one is coming.

I fight instinctively when they try to position my neck over the rough surface of the block. Adrenalin courses through my veins, disguising the pain in my back and shoulders as I am wrestled into position. My every muscle is tensed while my heart beats with the desperation of a bird rattling its wings against a cage.

The hum of the crowd rises to a feverish level in my upturned ear. Someone gathers my hair and brushes it to the side, allowing a conspicuously cool breeze to brush the sensitive skin of my neck.

With my eyes trained on the floor of the platform, I spy Harmen's familiar shiny boots. He moves to stand in front of me, exchanging a few words with Griss. Their conversation is lost as I become awash with a high, buzzing noise, feeling nothing but the furious, heavy pounding in my chest.

Something cold touches my neck, lightly. That must be Harmen's axe, testing the placement. Taking one last, deep breath, I ready myself and squeeze my eyes shut. I think of Will, Meg, my parents, my brother, my friends.

Moments pass and I feel nothing. There is no pain, no oblivion. I remain perfectly still, waiting.

After what seems like an eternity, I crack an eye open. The ringing in my ears fades as I fight to focus and bring myself back to the present. From somewhere in the distance I can hear Griss shouting orders and I become aware of the pounding of feet on the platform beneath me. The arm holding me down against the block has slackened and I chance rising back to my knees, blinking in confusion and struggling to take in the scene.

The people in the crowd are pushing against one another, panicked looks on their faces as they stampede back to the Palace. The guards have withdrawn their weapons and are fighting their way through the current of screaming courtiers. Across from me and high above the swelling crowd, I can see the King being hurriedly escorted down from his throne.

A shadow passes over my head and the guards' grip digs painfully into my shoulder. I crane my neck upward, squinting at the massive shape floating slowly across the sky and blocking out the sun. Griss yells something indistinguishable and several guards loose their arrows at the airship. There are more screams from the scattered crowd, lost among the chaos of hundreds of terrified people trampling through the courtyard.

I blink the spots of light from my vision, my head spinning. The great silver airship is now directly overhead and moving lower. I can make out the arrows bouncing harmlessly off its hard exterior and in the recesses of my mind register Griss shouting something about fetching anti-air weapons. I ignore him, my gaze completely focused on the giant hatch attached to the airship's underbelly. It has opened and several ropes have dropped through the hole, dangling around us.

Harmen reacts immediately, jumping off the platform and scurrying back toward the Palace. The guard holding me seems to fare somewhat better, recovering his wits and yanking me to my feet. I stumble, my eyes never leaving the sky. A single, unidentifiable object falls from the open hatch down to the ground and all at once we are enveloped in a thick, choking cloud of smoke.

The unfortunate people still on the ground hack and cough, their panicked footsteps increasing in fervour as they claw their way indoors. My lungs burn and I force myself to take slow, shallow breaths through my nose, thankful that the raised platform allows for a low ceiling of fresh air. I watch as people appear above the ropes and start rappelling down from the airship. The strangers are dressed in dark clothes with black scarves pulled up high over their faces.

"Hold her!" Griss orders from somewhere below me, his voice hoarse among the smoky chaos. I am pulled roughly back toward the platform steps and I dig my heels in, struggling against the guards' grip. Someone grabs my other arm and I thrash, kicking out at them as I fight to stay in place.

The platform reverberates violently in reaction to the airship-rappelers' landing. The invaders advance on us, swords drawn. My bad knee twists painfully and I am dragged further back. One of the guards releases me to unsheathe his sword and swing at the attackers. His thrust is blocked easily and he is promptly thrown from the platform into the cloud of smoke.

I look back up. One of the strangers has reached us, his sharp gaze darting toward me. I instantly recognize the pair of steely grey eyes above his black scarf. He brings his sword up and I duck, throwing myself to the side just as the guard's grip on me loosens and a choked moan escapes his lips. I land painfully on my arm and roll instinctively out of the way of the falling guard. He crashes to the platform, his eyes wide, staring at me in an expression of utter shock as a small line of blood trickles from his mouth.

Someone grasps my arm gently and helps me to my feet. The bonds circling my wrists are cut and I gasp at the sudden sensation of circulation returning to my extremities. All around us, people are rappelling down from the airship, touching down on the platform with a practiced precision and jumping to the smoke-filled ground. The sounds of battle ring out below me, stemming from every direction. From the way the rebels expertly wield their swords, I can guess that these are Will's comrades from his time spent in the Wastelands.

I whirl to face the man behind me, feeling a relieved smile stretch across my bruised face. He pulls his scarf loose, gently wrapping it around my head so my mouth and nose are protected.

"Quite the entrance," I tell him. "I never took you for a showman."

That half-grin. "It's not my show, Runner. It's yours."

Will hands me my father's dagger and throws an arm around me, covering me as we rush down the steps of the platform. We descend into the thinning cloud of smoke, joining Marc at the base of the platform. Marc holds off the guards easily, thrusting and parrying expertly. From here, I realize there is a full-scale battle exploding on all sides of us, airship soldiers engaged with Palace guards in savage fights for their lives.

What the rebels gain in skill they lose in numbers. I turn in place, realizing with a heavy sense of dread that we will soon be overpowered.

"Can you run?" Will yells to me over the din.

"Always," I reply.

He nods grimly, drawing his sword and joining Marc as they fight back to back, forcing a path for me back toward the Palace. Too weak to do much more than clutch my dagger and stick close, I crouch and duck my way over the spilled bodies, averting my eyes from their anguished faces.

The air stings with the lingering effects of the smoke bomb. The battle presses in closer and closer, sending us off route. Someone knocks into me and I fall to my hands and knees, crying out as my bad leg collides with the hard stone path. Will appears at my side instantly, pulling me to my feet while Marc shouts something incomprehensible, his words disappearing into the swelling fight. I gasp again, hissing through the pain, as Will's arm snakes around my back.

There are too many guards. A sea of crimson overwhelms the sparse amounts of black. I can tell Will has noticed as well, by the way his arm tightens around me. This time, I don't notice my injuries, lost amid the sinking sensation of inevitable defeat.

"Where are they?" Will murmurs.

I glance up at him, confused.

At that moment, there is an almighty banging from somewhere within the Palace. My gaze snaps over to the glass walls of the Great Hall. Shouts and hollers echo from inside, rising to a deafening volume until there is a sudden, earth-shattering crash. The beautiful glass walls of the Hall splinter and break, exploding outward as a swell of people spill forth.

My eyes widen at the sight. Common men and women flood the courtyard, roughshod weapons raised savagely as they run into the foray.

Members of the King's guard continue to file out from every corner of the Palace, pooling together in the courtyard and crashing into the wave of rebels like oil meeting water. The air fills with screams and the iron taste of blood.

Our people carry an assortment of weapons, mostly pitchforks and shovels but ranging up to all manner of swords. My eyes search wildly, terrified that at any moment I will witness the death of someone I know.

"In here!" Marc yells, slashing a man and shoving him to the side as he beckons us through an archway and into one of the Palace halls. I stumble on the tiled surface and Will adjusts his grip. I tug my scarf down to breathe in the fresh air while I concentrate on moving forward.

"We need to get her out of here," Will shouts at Marc.

The cavernous halls ring with the sounds of people screaming and running for safety. I am jostled painfully as we make our way against the flow of the crowd, Will's hold tightening as he pulls me forward determinedly.

Eventually, we arrive at the grand staircases. I recognize the formerly beautiful white couches where Vitrola once greeted myself and Will. The pristine furniture now lies trampled and broken.

"Shit, they're coming," Marc curses over his shoulder, looking back down the hall.

"There's a servants' passage over there." I gesture vaguely. "You can stash me in it."

"That's not a bad idea," Marc agrees, looking to Will.

"Absolutely not. I'm not leaving her again." Will shakes his head furiously, his sword tense in his free hand.

"You won't stand a chance against them with me slowing you down," I reason, straightening and standing on shaky legs. "Use your head, Will. I'll be fine—I've made it this far."

"Make up your minds!" Marc's voice is tight, his shoulders bunched as his gaze darts between us and the approaching footsteps.

A growl of frustration tears from Will's throat and he hobbles with me over to the tunnel, gently pulling my arm from around his neck as he helps me into the passage.

"Stay here," he orders. "I mean it."

Obediently, I step around the corner. I catch one last glimpse of his concerned grey eyes before he draws away, back down the hallway where the sounds of battle ring out.

I stand with my back to the wall, quaking unsteadily as I listen to the fight. The riot seems to be coming from all sides of me, echoing off of every nook and cranny.

There is the sound of heavy footsteps behind me and I whip my head around to look over my shoulder, straining to see through the darkness. Silently, I shuffle further into the tunnel, ears perked. I poke my head around the corner, widening my eyes when I see the pair of figures near the dead end.

The King has his back turned to me, his hulking frame stooped in the narrow space. Harmen is with him, hurrying the King along, a short sword clutched in his hand. When the men reach the end of the corridor, the King reaches out, seemingly searching for something in the brickwork before he presses on a protruding bit of stone. To my astonishment, the wall swings inward with surprising force, revealing a darkened passageway beyond.

"Quickly, your Majesty." Harmen ushers the King through the hidden door.

He makes to follow but the King puts out a hand, pushing the Inquisitor back.

"Where do you think you're going?" The King is careful to keep his voice low. "My Palace is overrun with traitors, Harmen. Your duty is to take care of them."

"With all due respect, Sire, I should remain with you. For protection." Harmen speaks uneasily.

I press myself flush against the wall behind me, willing the shadows to swallow me whole. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my parents' murderer is scared. My fingers furl more securely around the hilt of my dagger, my injuries forgotten.

"Don't be a coward. You were my captain of the guard not so long ago, weren't you? Get out there and fight. That's an order." There is a rustling of clothing as the King pushes his way through the narrow pathway. "Harmen?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"The Runner cannot leave this Palace. Make sure she is dead, or don't bother finding me."

"Yes, Sire."

A deafening slam fills my ears as the door swings shut. I wait, counting my breaths while I listen for the echo of Harmen's approaching footsteps. My dagger-wielding hand trembles as adrenalin courses through my veins, readying me and igniting me with a heat I have not felt since the night of the fire.

An eternity passes and finally I hear the slow shuffle of hard-soled boots striking floor. Harmen draws closer and closer to my hiding place, his ragged breaths now reaching my ears. I remain as still as my battered body will allow, my every sense honed in on the ever-lessening distance between us.

A shadow passes my shoulder and I lash out, aiming for his neck.

Harmen reacts quickly, his mouth opening wide in shock as he twists away. I stumble, thrown off balance by my badly overestimated strike. The narrow tunnel keeps me upright, but now I find myself in plain sight of my opponent.

The point of his sword glints in the low light. I use the small space to my advantage and duck down low, throwing myself into his knees as sparks fly overhead from the impact of blade striking stone. We tumble to the ground and I shout out in pain, feeling my back tear as he fights to throw me off him, both of us scrambling for the sword in his outstretched hand.

I swipe blindly with my dagger, lacking the purchase to deliver a blow but managing to distract Harmen for long enough to pin his wrist beneath my knee. He is clutching the hilt of his sword in a vice-like grip and I try fruitlessly to pry his fingers loose, making another wild jab with my dagger.

Blackness, and then a powerful ringing fills my ear, followed by a white-hot pain. I collapse onto the floor, hands clutching my head as Harmen pushes me off him and scrambles to his feet.

I barely regain my senses in time to roll out of the way, yelling out when my back collides with the wall. Harmen spins in place as I push myself up; I stumble in my haste to clear the reach of his blade. I feel the rush of air against my face as I fall back a step, then another.

Even if I could outrun him, this tunnel will eventually end and I'll be trapped against a solid wall.

Or rather, not quite solid.

Harmen also seems to have realized that my options are steadily depleting. His mouth stretches into a tight sneer, his shiny teeth catching the last of the flickering torchlight. He takes his time in planning his next strike, angling his body and preparing to swoop a wide arc.

I take advantage of his exposed side and kick out, connecting solidly with his ribs. He utters a grunt of pain as I turn and sprint toward the dead end, my mind working feverishly to conjure a plan.

There's nowhere to run.

I glance over my shoulder, eyes widening as Harmen hurtles toward me. I sidestep, faltering on my bad leg, and slam into the false wall. My arm stings and I register the sticky feeling of blood trickling down my skin; in the next moment, I release a startled gasp as strong hands wrap themselves around my throat.

Harmen's sword clatters to the ground as he chokes me, his eyes bulging and his teeth gnashing. I struggle desperately in his grip, clawing at his wrists while my vision spots. He dodges the pathetic swipes of my dagger easily, his creepy smile growing wider and tighter with each passing second.

The Inquisitor's face swims before me, morphing from one type of psychosis to another. Before there was the measured sureness of a captain sent to execute my family. Now there is a madman wearing the triumphant look of someone who knows he's already won.

"I should have killed you down in the dungeon," his voice growls near my ear. "Kind of you to grant me the opportunity to correct my mistake."

I grope blindly at the unforgiving stone behind me, searching, unable to utter a sound.

"How disappointing. Five years of waiting for revenge and now you're going to die at my hands. Just like your parents." Harmen's grip turns impossibly tight and I feel my knees crumple. Blackness encroaches on all sides, coaxing me down into the inky abyss. "I've wasted too many chances to kill you, Kay. Not this time."

Not this time.

My palm finds the loose brick and I press down hard, angling my dagger while a mechanical click sounds from the secret room behind us.

Harmen's eyes widen as the hidden door springs open and the force hurtles us into the wall. I keep his gaze locked with mine, watching at the moment of impact.

"Another difference between you and me," I rasp. "I only needed one chance to kill you."

He stares at me, confusion and fear written across his face. Gradually, the light dims and he slumps forward, staring blankly at my dagger, buried up to the hilt in his chest. His hands slip from my neck and fall to his sides, dangling limply as the life leaves his body.

I gradually become aware of my own breathing, the ragged inhales turning into great hacking coughs. I yank my dagger free and slide out from between the Inquisitor and the door, collapsing to my hands and knees. This time there is no cloud of red, no all-encompassing rage to drive me past the point of no return. Instead I feel nothing, only a cold indifference and newfound resolve. Wiping my blood-soaked hand on my ruined tunic, I glance up, looking directly into the blackened entryway to the King's secret tunnel.

I should go back. I should find Will and the others, tell them that the King has come through here.

But he could be long gone by then, vanished into the Wastelands or any number of underground passageways. I have already wasted precious minutes grappling with Harmen; time spent fetching help could mean the difference between the King's escape and his most deserved end.

The shouts and clamour of the fight reverberate in the distance as I make up my mind. I get to my feet and ease my way over to the hidden entrance, averting my eyes from the crumpled body of the former Inquisitor. If the King escapes justice tonight, then this will all have been for nothing.

Clutching the dagger tightly in my shaking hand, I take a single step forward into the darkness.