Page 137

The time is now.

Cressida steps forward.

She leaves the shadow Alvira casts, aligning herself with the Queen. And oh, how she loathes it.

The crowd does not quiet upon her approach to the balustrade, but Alvira does. She looks sideways at Cressida as though she had threatened to throw herself over the edge. A sight, Cressida is sure, many people in Terrsaw would be happy to see.

Cressida fills her lungs, lifts her chin, and quietens the voice within begging her to stop. To step away. “An addition to our celebrations today!”

The upper classes and first waves of the crowd fall quieter, likely taken aback to have her address them. It takes a while longer for the message to ripple back through the town criers. By then, Alvira’s confusion is plain.

But it is only mere confusion she pins Cressida with. Not betrayal. Not yet.

“Terrsaw, we come to you today with news of good fortune! News you’ve long awaited hearing!”

The crowd jostles in anticipation, but it does not break. It waits, breath baited.

“Cressida,” Alvira says quietly, the last sounds floating from her lips as her breath catches. “What–?”

Cressida continues before courage escapes her. “The Ledge-dwellers have been liberated!” she calls to them, the words clear.

They rebound. She sees it as comprehension dawns. As it spreads.

She hears Alvira’s intake of breath, the first prickles of duplicity reaching out to clutch her heart.

“The people of the Ledge have been returned to our lands!” Cressida continues. She feels that window of time narrowing. Will Alvira set her guards on her now and call her insane? Or will she follow where Cressida leads her. Is she capable of doing so? “They wait and rest in the Fallen Village. Reuniting with the home they were taken from!”

Bafflement seems to ring out, suspending time. It heightens as the crowd stares at her, at each other, and then it begins to break. Mutters turn to cheers, wails. They grasp one another, frenzied and jubilant. Parents hoist children into the air. Grandmothers weep. Lovers kiss.

“Never shall we allow our people to be forsaken to the Glacians!” Cressida shouts now and it sounds like a battle-cry. “Never shall we repeat the mistakes of our history! We will welcome our fallen ones back into our kingdom and we will stand together against any who wish to haul us back up that mountain. We are of Terrsaw!”

“WE ARE OF TERRSAW!” the crowd calls back, greater than any chant before it. “BRING THEM HOME! BRING THEM HOME! BRING THEM HOME!” On and on it goes, the crowd dancing to its chorus, exultant.

But Cressida takes little notice. She studies Alvira instead and waits for the ax to fall.

Alvira does not call for the guards. She does not pretend to smile at the crowd with good grace. She merely stares at Cressida, shock and treason colliding.

The Queen does not act, and it unnerves her.

“Alvir–”

But Alvira turns and walks away, her heels glancing off the balcony tiles in quick succession and she disappears behind the curtains that shield the corridor within.

The guards do not come for Cressida. They will remain still until they are given their orders. Cressida follows her wife, abandoning the raucous mob behind her and pushes the curtain aside.

She feels the sting of Alvira’s hand before it leaves her face. Cressida does not reel. She closes her eyes until the ringing in her ear dissipates, but stands stoic, unmoving. When she opens her eyes to Alvira, it is to find tears falling thickly, her wife’s lips trembling, cheeks mottled in high colour.

“You…” she says, stammering. “You…betrayedme?” she barely voices the words. They seem trapped inside her, unable to convey the depth of her pain. Her face crumples and she raises her hand again, surely to lash it against Cressida’s cheek once more but she cannot seem to bring herself to. It sags back by her side again, her arm limp. Alvira turns away from her.

Cressida’s voice trembles, her throat shrieks in pain. She wants to take Alvira’s shoulders in her hands. She wants to kneel before her and apologise, repent.

But she cannot. They are too old for that, anyway.

“Time to face it, my love,” Cressida says shakily, another piece of her heart breaking free. “Time to undo it.”

But Alvira does not turn to face her. She hangs her head and Cressida hears the beginnings of a sob.

They were girls when last she heard Alvira sob. Girls caught kissing in a cobblestoned alleyway. Girls spat on and mocked by bigoted louts with stale breath.One day, we’ll make the rules.Alvira had told her, wiping away her own tears.