No, she would never be surrendered by her people.
But she could surrender herself.
It had been a hard decision, one she had not made lightly, but at least the thought of surrendering herself had diverted her thoughts.
Throughout the day she had been plagued by the memory of the gardens, of Leon’s hands at her throat, of Baroness Magrida’s screams as her son lay dead. Where the woman was now, Janessa had no idea. Conveyed to her rooms, no doubt, to be consoled by handmaids and watched over by guards in case she sought to harm herself … or someone else.
Janessa could not bring herself to feel guilty for it. Magrida had brought her son to the palace. Had seemingly been unaware of his complicity with Amon Tugha. She deserved everything she got. Besides, a resentful noblewoman was the least of Janessa’s concerns now.
She had a decision to make, and she had to make it quick. Could she trust the word of the Elharim? If she gave herself over to him would he really spare her city? Or would he simply allow his Khurtas their sport?
And if she did not go, was she condemning the city to destruction? Would it, could it, manage to stand firm against the hordes arrayed against it? Was it only a matter of time until the walls fell, until the Khurtas came flooding in to burn and rape and destroy all before them?
Surely there were enough dead already. Surely the walls of Steelhaven were littered with enough corpses. If there was any chance that her sacrifice could save the life of just one of her people then she should take it. She had a responsibility to this city and everyone within its walls. Just the barest chance that it could be saved if she surrendered herself to Amon Tugha was more excuse than she should ever need.
Janessa stared at the Helsbayn, and then at her armour on its stand. Inside she knew she should have donned them to face Amon Tugha; that she should appear every inch the warrior queen as she stood before him and presented herself to his mercy. But she knew she’d never be able to get out of Skyhelm that way. Instead she donned simple clothes and put a cloak about her as she had done a hundred times before.
The palace corridors were all but deserted as she made her way down to the kitchens and out through the servants’ entrance. By now she knew where every Sentinel in her retinue would be. Everyone else was in their chambers, waiting for the outcome of the siege, or gone, run away to escape their fate. There was no one to stop her as she stepped out of the palace, cloak drawn tight over her head, and the Sentinels on the gate paid her no mind.
For a fleeting moment she felt sorry for Kaira. Faithful, dedicated Kaira. A woman who had devoted herself to Janessa’s protection. She would bear this loss as a personal burden. Janessa could only hope her bodyguard would understand this was for the greater good. That any chance, however slim, to save the city was one that had to be grasped.
As evening began to darken into night, Janessa made her way north into the city and her determination to go through with this mad plan was only hardened. Steelhaven was in pieces. Buildings torn apart, voices weeping in the early morning, the wounded groaning for succour when it was clear nothing could be done for them.
She passed a group of weary-looking soldiers sharpening their blades, every one of them showing a wound of some kind, their eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Not one of them glanced at her as she walked past, biting back her tears. The stench of the unwashed was almost unbearable. The stink of sweat and death.
As she made it to what was left of the Stone Gate the sight became no less despairing. The portcullis was a mess of twisted iron, the gate a pile of blackened kindling. The defenders had done their best to build a rudimentary blockade from old carts and piles of debris, but it looked unlikely to hold once Amon Tugha’s hordes attacked once more. A serjeant barked orders for more stone as exhausted-looking bannermen continued to fill the hole in the breach.
Just to the left of the gate several wounded soldiers sat beside one another, one of them leaning against his neighbour, his face a mask of blood and dirt. Janessa made her way towards them, her cloak pulled tight about her to hide her red curls. If she was recognised now the game was most definitely up.
A water bucket sat to one side and she picked it up, dipping the cup into it and offering it to the first wounded soldier. He took it gratefully, handing it back with a nod when he had finished. Janessa worked her way along the line, all the while glancing towards the open gate as she made her way closer. When she reached the last wounded soldier she put down the bucket and walked towards the gate. She resisted the urge to run; to do that would only draw attention to her. At first it worked, and she felt her heart beating faster as she made her escape. No one said a word until she was under the shadow of the battlements. Then a voice called out.
‘Oi you! Stop!’
Janessa broke into a run, sprinting through the gate, ignoring the carcasses still lying outside, ignoring the stench and the smoke haze that cut through the night. She ran on into the dark as voices called after her, but no one followed. To try and escape with so many Khurtas surrounding the city was suicide and no one would risk their lives to come after her. For all they knew she was a frightened commoner, not the queen of the Free States.
She stumbled through the dark. To the north glowed the light from the vast Khurtic encampment. If she just kept going, if she demanded to see Amon Tugha, if she gave herself to him, this would all be over. Every corpse she tripped over, every arrow that snagged her skirts, reminded her that this was the only way. The fighting had to stop now, and only she could end it.
The bodies and detritus thinned out the further north she went. With every step Janessa expected to be assailed from the dark but there was no one waiting to attack. The closer she got the more she felt the dread growing within her but she never once thought to turn back.
This is the only way. There is no other option than to gift your life to Amon Tugha.
Khurtic voices pealed through the dark before she saw the sentries. They were silhouetted on the ridge above and Janessa only hoped they would see her coming and not skewer her on their spears as soon as look at her.
She let her cloak fall to the ground as she made her way up the hill, the chill of the night air raising bumps on her flesh. One of the sentries spotted her as she came, shouting a quick warning to one of his comrades. They stood side by side, their spears held out defensively. Whatever they had been waiting for to come from the night it was obviously not an unarmed woman. The first Khurta glanced to the other uncertainly as Janessa made her way into the light. They spoke again but she had no way to understand them.
‘I am Queen Janessa Mastragall,’ she said, trying to sound confident, trying to stay strong, but her hands were shaking so much she had to clench her fists. ‘Amon Tugha is waiting for me.’ Janessa gestured towards the camp.
The Khurtas barked at one another, one of them waving his spear threateningly, despite the fact he had no one to fight. Janessa held her hands out, trying to show she was no threat, that she had only come to surrender, but the face of the savage in front of her showed he was in no mood to accept.
He lunged forward with his spear, aiming at her heart, and Janessa had no time to move.
A shadow broke away from the dark, along with the sound of steel cutting the air twice in quick succession. Before she could draw breath, a figure stood in front of Janessa, one hand holding the severed tip of the Khurta’s spear, the other a straight silver blade spattered with blood. The Khurta fell without a sound as the second sentry backed away in fear.