“Yes, Your Majesty,” came the chorus. Vischuno pointed at a subordinate, silently commanding him to guard the stairs and lift. Jularra nodded her approval. It wouldn't do for Keleah to slip away while they searched.
They spent a great deal of time on the first floor, consisting of a kitchen, a shared space used as a spicery and saucery, a small reception chamber, and a small library. The queen and her accompanying guards went from room to room, slapping open cupboards and kicking over chests. Guards knelt down to rummage through cabinets, tossing out pots and leaning inside to look. From across the floor, Jularra heard muffled shouts of “No!” or, “Not here!” as each guard confirmed that Keleah was not to be found.
As Jularra’s hunters searched for their prey through the second and third floors, their pace quickened, but yielded the same result.
The fourth floor was the height of relaxation and comfort. The rooms here were reserved for visiting heads of state. Every extravagance was imagined and realized: fireplaces, tapestries, paintings, gold and bejeweled fixtures, engraved mantles, and countless other luxuries adorned every room on this floor, and while every nook and crevasse was searched, sniffed, and scoured, Jularra's guards proceeded especially deliberately as they hunted amid the luxury. Still they found nothing.
The slinging of furniture and linens came to a rest. As the queen and her guards filed out of the fourth-floor rooms, the silence and rising tension allowed Jularra’s adrenaline to spike. The fifth and top floor of the tower was her private residence, and was the most likely place for Keleah to have stuffed herself away if she hadn’t slipped out of the city in time.
Jularra thought about trying to calm herself, but it was a mixture of excitement and unbridled rage that carried her toward the stairwell. She nodded at a Spire captain to ascend to the fifth floor, then looked to Vischuno. “Watch that no one makes it to the stairs.”
She turned back to the rest of the group. Her emotions ebbed and flowed with anxious spikes of anticipation.
“Keleah is a traitor. She conspired with Latham to bring war to Morganon; to harm our people, our families. But no one is to kill her. Bring her to me.”
Jularra swept her arm up and around, signaling her men and women to move up the stairs before her.
As she reached the top floor, she bent her head down in a silent, final command to Vischuno. The understanding was firm and clear. No one would pass him.
In the first room—the changing room Jularra used to disrobe after the official duties of her day had concluded—men and women were already tearing open the wardrobes, grabbing clothes by the armful and tossing them on the ground.
Jularra stepped back out into the corridor, fists clenched. She hadn’t felt overwhelmed by such energy or anticipation before, or at least not in recent memory—not even at Leona’s. She pounded the stone wall of the hallway and screamed, pushing the pain of grief and helplessness out through her throat. Her cry echoed down the corridor and into the other rooms.
“Keleah!”
As chairs and other materials launched out from rooms into the hallway, the queen and her rage marched deliberately down the hall. Guards shouted at others for help moving wardrobes. Sliding beds. Flipping tables. The traffic in and out of the rooms rivaled that of Morganon’s busiest markets. Jularra would occasionally stop to let her Bedrock and Spire pass by, and fester in her rage.
“Leave nothing unturned! Leave no space unexamined! Everything can be replaced! Find her!”
While looking into one room to observe the progress being made in it, Jularra was startled by an exclamation from another.
“Your Majesty!”
Jularra stopped, still peering into the room she had been inspecting.
“We have her!”
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Keleah’s impending death. The shouting guard slung debris out of the way and stepped out into the hall. Keleah was dragged out after him and presented to the queen. As soon as Jularra saw her, she scrambled over, stumbling over the mess in the hall, eyes focused on the girl's wrists.
“I’m sorry, my queen,” a guard offered. “She cut herself just as we noticed her. We couldn't get to her in time to stop her.”
“Tie her arms off and stop her bleeding,” Jularra snapped at one of the Spire holding Keleah.
The guard reached apologetically for one of Jularra's strewn tunics, which she tore and began to tie tightly around the bleeding girl's upper arm. The queen watched Keleah, and her voice lowered into an almost nurturing monotone.
“You will bleed only how I wish you to bleed.”
The Spire tore the tunic again and started on Keleah's other arm.
Jularra looked her maid up and down. Keleah’s clothes were badly wrinkled, and the bottom of her skirt had more dirt than might be expected after even a month of continued wear. Must’ve been hiding for a while. The queen’s eyes returned to her wrists. Her brow wrinkled.
“What did she cut herself with?”
The guards exchanged glances. The one who had initially proclaimed Keleah’s capture returned to the room.
Jularra took another step closer to Keleah, listening as the guard kicked and tossed items out from around the bed. Keleah shivered as Jularra stared into her eyes. The guard stepped back into view and approached, offering the implement to the queen hilt-first.
“Looks like it was this dagger, ma’am.” It was the dagger Jularra had presented to Keleah just months before.
“How could you?” she asked softly.
“Morganon has fallen. I can die a happy—” Keleah started, but Jularra whipped around, smashing Keleah's cheek with the back of her fist.
“Hold her mouth open,” Jularra ordered.
One of her Spire clenched her fingers around Keleah’s jaw. A Bedrock kept her head still by holding it under his armpit like a vice. With Keleah restrained, Jularra reached in to grasp her tongue, pressing the sharp knife blade against it.
“No,” Jularra said through the beginnings of the girl's screams. "No," Jularra
