The carriage wheels bit into the gravel. The dust rose. It choked the air.

Lily pressed her face against the cold glass. She watched the trees slide by. They were bare. They were black. They looked like bones.

"Stop staring," said her mother.

Lily did not stop.

They were going to the Palace. The big house on the hill. The place where the King lived. The place where the rules were made.

Lily held her sister’s hand. Eliza was small. Eliza was quiet. Eliza’s eyes were wide and wet. She smelled of milk and fear.

"We are going to see him," Lily said. Her voice was small. It was not a question. It was a fact.

"Who?" Eliza whispered.

"The King."

Eliza shook her head. "No. We are going to see Father."

Lily looked at her mother. Her mother’s face was tight. Her lips were a thin line. She did not look at them. She looked at the road.

The carriage stopped. The horses snorted. Steam curled from their nostrils. It hung in the air. It did not move.

The driver opened the door. The air was cold. It cut through Lily’s coat. She shivered.

"Go," her mother said. "Do not speak unless spoken to."

Lily stepped down. Her boots hit the stone. It was hard. It was cold.

The Palace stood before them. It was gray. It was huge. It looked like a mountain. It looked like a tomb.

Two guards stood at the gate. They wore blue coats. They wore white gloves. They held long spears. The spears pointed up. They pointed at the sky.

Lily looked at the spears. She thought of thorns.

"Names," one guard said. His voice was flat. It was dry.

"Lily Ashworth," she said.

"Eliza Ashworth," her sister said.

"Enter," the guard said. He did not move. He did not look at them. He looked at the door.

They walked in.

The hall was empty. It was big. The ceiling was high. It was lost in shadow. The floor was marble. It was white. It was cold under their feet.

They walked. Their footsteps echoed. *Tap. Tap. Tap.*

They reached a door. It was black. It was wood. It was thick.

Lily pushed it. It opened. It made a sound. It was a groan.

Inside was a room. It was round. The walls were covered in tapestries. The tapestries were old. They were faded. They showed kings. They showed battles. They showed blood.

A man sat in the center. He sat in a chair. The chair was high. The chair was gold.

He was not the King.

He was older. His hair was white. His eyes were dark. He was thin. He looked like a bird. A raven.

"Ah," he said. "The Ashworth girls."

Lily stood still. Eliza hid behind her.

"Who are you?" Lily asked.

The man smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was a sharp smile.

"I am the Keeper," he said. "I keep the records."

"We want to see the King," Lily said.

"The King is busy," the Keeper said. "The King is with the Council. The Council is deciding the fate of the land."

"What fate?" Eliza asked. Her voice was high. It was thin.

The Keeper looked at Eliza. He tilted his head.

"The fate of the poor," he said. "The fate of the hungry."

Lily stepped forward. "Father is hungry. Father is sick. He needs help."

The Keeper laughed. It was a dry sound. Like leaves crunching.

"Your father is a thief," he said.

Lily felt heat in her face. "No. He is not."

"He stole from the King's stores," the Keeper said. "He took grain. He took flour. He took bread."

"He was starving," Lily said.

"He was a criminal," the Keeper said. "And now he is in the dungeon. And you are here. To beg. To plead."

"I am not begging," Lily said. "I am demanding."

The Keeper leaned forward. "Demand? You? A child? A thief’s daughter?"

Lily’s hands shook. She clenched them. She made fists.

"I demand justice," she said.

The Keeper stood up. He was not tall. But he looked big. He looked heavy.

"Justice," he said. "Justice is a word. Words are cheap. Gold is heavy. Gold is real."

He reached into a drawer. He pulled out a paper. It was yellow. It was old.

"This is the decree," he said. "Signed by the King. Your father will be hanged at dawn."

Lily stared at the paper. The words blurred. She could not read them. They were just lines. Black lines. Like wounds.

"No," she said.

"Yes," the Keeper said.

"You cannot," Lily said.

"I can," the Keeper said. "I have done it before. I will do it again."

Eliza pulled at Lily’s sleeve. "Lily. Go. Please."

Lily looked at her sister. Eliza’s face was pale. Her eyes were full of tears.

"I will not leave him," Lily said.

"You will leave," the Keeper said. "Or you will join him."

Lily looked at the Keeper. She looked at his eyes. They were dead. They were empty.

She turned. She walked to the door. She opened it.

The hallway was dark. The shadows moved.

She walked out. She walked down the stairs. She walked to the gate.

The guards were still there. They stood still. They did not move.

"Let us go," Lily said.

The guard looked at her. He looked at the Keeper in the window above.

The guard nodded.

The gate opened.

The cold air hit them. It was biting. It was sharp.

They walked to the carriage. The carriage was waiting.

Lily’s mother was inside. She was reading a book. She did not look up.

"Did you see him?" her mother asked.

Lily did not answer.

"Did you get the decree?" her mother asked.

Lily sat down. She put her head in her hands.

"Yes," she said.

Her mother closed the book. She looked at Lily. Her face was soft. It was kind.

"Good," she said.

Lily looked up. "Good?"

"The King is merciful," her mother said. "If we are quiet. If we are good. If we forget."

Lily felt a chill. It went down her spine.

"Mother," she said. "What are you saying?"

Her mother smiled. It was the same smile as the Keeper. It was sharp. It was cold.

"I am saying that we are safe," her mother said. "As long as we are silent."

Lily looked out the window. The trees were still. The dust was still.

She looked at Eliza. Eliza was looking at her.

"Do you know?" Lily asked.

Eliza nodded. Her eyes were dry. They were hard.

"Mother knows," Eliza said.

Lily looked at her mother. Her mother was looking at the road. Her hands were folded in her lap. They were still.

Lily felt a anger. It was hot. It was bright. It burned in her chest.

She looked at the Palace. It was disappearing. It was shrinking. It looked small.

She looked at her hands. They were clean. They were soft.

She thought of the grain. She thought of the flour. She thought of the bread.

She thought of her father.

She closed her eyes.

The carriage moved. The wheels turned. The dust rose.

It choked the air.

It did not clear.

It stayed.

It stayed.

It stayed.