“Mama, Mama. I heard there’s a show by the seaside—they’re going to hang people up or something! Let’s hurry and go, okay?”
A little girl tugged insistently at her mother, dragging her toward the docks.
The girl’s smile bloomed sweetly, while her mother, caught between laughter and exasperation, could only let herself be led along.
“Stop shouting, Angie. If you want to watch, then let’s go watch.”
The reckless little girl almost barreled straight into a pair of young lovers huddled together.
Her mother could only apologize hurriedly, scooping Angie up into her arms to stop her from causing any more trouble.
The young couple, after a moment of intimacy, also began to talk about the event.
“Rona, let’s go watch too. I heard they’re going to execute the rebels from the day before yesterday—supposedly dozens are going to be hanged.”
“Alright, let’s go, Rona. Afterward, we can get some fried fish over there—the new shop on the Seaside Boulevard is pretty good.”
Finally, the lovers untangled themselves, holding hands as they headed to the dock.
In the apartment building nearby, a window was open.
An old man watched the scene, letting out a sigh.
“The times have changed. Young people these days… Sigh, what’s so interesting about a hanging? Back in my day, executions with muskets were much more lively.”
Just then, he caught sight of a carriage unmistakably belonging to an elven noble passing down the street.
He shut his mouth at once and quickly closed the window tight.
In these times, elves parading openly in Landingset?
What a joke, who would dare watch that?
Livyat and Tesvelan had also been invited to the execution.
According to Julia, seats in the best spot had been reserved for them.
Apparently, in Landingset, you even needed front-row seats for a hanging.
Having never attended a public execution in this life, Liv felt like an outsider.
“Tess, do you think I’ll have to applaud later?”
“In theory, if you were attending as the Queen in public, you’d have to preside over the execution yourself. According to Republic protocol, it’s the highest honor for a guest to personally announce the condemned’s sentence. Want to give it a try, Liv?”
Livyat shrank her neck, leaning against the side of the carriage in silence.
The stretch between Seaside Boulevard and the docks was already packed with people, though very few carriages had stopped—clearly, it was mostly commoners who had come to watch the execution.
Following the instructions in their letter, Livyat had the carriage stop beneath a tall apartment building.
They got out and handed the letter to the guard at the entrance.
The guard, recognizing the seal, immediately straightened up and respectfully led the two elven ladies upstairs.
“Madam Julia has arranged an excellent viewing seat for you both—it’s on the fourth floor, from here you can overlook the whole execution ground and the crowds below. For your convenience, we’ve prepared a standing telescope—you’ll be able to see the condemned’s faces clearly. Ah, and if you’re interested, we’ve also set aside small silver coins and wrapped bread. If you toss them down, you’ll get quite an amusing show.”
Tesvelan seemed completely uninterested, not even glancing at the guard.
She walked straight to a chair in the back, crossed her long legs, and started staring at nothing.
Livyat opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
After a long, awkward pause, she finally squeezed out a reply.
“Thank you. You may go now.”
After the guard closed the door, Livyat turned to Tesvelan, uneasily seeking reassurance.
“What’s Julia’s intention here? She’s not that kind of person.”
Tesvelan burst into laughter, seeing all of Liv’s worry and unease.
“Have you never attended public events in the Republic? The masquerade parade costs money, tickets for the grand boat ball are expensive. Only watching a hanging is free—and you can catch bread and coins thrown down by the lords and ladies. Guess what the people of Landingset love most all year round?”
Livyat didn’t answer.
She moved a little further away from the window.
After a while, she muttered quietly, “The only entertainment I ever have is reading at the library.”
She said this with a sulky air, refusing to look outside anymore.
Picking up a sugared pastry from the table, she took a bite, licked her lips with her tongue, and shot a resentful sideways glance at Tess.
At that moment, the hubbub at the docks abruptly ceased.
Livyat couldn’t resist her curiosity any longer and peered out the window.
A squad of guards forced open a path through the crowd—now and then someone was pushed over, drawing gasps and cries from those nearby.
In the end, this road secured by armed guards led from the execution ground straight to the innermost berth, where the warship “March 13th” was docked.
The side of the warship facing the shore was scorched black, pitted with bullet holes and cracks.
The prow was smashed in, gun turrets scattered askew across the deck.
It had clearly been through a fierce battle.
Livyat thought of the devastation on Garden Street after the naval bombardment the other day.
Tesvelan still seemed disinterested, but watched Liv with some amusement.
Suddenly, she stood up—startling Liv—reached out and wiped a bit of pastry crumb from Liv’s lips, pressing it down onto her lower lip.
Only then did Livyat realize what Tess was doing.
Her face turned bright red.
She stared furiously as the finger pressed into her mouth, then withdrew.
Instinctively, she closed her lips and swallowed down the lingering sweetness.
“Tess! Stop fooling around.”
Tesvelan just grinned and lounged back in her chair to keep staring at nothing.
Livyat refocused her attention on the scene below. With her elven eyes, she could see clearly as, in the distance, the “March 13th” warship’s prisoners—shackled at the wrists and ankles—were dragged off the deck one by one under the soldiers’ guard, shuffling slowly down the gangplank, each in turn.
Most held their heads high, seemingly unconcerned as the soldiers kicked and cursed them like stray dogs, finally dragging them by their chains to their slaughter ground.
When they reached the center of the crowd, things became even more raucous.
First, a child shouted loudly, “You’re going to be hanged! You’re going to be hanged!” and then screamed.
The lead prisoner grinned at the child, revealing a toothless gum.
Immediately, he was savagely kicked by a guard at the front, nearly dropping to his knees.
The crowd exploded—whistling, clapping, and pelting him with rotten fruit.
But the prisoner seemed unfazed.
He stood up, filthy all over, spat on the ground, lifted his head, and kept walking forward.
The prisoners behind him, careful and awkward, tried to brush off some of the dirt on him with their shackled hands.
Under a hail of curses and kicks from the guards, they were finally hauled up onto the gallows.
More prisoners waiting to be executed stood on the warship’s deck in the distance.
When the first batch of condemned stood on the trapdoors, nooses around their necks, the crowd’s excitement reached its peak.
Several young nobles were at the very front of the gallows, shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Don’t be mute! Say something! You’re getting hanged whether you talk or not!”
“Hey, any last words for the Governor? Or the members of the Committee?”
“I heard important folks from every country are here today—northern, western, even envoys from the Elven Kingdom. Say something nice, maybe your words will spread across the continent!”
The lead prisoner ignored the jeering, and instead shouted in fury, not at the Governor or the Committee.
“Giovanni. Damn you, why are you shaking? I told you, if you cared about your blind mother, you shouldn’t have followed me into this mess. Now look where we are—can’t you act like a man? Folks, I won’t say much. Just one thing, please, take care of Giovanni’s blind mother. Don’t let her starve to death.”
There was a brief silence, then the noise returned, even louder.
Many in the crowd tossed their copper coins onto the gallows with a jangle.
The jeering young nobles even threw up several grosso, shouting: “When the execution’s over, we’ll have the guards collect the money and give it to Giovanni’s mother. You can rest easy!”
The lead prisoner closed his eyes and said no more.
Only when the executioner read their names aloud did Livyat learn the man was Matteo Barbone, ringleader of the mutiny and boatswain of the “March 13th.”
The one with the blind mother was Giovanni Moro, a young sailor under his command.
But none of that mattered now, because in a few moments, they were both dead.
Their bodies swayed on the gallows in the sea breeze, shadows stretching across the dock like five broken masts.
A few minutes later, the next group of ten stood on the trapdoors, nooses set as before.
The executions went on faster now, as the later prisoners stopped holding their heads high, stopped putting up a show of resistance.
They walked like livestock being led to slaughter—ignorant and indifferent toward their own deaths.
It should have been like that, but Livyat noticed a woman among the condemned, struggling to crouch down and pull at her rolled-up trouser leg.
The moment she lifted her head, Livyat didn’t know if the woman saw her, or was just looking for one last glimpse of the sun, but she smiled in Liv’s direction before being dragged onto the gallows.
Livyat stared, transfixed, as the corpse swayed in the wind.
The trouser leg billowed out, but still curled up a little.
At last, Livyat couldn’t stand it.
She retched hysterically, though nothing came up.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her eyes filling with tears of discomfort.
Why, why did elven eyes have to see so clearly?
The rebels who shelled Garden Street—why did they die so cleanly, simply hanged and then their corpses burned and cast into the sea?
Until—until she was pulled into a tight embrace by Tess.
“If you can’t bear it, have all the silver and bread sent to that man’s mother.”
“Tess. Maybe they deserved to die, but what can a few silver coins change? If it were the elves, would they handle it better…”
“No. The elves would do exactly the same. It’s just that hanging sixty people at once is quite rare.”
Livyat stared wide-eyed at Tess, unsatisfied by that answer.
Tesvelan knew she couldn’t give a satisfying answer—maybe that was the real answer.
She sighed.
“Liv, if you truly grasp the power of a queen, make sure the you of today is worthy of the you of tomorrow, alright?”
Liv buried her face in Tess’s shoulder, her voice muffled nearly to nothing.
“I will.”
At that moment, someone on the dock shouted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, kind sirs and madams! Spare a few silver coins, won’t you?”
Outside, the noise swirled.
Inside, it was silent.
Such was the day—July 3rd, 2305 of the Republic Calendar—when the rebels were hanged.