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"Yes," I agree. "We'll meet you outside once we've said goodbye to Elena."
Mercedes and Judge walk out the front door, and Antonia meets us in the foyer, offering us her most reassuring smile as Ivy and I glance at each other and back at our daughter. It's our first time having to leave her, and neither one of us wants to do it. But The Tribunal is no place for a baby, and especially not today.
"I will take care of her as if she were my own," Antonia promises. "She will be in good hands."
“And I’ll be here to help,” Eva calls out, appearing from the corridor and walking to Antonia’s side to join her. “We’ll be the babysitting dream team. Don’t you worry.”
Ivy and I both laugh and then reluctantly place Elena into Antonia’s arms.
"Thank you both, in that case."
We say our goodbyes, Ivy teary-eyed, and then walk out the door.
43
Ivy
I am so anxious I’m shivering with it. Santiago takes off his jacket and puts it over my shoulders. He leans in, squeezing my hand, his expression closed off, body tense. He’s anxious too.
“It will be okay.”
It won’t. Not really. But it will be what it has to be. This part of the trial is only a formality. Abel’s fate has already been decided. Today, we will learn if his death will be a peaceful one or not. And for all he’s done, for all the hurt he’s caused, for all he’s stolen, for the lives he’s had a hand in ending and the damage to our families and countless others, I don’t want this for him. I don’t.
The trio of Councilors are seated in their place above all of us, dark robes on, hoods up, faces in shadow. Three grim reapers. Jackson is across the courtroom in formal attire.
Santiago told me for his part, for not having come forward sooner with his knowledge of Holton and my brother’s involvement and the names of the others, he paid a fine. The way he said it makes me wonder in what currency. I have a feeling it was flesh. But he has been reinstated to his post as advisor to The Tribunal.
Mercedes is sitting beside Judge in the row below ours.
My father is seated on the other side of me. He is older now. It’s expected after all that’s happened. The physical and emotional attacks have taken their toll. But I think it’s this last piece, sending his son to the gallows because that is what he’s done, which has turned his hair white.
I squeeze his hand, and he looks over at me, his eyes shiny. I want to tell him it will be okay, but it won’t, so I don’t. I’m saved by having to say anything when a door opens, and two men enter. Masked guards in formal dress. Between them stands my brother, and I have to put my hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp when I see him.
Santiago tenses beside me, his grip on my hand tightening just a little.
It’s been months since I’ve seen Abel. Almost half a year. He’s spent part of that time on the run, and part of it in a Tribunal cell. I wonder if Judge’s accommodation for me was a luxury compared to where my brother has stayed.
The guards walk him toward the dais where he has to take the steps up one at a time. His ankles are shackled together by heavy, ancient-looking chains. They clang as he sets his hands on the bannister, the links dangling from the cuffs on his wrists connected to those at his ankles.
He is wearing a sheath similar to the one I wore when I stood in his place accused of his crime. The thought should harden me, but it doesn’t. He’s still my brother. And even if he weren’t, he is a man facing his end. And a part of me cannot make sense of it, cannot accept it.
Santiago and I have spoken about Abel’s sentence at length. He will be put to death. There is no way around it. And for Santiago, he has made a concession in allowing The Tribunal to mete out the punishment and the execution. After all, he is the man responsible for the deaths of his father and brother. For the injury to him and the subsequent emotional injury to Mercedes. Abel is the one who literally lit the flame that caused the explosion. And even as that is enough, there is what he did to Hazel and Michael and to me.
But I tell Santiago, at least on that last part, he could have done more. He could have run me over, ensuring my death and the death of our baby, but he did not. He stopped, and he drove away. I don’t think I’ll ever know if that was a conscious decision. I haven’t been allowed to talk to him. And when I bring this up to Santiago, he counters with Abel’s last-ditch effort to save himself when, while I lay in a coma, my husband was escorted to The Tribunal’s halls and accused of being the mastermind behind it all. Abel had somehow fabricated evidence to prove his statements. My father had saved Santiago. He had given up his own son to save another, a man who was always a better son to him than his own blood. And I wonder if that blow was harder than any other to my brother. Or maybe he was too far past that and had reached the point of no return. Because my father once again chose Santiago over him.
