Chapter 4
4
I stood by Rachelle at the end of the semicircle of prisoners as roll call came to a close.
“Morning, Saffron,” Rachelle whispered to me as the same guard from yesterday called out names as we filtered into the circular space. “Get some good sleep in your new home?”
“Best night of sleep I can remember,” I said, earning a giggle from her at that.
Then, a hush settled over the group. I followed everyone’s gaze to one of the stone staircases, where twenty guards escorted Tristen down to the ground floor of the silo. He prowled down the spiral staircase, iron bands at both his arms and his ankles, darkness trailing in his wake as if the power dampening bands barely contained him. His powerful frame nearly brushed the weathered stone walls, each step a dance of predatory grace.
Rachelle let out a low whistle. “Damn, if he wasn’t a murderer I would totally jump his bones. He’s so hot.”
Tristen’s deep obsidian eyes landed on mine while a knowing smile played at his lips, filled with dark promises.
Rachelle noticed just as I averted my gaze. “Uh oh, does the Assassin have eyes for you, Saffron?”
“It doesn’t matter if we’re all going to die, does it?” I asked, gritting my teeth. Tristen was a heartstopping sight, and the feminine part of myself couldn’t deny that. But I had also seen a wedding band on his left hand. There was no room for fantasizing about a married killer when I was here to try and escape with my life.
When Tristen joined the semicircle across from me, the guards seemed nervous to step away from him, crowding all around him as if ready to spring into action and try and take him down.
“Call off your hounds, Commander ,” Tristen said in a bored tone, his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.” The threat was delivered in his honeyed voice, extra sweet to get under Callum’s skin.
Callum glared. “You’ve lost, Assassin . Your capture will send a clear message to the separatist rebels of Stormgard that the time has come to rejoin Luminaria. You’ll either die here or live long enough to become a traitor to the rebel crown. The will of the gods always prevail.”
“The gods’ will means nothing,” Tristen said to a chorus of surprised gasps from the other prisoners—who clearly feared the gods I knew nothing of. In response, I swore the ground below us let out a low rumble. “Not only are they trapped beneath the soil of this cursed island, but they only seek to use this cruel bloodsport you call trials to free themselves of this island and conquer the world once more. The gods want nothing more than total destruction. Mark my words.”
Whispers rippled through the other prisoners, and Callum closed the gap between him and Tristen. Callum unsheathed his sword, bringing it to caress Tristen’s neck.
“You forget. I carry out the will of the gods here, Assassin,” Callum said, drawing a thin line of blood from Tristen’s neck with his sword.
“Go ahead. I like it rough,” Tristen said with a wink.
Bloody murder shined in Callum’s eyes, but he pulled away and sheathed his sword as the metal doors behind him started to creak open.
“Attention! The King arrives,” Callum called, the guards letting out a unified stomp, standing up straight. “All kneel for His Majesty, King Owen West, Wielder of Ilumia’s Light, Savior of the Kingdom of Luminaria, Defender of the Fallen.”
Callum stepped back, and turned to the open doorway, kneeling. The other prisoners did the same. I caught on and followed suit. On one knee, I watched King West enter the silo’s ground floor, flanked by several decorated guards in white uniforms with gold trim.
King West looked no older than thirty-five years of age, and he strode in like an aristocrat used to wearing a heavy crown and all the jewels that came with mastering the art of politics. His beauty was soft, and he had dark brown-gold hair like the color of spun straw that had heated into gold. He looked regal, but lacked the kind of rough brutality that Callum and Tristen and some of the other prisoners had in spades. He was no warrior, that was clear by his milky smooth skin. His body had not seen hard labor. He was decorated royalty through and through.
“You may rise,” King West said, his voice like music. With the sound of scraping boots and iron, we rose on his command. “As you all know, the trials are due to start in just a few days’ time?—”
“Please,” the woman with huge buglike eyes said, throwing herself at his feet. “Mercy! I beg of you, Your Majesty. I beg for mercy.”
King West paused, looking at the woman at his feet. The guards tensed, ready to jump in and restrain the prisoner, but they waited for their king’s reaction.
“Please,” the woman wailed again. “I don’t belong here. I have a family. Children?—”
“What is your crime?” King West asked, low and quiet.
With a hitching breath she looked around, and then back at the King. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“That he was a guard. I…”
“What is your crime?” the King boomed.
The woman flinched. “Murder. I didn’t realize it was a royal caravan?—”
“You were just trying to rob any merchants who crossed your path, just not those from my court, is that correct?”
“Yes. No. I—I have children I need to get back to. Hungry mouths to feed?—”
“Anyone else looking for mercy?” the King asked, looking around.
I felt Callum’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look his way. But it didn’t matter, the King caught Callum’s gaze.
“Commander Wells? Is there something you’d like to tell me?” King West asked.
“No, my King,” Callum said simply.
But King West was already walking over to me, curiosity in his gaze. “Is there something you’d like to ask me?”
I sucked in a breath, ready to do what Callum suggested. The smart thing. The safe thing. Begging for mercy so I could live instead of die.
But as I opened my mouth to speak, it was not my voice that rang out across the silo.
“She does not, because she doesn’t deserve your mercy,” a smooth, dark voice said from across the room. All heads whipped to Tristen, who leveled a harsh gaze at me. Those dark obsidian eyes flashed with that same intensity.
“Excuse me?” King West asked.
“You do not recognize the face of The Lord Killer after so many attempts at her capture?”
A hush settled upon the entire room. Then, it was immediately broken by frenzied whispers. The prisoner on the other side of me shuffled away slightly as if recoiling from my presence. To her credit, Rachelle didn’t flinch away, but I felt her eyes on me, watching my reaction. Even the King dropped his chin, an eyebrow raised.
“I was not informed by The Order that The Lord Killer was within the walls of my prison.”
“Then you have a High Sorceress to punish, don’t you?” Tristen said. “You’re looking upon the most lethal serial murderer of all the realms—one who seduces and kills her male prey in all matter of… creative ways.”
My heart dropped. The Lord Killer. I couldn’t be a murderer. Could I be?
“Those are baseless rumors,” Callum stepped in. “My liege, we do not know the true identity of The Lord Killer. Saffron can’t be her. She’s an innocent daughter of a baker—one who should be excused from the trials.”
King West slowly turned his head to Callum, studying him. “Commander Wells, since when do you speak for the prisoners? Let alone, know their names?”
Even wearing his stony demeanor, I saw the slight wince that cracked Callum’s facade. My heart skipped a beat. Callum was wading into risky waters for me, and I almost wanted him to stop—to protect himself against whatever punishment would surely follow for this.
“Please, Your Majesty, show mercy.” Callum bowed his head with respect.
“I’ll be her mercy. Leave it to me, my King,” said the meaty man who had made a pass at me yesterday. He sneered at me from down the line, licking his lips. I clenched my fists, trying to keep myself from stalking over and punching him in the face—despite him easily being two or three times my size. The others were whispering and snickering, and I still felt Tristen’s heavy gaze on me as the prisoners sized me up.
“Silence!” King West bellowed, stunning the group into quiet as he continued, “From the light of Ilumia herself, I am here to issue a warning and a promise. The Isle of Embermere and The Ash Trials never fail to provide us with the hero that Luminaria needs to win its battles against the rebels intent on slaughtering our families and children. As quelling the rebellion grows more challenging, you have an opportunity in these trials. You can leave here not just a warrior, but a hero amongst our people. Maybe this will be the year that the prophecy will come to pass, and the one will rise who will silence this revolution once and for all, uniting the Kingdom of Luminaria again with its wayward brethren of Stormgard. Together, we will find peace. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”
A roar of cheers erupted from some of the more violently inclined prisoners. I stole a glance at Tristen, who was watching the King with narrowed eyes.
An assassin for the rebels , I remembered. Of course he wasn’t thrilled by the King’s speech—he was on the other side of the fight.
Beside me, Rachelle straightened as King West briefly gazed at her, a half-smile on his lips before he turned away. Before I could whisper a question to her about it, King West crossed to the shuddering woman who had begged for mercy earlier. “Do you still wish to forfeit the trials?”
“Yes,” she said, and the King inclined his head toward one of his royal guards to lead her away from the line.
The King leveled his gaze at me. “I would have considered a plea of mercy from an innocent villager, perhaps. But from The Lord Killer? You will need to find your own brand of mercy in the ring.”
Snickers emanated from the rest of the prisoners, but they kept their distance. Did I now make them uneasy with this new reputation? I looked over at Callum, but he was glaring daggers at Tristen, who had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. The bastard had just ruined my chances of escaping the trials—and gaining the King’s mercy.
“Take her to the surface,” the King said to the royal guards, who escorted the woman to the doors behind us. “And may Illumia be with you, contestants.” King West nodded and turned, walking back to the doors, flanked by his guards.
As the King and his cadre left the silo, my heart dropped.
I was officially a contestant of The Ash Trials—and perhaps I had even unlocked part of my past. A past where I was The Lord Killer—so monstrous that I was not worthy of mercy, only disgust.
Had Tristen been telling the truth about who I really was?