34. Mercy
34
MERCY
“ G ods be damned ,” Wolfgang says harshly under his breath. His voice is rough and it wakes me from a deep sleep. “Mercy,” he adds, pulling at my arm. “Wake up.”
My first instinct is to knock the wind out of him, but I’m immediately distracted by yesterday’s events tumbling back into my awareness, demanding I replay every little thing in excruciating detail.
I ignore it, just as I ignore the aches throughout my body when I sit upright in bed with a huff. My heart falls into my stomach and I let out a small—but embarrassing—squeak when I realize who is standing at the foot of the bed.
“I thought I made myself clear last time we spoke,” the Oracle says with severity. Her white hair cascades to her hips, stark against her black robe. “I did not wish to visit again.”
Both Wolfgang and I scramble out of the covers, awkwardly standing on either side of the bed wringing our hands as if we’re two teenagers caught sneaking around.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Wolfgang blurts out.
I shoot him a searing glare but say nothing, my attention quickly returning to the Oracle.
Her pointed gaze slides slowly from me to Wolfgang, her eyes narrowing as if trying to read our minds. I find solace knowing she can’t—as far as I know—do such a thing.
“Yesterday’s attack could have been avoided. The gods are not pleased,” she states, carefully clasping her hands together. “If the co-rulers of Pravitia could cease their navel-gazing, maybe they’d discern what is happening right under their noses.”
I ignore the offense throbbing in my chest and ask, “Which is?”
“I do not care to repeat myself,” she answers gruffly. “Handle this, or our gods will handle it for you.” She turns to walk out of the bedroom and from over her shoulder, she adds, “It is safe to leave, the others will be waiting upstairs.”
Silence falls, her footsteps quietly receding into nothing.
“Unsettling creature that one,” Wolfgang mutters, heading for the wardrobes, a slight limp to his gait. I watch him riffle through the clothes hanging inside and let my bitterness build into an angry pulsating thing before I pierce the silence with sharp words.
“This isn’t what it looks like?” I spit out, “Seeking absolution are we, Vainglory?”
Wolfgang swivels around, eyebrows raised in surprise but he quickly fixes his expression, his eyes colored by the taunt in his tone. “We are too far gone for absolution, I’m afraid,“ he answers with a wary lilt. “Besides, she is not the one we should fear, Crèvecoeur.”
“And who should we most fear then? The gods?” I ask irritatingly as I cross my arms.
The question is rhetorical.
Wolfgang’s face turns serious, allowing the tension to coil dangerously around us before he speaks. “Each other.”
The meeting takes place in the same room as the Conclave. There’s a chill in the air when I walk in, Wolfgang by my side. It skitters across my skin like a cold shiver. It’s as if the memory of Alina, Aleksandr’s mother, lingers here. Like a ghost she haunts us. A reminder that we have failed her. Wolfgang and I have failed everyone in this room.
My gaze lands on Belladonna first, sitting at the table opposite the entrance. She sends me a small reassuring smile before my attention is stolen by the presence of the one I was worried about the most.
“Gemini,” I say, breathing out a sigh of relief as I hurry over to him. “You’re alive.”
His eyes twinkle with humor before he stands, and I pull him into an embrace. “Of course I am, love,” he says reassuringly into my hair, his arms squeezing my waist tightly. “A hug, Mercy? My, my … how a threat to our lives has changed you.”
I blink back the unwanted moisture in my eyes and try to shake off my show of weakness while giving him a small slap on the arm. “I thought you were dead, you snake.”
He hums, dropping back into his seat. “Need not worry about me, love.” He shoots me a wink. “I’m an indomitable force.”
A giggle coming from the corridor has me turning toward the door. Constantine appears, back in her usual pink garb, sitting in a wheelchair with her left leg propped up in a bright pink cast while Aleksandr pushes from behind.
“Tinny,” Wolfgang says, worry etched across his face, “You should be resting.”
“And miss out on having the whole gang together?” she says without an ounce of seriousness in her tone. “I’m fine.” She shrugs, looking slightly miffed. “I’d be walking if it wasn’t for Sasha.”
“You’re badly injured, Tinny,” Aleksandr responds with exasperation as if this is not the first time he’s reminded her of that fact.
“I don’t feel hurt,” Constantine replies, a small pout on her lips. Aleksandr groans, a hand raking over his face and mustache while he continues to push her wheelchair up to the table with the other. When she’s settled, he sits beside her, and all attention suddenly shifts to me and Wolfgang.
I’m aware that the six of us know the realities behind our co-rule. There’s no need to keep up the charade of our united front behind closed doors, but my first instinct is still to stand beside Wolfgang so the image of us together solidifies as a known accepted truth.
However, I hide my surprise when Wolfgang pulls a chair out for me, and I wordlessly sit as I give him a small nod as a thank you. I wait for him to settle next to me before speaking.
“Who would even dare to do this?” I ask no one in particular.
“It must have something to do with those pamphlets,” Wolfgang answers, seemingly lost in thought.
“What pamphlets?” Belladonna and Aleksandr ask at the same time.
I press two fingers to my temple, before waving my hand dismissively. “A few weeks ago, we were informed of pamphlets circulating—” I pause, quickly glancing over to Wolfgang before continuing, “Calling for an uprising.”
“Against us ?” Constantine chirps, her bewildered look telling me she might very well believe that we’ve done nothing to merit this kind of hostility.
Belladonna’s green eyes narrow. “And you didn’t think to warn us?” she asks, her tone harder than I’m usually accustomed to hearing from her.
“We didn’t think …” Wolfgang trails off, his gaze landing on Aleksandr, whose eyes flash with quiet grief. His voice is softer when he finishes his sentence. “That anything would come of it.”
“Well,” Aleksandr mutters softly, looking away. “It certainly has.”
Offering my condolences is at the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to find the words. I’ve never been the one to care about someone's feelings toward the death of a loved one.
Clasping my hands on the quartz table in front of me, I sweep my gaze to the four sets of eyes staring back at me.
“The executions,” I say with less authority than I expected. I clear my throat and start over. “The real reason for them was because of a play, Wolfgang and I stumbled across it by chance. It was a reenactment of this year’s Lottery?—”
Wolfgang cuts me off. “I’m afraid, there’s a rat in our midst,” he says with a prim jut of his chin. I discern by his haughty air that he wishes not to linger on the details of the Lottery, and I concede with zero resistance. “I’ve had Dizzy and my people look into it but they’ve found nothing yet.”
“Who says it’s not Ditzy herself,” Gemini drawls, his eyes glossed with suspicion.
Wolfgang’s lip twitches, his fist slamming on the table. “Who says it’s not the two-faced trickster sitting in front of me?” he volleys back, his disdain for my friend fueling his defensive words.
“ Me ?” Gemini says, elongating the word in mock outrage. He laughs, holding out his hand in front of him as if admiring his black-painted nails. “Don’t flatter me, Wolfie.”
Knowing this will only end with Wolfgang launching himself across the table to tackle Gemini to the floor, my hand lands on his thigh. The effect of my touch is instantaneous, his body visibly relaxes. I almost recoil from the weight of my influence on him.
“We need everyone’s people looking into this. The sooner we find who’s behind this, the sooner we can eliminate the threat,” I say.
Heads nod in agreement but Aleksandr interjects, “What about Tithe Season?”
“That’s not for another—” I begin to answer.
“It’s next week.”
I fall silent, embarrassment washing over me. As the ruler of Pravitia, I should be on top of these things— not Aleksandr. Time is slipping through my fingers like blood from a fresh wound.
So many moving pieces; so many things to think about … I suddenly need some time alone with my thoughts before I do anything rash like needing someone to talk to.
“Tithe Season is a sacred part of Pravitia’s history,” Wolfgang declares. “We can’t show weakness — especially now. It will go on as planned. The bombing was clearly an attempt to hit us all at once. As long as we stay in our respective neighborhoods during it and reinforce security, I believe we’ll be safe.”
“Gods be willing,” Belladonna mutters, avoiding our gazes.
There’s a small beat of silence before Constantine speaks.
“I need your blood,” she says, seemingly out of the blue.
“What?” I ask, my eyebrows dipping in confusion.
She sighs as if I’m being deliberately dense. “The ritual?” she presses. “The vials were broken in the bombing. I need to collect again.”
“But what about the eclipse?” Wolfgang asks, shifting in his seat. “The ritual demands it.”
Constantine waves us off. “Your blood was still spilled during the eclipse, I’m sure the gods will understand. This is for my personal collection.” Her smile is fiendish. “It’s tradition.”
We fall silent, and I give her a nod.
The meeting adjourns not long after. The reality of us having broken a divine law and perhaps being the cursed force behind these events hangs above Wolfgang and me like a guillotine threatening to sever both our heads.
But we speak nothing of it.
A secret we must harbor alone.