Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
The only peace in this world walks alongside Death.
Then I will kill Death to have my peace.
- King Richard
The crowd buzzes with a sickness for revenge.
Shouts for justice and insults fly through the air, battering me along with the four bombers I’m escorting to the square outside of Kholar’s castle.
Their thirst for blood is insatiable, forcing my guards to push them back as they try to reach the stage that’s been erected for today.
Jace walks silently beside me. As the head of my security, his presence is required.
Otherwise, he’d be with my wife. Instead, Fabia has been left with her, along with two fully-masked Echos that are guarding her door.
Nicholas and the twelve Court members’ seconds are attending the debate we had scheduled.
Like with my wife, I try to keep him away from these events. He doesn’t have the heart to watch.
Nor does he have the strength to look me in the eye the next day, and I don’t ever want my queen to fear me like that. To look at me with that guilt and judgement and terror.
“You killed my son, you fucking bastards!” a member of the crowd shouts.
A rock flies through the air and hits one of the bombers on the forehead. She bares her teeth at the crowd, but her missing tongue doesn’t let her speak. The other two women keep their head up, but the male cowers and cries as the people scream at them.
“Child killer!”
“Rot in Niflhel!”
“May you catch the gods’ attention!”
“Harsh,” Jace mutters about that last one. It is not a good life even for those who are blessed by the gods. Just look at the werewolves who are moontouched, born with Artemis’ favour.
We stop in the middle of the square. The prisoners are tied up to four poles, their backs to them, their wrists and ankles tied with witch’s snares – thin golden chains imbued with unbreakable magic.
I glance at the members of my Royal Guard who were at the market that day. They stand in the front row, behind the guards holding back the crowd. Evangeline’s ants are here too, no doubt, taking people out silently if they seem to be causing too much chaos.
This needs to be a moment of community. Of coming together over a common enemy.
King Dravr and his people stand with my Royal Guard, as do the Razian families who lost their loved ones.
Lifting my gaze to the buzzing crowd, I say, “The four you see before you have been charged with treason by FI-9 for bombing the market, killing seven Razians and nineteen Vylians. They’ve been sentenced to die by justifier.”
The male bomber babbles with his missing tongue, trying desperately to argue his case. Or perhaps to beg forgiveness for his actions. Seeking mercy where there is none.
The others hold silent under the shouting of the crowd, holding on to the only thing they have left – their dignity.
But even that will soon be taken.
I glance at one of the guards on my left, and she steps forwards with an open box. The justifier sits on a silk bed of purple fabric – five black metal claws to be put over each finger, connected by thin chains to secure it to one’s hand. Purple ravens have been painted onto each claw.
Pulling it out, I slip the device onto my left hand. As I latch its black chain around my wrist, my queen’s soft, pink eyes appear in front of me. Accusatory. Disgusted.
“He’s not a monster like you!”
The memory of her words cut deep.
Nicholas’ eyes join hers – unable to look at me even though he’s been raised in this life. Even though he knows I am merely doing my duty as king.
It will destroy her to see me like this.
Will it destroy us?
The chain secure, I flex my fingers, making sure none of the claws will slip off. Giving myself time to hesitate. To not cross this line that Arienna will cry over.
Even though they’re guilty, I know she will cry for them.
My sister’s eyes now haunt me too.
Her last moments.
She’s laughing at something Nicholas said, sitting beside me and Jace. I didn’t hear the joke nor her laughter though. That memory is too damn silent.
Pure, unforgettable silence – even when she accidentally knocked over her glass of ambrosia.
Her eyes were light with laughter as she poured herself another.
She looked at me as she drank it, somehow knowing that that meal was to be her last. She wasn’t supposed to know.
I’d wanted her to pass blissfully unaware.
But if I’ve learned one thing in this world, it’s that life is never fair.
It wasn’t to me.
Or Aurelia.
Or Jace.
And it will not be to my queen.
Moving to the side, I step in front of the male bomber. I look into his terrified blue eyes, letting them override all the ones inside me. As soon as the pink set fades, I lift my hand and take my fist’s share. For Saragese. For peace.
His mouth opening wide, he thrashes beneath the claws as they rip into his abdomen. Flesh and guts drop to his feet as I pull the justifier free. Stepping from one prisoner to the next, I take my fist’s share.
As the crowd cheers and the victims scream, only silence burns in my ears.
Turning to King Dravr, I remove the claws from my fingers and offer him the device.
He takes it without hesitation. Stepping forwards, he sinks his fist into the first woman’s chest, digging past her ribs and into her lungs.
He snaps her bones as he rips his way free.
Then he works methodically down the line from left to right.
“He’s not a monster like you.”
Arienna’s words break through the silence encasing me. My heartbeat increasing in rhythm, I recall her staring up at me with tears and terror in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Dickie. I love you.”
Aurelia’s silently mouthed words as she took her final sip can’t erase the guilt on my shoulders. Nor can it soothe the fear that Arienna won’t be able to handle this.
If my queen was here, would she take her own life after just to be rid of the nightmares? Or would she not even make it to the end? There was over a hundred people that was owed their fist’s share. The bombers would barely be recognisable as people by the end of it.
Undoubtedly, she would no longer look at me as if I’m her entire world, as if I’m someone capable of being loved.
I will never get to hear her say those three little words again.
Three little words I have gone my entire life without hearing. But now that I’ve heard them… I can’t lose that.
I can’t lose her to this fucking life.
Not even to Aurelia’s dream.
I’ll burn all of Raza to stop her from becoming queen.
Shoving my thoughts down, I focus on Saragese.
One moment at a time.
Jace is next, followed by every member of the Royal Guard that was there that day. Echo takes her share last. Then she passes the bloody claw to the first civilian. It’s the man who tried to attack me at the market, the one who lost his son, Sias, to the bombing.
Bawling his eyes out, he raises his hand to one of the women’s eyes. His arm shakes as he touches her flesh. His sobs vibrate along his entire body, and his lips move with words I do not hear. But his body language speaks loudly enough. He doesn’t have the strength to go through with it.
A second later, he drops his arm. Screaming, he tears the justifier free and drops it on the group. Stumbling off the stage, he cradles his arm to his chest, holding it and the guilt and the pain he carries.
Before the next person in line can move to pick up the device though, a little boy, roughly eight or so, pushes at the guards.
Echo orders them to let him through, and he runs for the justifier.
Scooping it up, he shoves it on his tiny hand.
The man turns around and screams at him, but Echo steps in front of him, saying something. He sags against her. She does not move.
He has every right to his share.
With none of the hesitation his father showed, the boy reaches up and rips out the woman’s eye. She folds in on herself, whimpering and shaking, her body going into shock as half her face hangs off her. The witch behind her pushes more magic into her, healing her just enough to keep her conscious.
He goes down the line in a fury of rage for his dead brother.
Tearing out the biggest chunks he can. Ripping off the man’s dick.
Taking another fist until he has to be pulled back by another guard.
His father holds him as he cries. But the boy rages, wanting to get free, wanting to continue to share the pain his body is too little to contain.
I look away, waiting for the next person to take their turn.
When the last fist of flesh is clawed free, the justifier is cleaned and placed back in its box. The bombers hang limp and silent, blood pouring across the stage. Bones and organs and chunks of fat and skin cover what the blood does not.
I walk off the stage, red spraying with every step. King Dravr joins me, and in this moment at least, our people are united.
But I know what he’s thinking. How can I not when I’d be planning the same in his shoes?
My people are too bloodthirsty. Too untrustworthy.
When he leaves Raza, he will prepare for war. My spies will pass along that information. The Court will twist his attempts to defend himself as an act of agression.
And within a few days, weeks, months perhaps if we’re lucky, we’ll be enemies once more.
Why do I keep fighting for change when nothing fucking changes?