Chapter 29
Cai
There was blood on my hands.
They were sticky with it and there was a metallic taste on my tongue. The reflection that greeted me in the mirror was not a pleasant one. Red coated my face and hair, staining it with evidence of what I’d done. Who I’d killed.
I was back in my old rooms. A place that I’d enjoyed spending my afternoons in, with a large fireplace, comfortable bed and beautiful view from all the windows. Now it felt empty and sombre.
Shortly after my fight with Thatcher, the palace had filled with all the loyalist soldiers celebrating our victory. I should have been celebrating too. But I did not feel victorious, despite having won back Mistwood.
I’d lost Elara in the chaos of it all. I’d heard her screaming.
But was she screaming because she was afraid or because she wanted me to stop butchering Thatcher?
I couldn’t have stopped. I was overcome by something stronger than myself.
Something beyond my control. I was possessed by anger and pain and fear . . . or something much darker.
It could not have pleased Elara to watch such a scene play out before her. To witness me in such a way. I was certain she had to be upset by the matter. I remembered the way her voice sounded as she’d called my name.
There was a basin in my room, which I filled from a pitcher. I dipped my hands into the cold water, watching as red swirls of blood changed the colour.
Soap. I needed soap.
I started to scrub my hands, but the blood was everywhere, under my nails, in the creases of my fingers. I scrubbed until my hands felt raw, but still, somehow, they weren’t clean enough. My jacket and shirt dropped to the floor as I ripped them off.
The cold day caused goosebumps to form on my arms, but I didn’t care. I poured more clean water from the pitcher and washed my face before moving on to my hair. So much blood.
I didn’t want to think about what had happened, but the image was as clear as ever in my mind.
I could still hear Thatcher’s voice and the last words he’d spoken.
The way he’d spoken of my mother and Elara angered me still.
The only thing I could see as I smashed the armour into him was the image of him driving his sword through Jack.
I watched it over and over again in my head.
We’d been forced to leave Jack’s body behind and it haunted me. Perhaps it would continue to haunt me the same way today probably would.
There was a time in my life that I thought I’d never stop dreaming of Argon and that battlefield.
But in recent months, every time I’d closed my eyes I could only see Thatcher murdering my family.
I worried that the nightmare would morph into something new and much worse.
Would my slumbers be disturbed by visions of me killing Thatcher over and over again?
Watching as the life disappeared from his eyes and his face became unrecognisable.
I was not sorry that I had ended his life. Not after everything he’d done.
But I was not myself. Something more than anger had taken possession of me. And I had no way of resisting it.
The thought worried me immensely.
Once I was sure most of the blood had been washed off, I had to find Elara.
I hurried out the door as I was putting on a new, clean shirt.
The palace hallways were filled with soldiers. They carried crates of food and weapons into the building, everything we’d brought along with us from the camp. Many of them bowed their heads as I passed.
Somehow, I felt as though I should be the one bowing to them. Had it not been for their sacrifice and loyalty, I would not be walking the halls of my home once again.
I made my way towards the guest chambers Elara had occupied on her previous stay. She would probably want to clean up as well.
The morning sunlight peeked in through the windows.
Had so many hours already passed since we’d arrived?
We had yet to eat today, it being too early when we left the camp.
Elara was probably hungry too. As soon as we’d talked, we would need to find something to eat, and then I needed to start getting matters back into order in the palace. But my first priority was her.
Part of me knew that the conversation to come would not be full of pleasantries. I had asked her not to use the dagger and she did anyway, and she had seen me brutally murder someone we both knew and used to care for.
I didn’t want to believe that the magic of the objects was somehow involved but I could not help but suspect it. Not after everything that had happened today and the way we’d defeated the Argonians. As much as I wanted to believe we were building a strong army, I did not want to be naive.
As I walked at a brisk pace towards Elara’s old chambers, I thought back to the way the dagger glinted in her hands before she’d killed the soldier.
The way she’d been in possession of the necklace as we’d escaped Woodsbrook and all throughout the rebellion.
How we’d escaped death time and time again, despite the circumstances.
And if the objects had something to do with it, what would be the cost?
That, perhaps, scared me most of all, even more than having to face Aries in battle again. Whatever had happened today, Elara and I needed to talk about it urgently.
Or maybe I was looking for an excuse not to blame myself for taking another life. The life of someone I used to call brother. Maybe I did not like the person I was becoming.
I wrestled with all the thoughts in my mind, wondering if it had been the dagger, or if I’d just lost a part of myself that I would never find again.