Chapter XLIII Rolling
XLIII Rolling
Without realizing what I’m doing, I turn to look at Magnar, letting him— only him—see my despair. I’m a failure. I’ll never have the council’s respect. I’m a useless queen, useless wife. Good for nothing.
As if he’s only waited for a sign from me, Magnar rises fluidly and comes over. The crowd falls silent when he grips the back of my head as he tilts it, supporting the crown so it doesn’t fall off. He leans in, bowing low to reach my lips, and gives me a slow, tender kiss.
“Do you want my help?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“Good. You did wonderful for your first time, my prize.”
He straightens and walks down the steps, and I stare after him, blinking from shock. Wonderful? I failed. In the past, failure always meant punishment.
And yet… Magnar is pleased with me.
He stands in front of the shaking boy, cocking his head in thought. The crowd is silent, thick tension filling the room. I watch with bated breath. Even I don’t know what Magnar will do.
“Do you have a mother, son?” he asks kindly.
The boy looks at him with pure terror and gives a jerky nod.
“Mhm. And sisters, a father, anyone else you love?”
Bodra looks transfixed, not even blinking as he stares at Magnar as if my husband is a viper who will strike any moment.
“N-no, my king.”
Magnar nods thoughtfully. “So it’s your mother they’ve threatened?”
A moan of fear tears out of the boy’s throat. Ronan lurches to his feet, his shackles clinking.
“He admitted his guilt! You have no right to question him!”
Magnar bares his teeth in a terrifying, confident grin, and slowly turns to the minister, who takes an involuntary step back, his face paling to ash.
“Insulting the crown, Ronan? Well, that’s unfortunate. Would you care to repeat what you just said to me?”
Ronan shakes his head mutely, and Magnar motions Raduna forward.
“My queen wanted him on his knees. See to it.”
Raduna nods with a small smirk and pushes Ronan down so hard, the minister cries out from pain when his knees hit the stone floor. Magnar turns his attention back to the boy.
“Where is your mother now, Bodra? Remember, you cannot lie to the king.”
The boy shakes his head violently, and Magnar comes closer, clasping a heavy hand on his shoulder. That seems to marginally calm him down, and he whispers something.
“Repeat that so my queen hears you.”
“I d-d-don’t know. Sh-she was t-t-taken last n-night.”
“Who took her?” I ask, anger swirling in my belly. So that’s how they forced him to sacrifice himself.
“M-men,” he says, eyes rolling as he shakes harder and harder. “I d-d-don’t know. They s-s-said she’d d-d-die if I d-d-didn’t t-t-take the blame.”
Shouts of outrage burst across the room, but they fall silent as soon as Magnar raises his hand. He looks at me.
“My queen? What’s your decision concerning young Bodra?”
I take a deep breath, grateful for all the studying of Agnidari law I did in preparation for this.
“A forced admission of guilt shall be forgotten and found invalid. Bodra, you are free. My king, can we send soldiers to search for his mother? She’s an innocent victim.”
Magnar gives me an approving smile and motions toward one of his generals. The man presses his gloved fist to his chest and leaves the room.
“Now, let me exercise my rights as your king,” my husband says in a silky, seductive voice, turning to Ronan. “Up you go, my friend. Unchain him.”
I swallow uncertainly but don’t move. Ronan seems surprised, too, but his face quickly regains the triumphant arrogance from before. He thinks Magnar will let him walk, and it’s so convincing, I have to remind myself he’d never do that. Magnar hates traitors.
When Ronan stands free, rubbing his wrists where the shackles dug into them, Magnar gives him a wide, terrifying grin.
He moves so fast, I barely understand what I see. Ronan screams in pain. Magnar has him in a chokehold, the minister’s shoulder rolled back impossibly far, his elbow bent at an unnatural angle. A tense hush falls over the audience, and in the silence, Idrina cackles, clapping her paper-dry hands.
“Did you redirect the honey to Trista?” Magnar asks in a calm, pleasant voice that carries over Ronan’s howls of pain.
“No! My king, I’m sorry! Mercy! Have mercy!”
“Oh, but you insulted me. It’s only fair, friend. Now, did you or did you not send those barrels to Trista?”
There is a snap of bones. Ronan’s arm twists even further, and I wrestle with nausea when I see the broken pieces moving under his skin in a freakish way.
“No! Please, no!”
Magnar lets him go, pushing him down deliberately so he lands on his broken arm. His screams grow high-pitched and unbearable, a distillation of horrid suffering turned into sound. The king waits, examining his nails until Ronan calms down somewhat, then hauls him up by his unbroken arm.
“I’ll keep breaking your limbs one by one until you tell me the truth,” Magnar murmurs in an obscenely intimate voice, his lips pressed to the minister’s large ear.
“I’ll keep you chained and alive, and if you resist, I’ll put you in a cage full of starving rats.
Do you know what they’ll do once they scent your meat? ”
The minister whines, and Magnar straightens, his voice growing stronger.
“Minister Ronan, did you send honey to Trista?”
There is a moment of tense silence, and he slumps in Magnar’s hold, his head hanging in defeat.
“Yes.”
“Did you put treasonous documents in those barrels?”
“Yes.”
“Who else was involved?”
The ministers erupt into protests and shouts, and Magnar nods at his soldiers. The three ministers quarreling the most loudly are wrestled into silence and brought forward, and Magnar shakes Ronan, who’s close to passing out from pain.
“Give me names.”
“Lagnar,” he says, voice barely louder than a murmur. “Sadran. Axhilla. Egerd de Bloom was our contact in Trista.”
“Anyone else?”
He shakes his head, moaning in pain.
“Where is Bodra’s mother kept?”
“I don’t know!” Magnar presses down on his broken bones, and Ronan screams from agony. “Lagnar knows! Ask Lagnar!”
The king looks at the three ministers held in his soldiers’ tight grips.
“My wife will sentence and replace you,” he says with a mean smile. “You’ll die from an order made by the human queen. How does that feel?”
“He’s lying,” Lagnar says, spitting viciously at Ronan. “He wants to take us down with him out of spite. He’s the traitor, he admitted it!”
Magnar shrugs and looks at me. “I see enough proof to get some heads rolling,” he says with a grim smile. “But the decision is yours.”
I watch Lagnar and the others as they clench their fists, fear and rage stiffening their bodies.
They don’t have to die today, and could very well have their own trials later.
Also, they might know something more. At least finding Bodra’s mother will be quicker if the soldiers can torture the answers out of them.
“I sentence Ronan to immediate death by beheading,” I say, watching the others closely. They flinch, their eyes flying up to me in fear. A shiver sizzles down my spine, thrilling and powerful. This is reward enough. I never realized before that being feared was so exhilarating.
“Lagnar, Sadran, and Axhilla shall be imprisoned for further questioning, and will be tried when we learn more of their involvement.”
Magnar gives me a nod. The ministers are led out of the room, only Ronan remaining in front of my dais. I swallow with difficulty, but I knew this was coming. I turn to Raduna.
“My knight, you shall be my hand. Carry out my sentence.”
He replies the same way he always does. “Yes, my queen.”
Magnar kicks the back of Ronan’s leg, making him stumble onto his knees, and goes up to stand by my side. Raduna hefts his sword in both hands, swinging it experimentally. Ronan is barely conscious. His eyes are closed, expression almost serene.
When his head slides off his neck, severed by one, powerful cut, that expression remains on his face. Raduna flings blood off his sword and picks up the head while the minister’s body crumples to the floor, lifeless and bleeding from the stump of his neck.
“My queen.”
He presents the head, and I nod.
“Thank you, my knight. You shall be rewarded.”
His eyes twinkle when he looks up, lips stretching in a slow, intimate smile. He winks, and I take a shaky breath, already knowing what kind of reward he wants. Magnar puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes my arm.
“Final address,” he reminds me quietly.
I nod and straighten, and he remains by my side, a sign of his unflinching support. If I weren’t so tense after everything that happened, I would have burst into tears of gratitude. As it is, the nerves keep me rigid and controlled.
“Justice has been served.” The final paragraph from my speech rolls off my tongue easily. I know it by heart. “We have discovered treacherous foes in our midst and shelled out punishment. Let this be a lesson to those who hold power.”
I look at the council, taking the time to focus on each remaining minister for a few seconds. They look quite subdued, some grim, some fearful. Time will tell, but I think I achieved my goal.
“As the queen of Roharra,” I continue in a louder voice, “I am committed to building the country’s wealth and the wellbeing of my people. You shall not be robbed by your ministers and those who rule. You shall not suffer injustice. This is my promise and my fealty to this land.”
I bow my head. There’s a ringing silence, and I sigh, straightening as I force my expression to remain impassive. Truly, I don’t know what I expected. If this were my father’s court, and I were a man, I would have gotten a ringing applause, but Roharra is different.
Khay catches my eye. He helps Idrina to her feet, and the former queen comes closer, climbing the dais with slow, unsure steps. Magnar squeezes my arm once more and retreats to his throne.
Idrina stands next to me, supported by Khay. When I make to fall back and give her the dais, her cold, wrinkled hand wraps around my wrist.
“Your queen has spoken,” she says in an angry, haughty voice, one I know well. “Illa nahiri hallad hevna. Hardiri dag!”
The ministers clap first, and the others follow. Soon, the throne room fills with the sounds of applause, heavy thuds of stomping feet, and ululating shouts of celebration. Idrina nods with satisfaction and orders Khay to “take her away from this wretched noise.”
I am not sure what she said, but I caught the word nahiri—queen—and I know it was a strong message of support.
As I exit with Magnar, I battle tears. I never expected my cantankerous mother-in-law to back me, or for Magnar to help me without taking away my role in this trial. I went into that room crushed by responsibility and fear of failure.
I come out victorious, but not because Ronan is dead.
I am surrounded by people who are on my side, and it’s the greatest triumph of my life. I made the best possible choice that day when I stuck my abductor with a knife. I finally see the future stretching ahead of me, and it’s bright and lovely. I will thrive in Roharra.
On impulse, I grab my husband’s hand. I am so careless, I push my palm into his uncut claw, and flinch back with a hiss when it breaks my skin.
Magnar pulls my bleeding hand higher to look at the wound, then lowers his head to suck on it, holding my gaze.
I gasp in dismay, trying to pull my hand free because this is a completely new depravity I had no idea was possible.
He pulls back with a smile.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim.
“Showing off my willingness to eat my wife even when she bleeds,” he says with a wink. “And since we’re on the topic, don’t you have something to tell me?”