Chapter 67 Ikar
Ikar
Jethonan and I are pulled from our cells and cuffed before we’re led from the depths of my castle and out to the main entrance, now filled with my own citizens and soldiers.
I keep my gaze forward as we pass the crowds who’ve come to witness my farce of a trial and the marriage between Vera and Renton, ignoring gasps and shouts as I pass.
I can’t tell if they’re angry at me or Renton or even the low kings who I see from the corner of my eye, but the exclamations don’t sound pleased.
Beneath the dim light of the third sun setting, we step up the short set of rickety wood stairs of an execution platform to find over twenty of my best originators chained in rows behind where they lead me.
I clench my jaw when my shirt is torn from my body, and I’m forced to my knees on the rough wood planks.
My wrists are locked in short chains that are bolted to the ground, forcing me to bend forward at an awkward angle.
A stone chopping block lies ahead of me.
I swallow amidst the wave of gasps and murmuring arising from the crowd.
Two of the gloam masters comment between themselves behind me, and chuckle. “Rumors are true, the mark is completely black. The last of the weak kings. If we weren’t killing him today, he’d die on his own soon anyway.”
I would correct them, as there is a very, very small piece of gold left on the end of the longest scroll that trails down my back, but that small part seems a joke now. Useless.
Jethonan grumbles as he’s pushed down roughly and chained beside me, though his clothing is left intact. Seems they took my shirt intending to use my mark to make a spectacle of my family history, ensuring the people’s opinions are swayed against me. The black mark, if anything, will do it.
Though it’s awkward in my bent-over state, I lift my head, only to find Vera upon the castle steps dressed in a daring black dress, staring across the distance between us, hands fisted at her sides.
Sorrow and dread roil in my gut at the despair on her face.
Renton leans close and says something in her ear, grabbing one of her fisted hands and twining his fingers with hers before he kisses the back of it.
I jerk at the chains, my body thrumming to fight. Vera does nothing, just stands straight as an arrow, her eyes locked on me.
I hang my head down. I can say without regret that I truly did as much as I could to save my people, but that doesn’t ease the knife of failure that slips between my ribs, robbing me of air.
Jethonan speaks, resignation in his voice. “My lord, it’s been a pleasure working with you.”
“You’ll not escape me for long, Jethonan, I’ll see you on the other side.” I force a half-hearted grin his way.
Jethonan doesn’t deserve this. Another knife of failure between my ribs.
A sob behind me has me glancing over my shoulder. Nadiette is chained among the other originators. Another knife. So many dying because of my inability to restore lucent.
My worst fears are coming to pass before my eyes.