Chapter 9 The utioner
THE EXECUTIONER
One more time.
The rune pulsed. Threads loosened, only to snap taut. Sweat trickled down my neck as I dug in, tugging, twisting. Hours of clawing at the lock had left me shaking, and the narrow slit of a window above the cell was paling from black to gray.
I focused on the rune where the bars met stone. Faint lines shimmered on an old welding rune. I pressed harder, peeling the strands apart. They quivered, resisting me, then snapped. A dull hum rattled the bars and a weld slackened.
I shoved against the iron. It groaned, shifting in its socket.
I slid through the gap. The corridor stretched ahead, lined with cells that reeked of rot. I slipped past, heart hammering. If I could just reach the end—
“That’s close enough.”
A dark thrill scraped up my spine, like spotting a wolf in the woods.
A scrape of boots echoed through the dungeon, the steady pace of someone who knew exactly where his prey had gone. Then the mist came. It crept along the floor, cold and thick, pooling around my ankles. The mist rose higher, swirling, carrying the scent of blood. Then he emerged through it.
The king’s executioner in full armor, the steel drawing what little light existed down here. Mist clung to the dark blue metal, rolling off his pauldrons, wreathing him. It reached for me, wrapping my legs with ghostly fingers.
My back hit the wall.
He kept approaching until I could see my terrified face reflected in his breastplate.
He had such a grim expression, beautiful, but like he was walking to his own execution. His stare dipped to my hair. Loose, deep brown strands framed my cheeks. I must’ve looked terrible: pale skin made paler by exhaustion, my violet eyes wide.
“You smell like the Halfbreed.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you care? You serve him, don’t you?”
He laughed bitterly. “I serve whoever the king commands me to serve.”
He inched closer, his hands shaking. A fragile thread of hope wound through my terror—maybe he wouldn’t kill me.
“Will you help me escape?”
“There’s no help for you, girl.”
“Then…why save me before just to drag me to the block now?”
“I cannot disobey my orders.”
It was like he’d said it many times.
He stared at his gauntlet, flexing his hand like it ached. He let it fall and turned sharply, his gaze catching on the window.
“Damn it.”
Light flared at his wrist where the rune on his gauntlet burned, and his body went rigid. When the glow faded, his eyes dimmed. His fingers closed around my arm like a shackle. Then he hauled me along.
I dug in my heels. “Wait.”
He shoved me. “Keep walking.”
“But I—”
“There’s nothing you can say.”
Something was wrong with him. His movements were too controlled, like he fought himself with every step. The way he kept glancing at his gauntlet was like how I checked my servant’s bracelet, like it was a leash he couldn’t remove.
“You saved my life twice. Why do that if you meant to kill me?”
His stride faltered. A shadow rippled over his face, one that didn’t belong to the cold killer dragging me to my doom. Then it was gone, shuttered behind steel.
His merciless shove caught my shoulder, and I stumbled forward. He opened the door, pulling me through. Guards fell in line, their steps echoing with my pounding heart.
He led me down the dim corridor. The hallways twisted, leading us deeper into the castle’s belly, closer to death.
Rheya.
I’d never see her again. My vision blurred. I blinked hard, refusing to cry. The chill deepened as we approached a set of tall doors. This was it. I was going to die.
His shoulders stiffened.
Guards pushed the doors open.
The executioner bared his teeth. The iron grip on me slackened like he wanted to let me go. Blood dripped from where the gauntlet’s edge bit into his wrist. The metal seemed fused to his skin, like it had grown there. His fingers twitched, and more blood welled up. His gaze burned into mine.
Then he dragged me into the room where I’d die.