48. KillBe Killed
Chapter forty-eight
Kill or Be Killed
R aucous chattering filled the city square. Hordes of citizens surrounded the stage that had shot up overnight. Royal banners were strung across buildings alongside The Oracle’s emblem, a united front of divinity.
The Prince of Elithiend stood in the crowd to the right of the stage. His friend, Commander Wrenn Bleeker, beside him. The stench of sweat and beer invaded their nostrils. This was an execution, and the citizens of Torrelin jostled, drank, and feasted as though it were a festival.
“When are we getting out of this rot?” Wrenn whispered, eyeing the jovial crowd with disdain.
“Soon. There’s some grand ball planned for this evening to celebrate the execution.”
“This isn’t enough for them. They want to dance on the man’s corpse too?”
Emmerich slid his gaze over to Wrenn, his agreement clear. Though his words disagreed. “Who are we to judge a country’s traditions?”
“Something tells me this isn’t a tradition, rather a message.” Wrenn muttered.
A hush travelled over the crowd as a man took to the stage dressed in gleaming white robes trimmed with shimmering gold thread. Emmerich recognised him as the leader of the temple, Ezekiel Orson.
“Welcome, citizens of Marrelin City. We gather here to bear witness to justice. Our wonderful, blessed Duchess, Xanthe Enya Whitlock, was murdered, and The Oracle has commanded that the perpetrator must pay for his sins before all of you.” He paused, eyes skating across the crowd as he turned. “Bring forth the accused.” His voice echoed on the wind as he flung out his arms, robes dancing around him.
Clanging metal rattled through the square as two hooded guards dragged a young, scrawny man up the steps. His clothes were filthy and torn, all the exposed areas of his skin were streaked black from his stay in the rotting damp of the castle dungeons. Behind him, the royal family ascended one by one. First the king, followed by his son and the queen. But she didn’t appear, not yet.
Leader Ezekiel faced the crowd again, never once turning to the prisoner at his feet. With arms outstretched, he addressed the crowd instead. “Erick Connall of House Kano, you stand accused of murder. How do you plead?”
Emmerich watched as the boy, who couldn’t be any older than him, twisted in his chains, the rusting metal no doubt biting into his skin. Erick Kano did not speak, only stared out at the crowd in defiance, refusing to acknowledge the leader as he had him. Even from this distance, Emmerich saw the leader’s eyebrow twitch at the boy’s overt defiance.
“You understand, boy, that this is your last opportunity to save yourself. I hear your father refused to cooperate in his execution also and now he’s little more than ash fertilising the earth. So, speak.”
Emmerich had to bite back a laugh as Erick Kano only spat at the leader’s gleaming robes. Teeth bared as he struggled against the bonds that held him at their mercy.
“Something tells me this isn’t going the way they expected.” Wrenn smirked.
“I doubt they care. The boy is doing little to prove their accusations false.” Emmerich grimaced, because he knew the likelihood of this boy being responsible for the duchesses’ death was small. There was a narrative being spun in this kingdom that both crown and religion were desperate to uphold.
“I accept your silence as an admittance of guilt. And to carry out that justice,” Leader Ezekiel called, voice carrying louder now across the gathered crowd, arms wide as he stepped to the side. “Your Oracle has chosen Her Royal Highness Princess Solveig Aila of House Maleen.”
Emmerich’s heart caught in his throat as he watched her ascend the stage. Head low, a hood pulled forward to conceal her face in shadows. Dressed in all black, this woman was every inch the Reaper. When she finally lifted her head, he saw the bleak calm in her gaze. She had shut down. Shut everything out. To everyone else, she appeared cruel and uncaring, but to him. He saw it for what it was. A defence. To save whatever pieces of herself she could.
Heckles and jeers broke out across the crowd.
“Reaper.”
“Witch.”
“Rot in the pit, bitch.”
“Defiler of magic.”
One after another, as though the princess were the one on trial. Still, Solveig barely batted an eye as she stepped forward. Dropping her hood to look the boy in the eye.
“Erick Kano,” she intoned. “The Oracle has found you guilty of the murder of Her Grace, Duchess Xanthe Enya Whitlock. May they show mercy on your cursed soul.”
She pulled a glove free, hand trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly. But Emmerich saw it. And that was when she saw him. Their gazes locked, and she froze for a moment. Barely a breath, before closing her eyes, severing their connection, locking him out entirely as she wrapped her hand around the boy’s throat. The cuffs at her wrists shone, blinding the crowd.
Every other voice in the square fell deathly silent as Erick Kano’s screams of agony filled the square. His body went ridged, foaming at the mouth. Jaw clenched, eyes rolling back in his head. Solveig held him there, and Emmerich did not turn away. Not even as a colourless liquid poured from every orifice, splashing on the planks of the stage as the prisoner and princess moved.
When suddenly the boy fought back, “I wish I had killed her. All of you deserve it, wicked freaks of nature. You’ll meet your end one day soon,” he spat through ragged breaths; his skin and clothes drenched from the forced draining of all the fluid in his body.
Solveig paused, blinking slowly as she stared down at the boy.
“What’s happening?” Wrenn murmured.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s part of the act,” Emmerich replied, his eyes never once leaving the frozen princess as she blinked down at the suffering boy before her. He watched as her hand pulled back, barely an inch, fisting slightly.
“The time for talking has passed.” The king ordered, as he stood, staring his daughter down. “Proceed with the sentence.” Solveig blinked, head moving between her father and her victim. “Now, Solveig,” he commanded with a tone of finality before retaking his seat.
She nodded. It was imperceptible, but it was there. Not a nod of agreement, but acceptance, Emmerich thought. There was no way out of this for her. The boy would die by her hand, or she would pay for it in kind. Either way, Erick Kano would die.
Her hand returned to the boy’s neck, gripping tighter as she poured more power into her grip. His screams became strained. Blinded as his eyes shrivelled in their sockets. Soon he crumpled to the floor, body becoming sickeningly thin and grey, cheeks hollowed, and jaw dislocated from his endless screams.
Until finally, Erick Kano inhaled his last. And the princess dropped his lifeless body with a sickening splash in the puddle of his own bodily fluids.
A deathly quiet descended on the square. Gone was the jovial atmosphere as some in the crowd wrapped their arms around themselves, others covered their eyes and ears as the stench of vomit permeated the air.
Yet somehow, as their gazes met across the corpse and gathered crowd, Emmerich couldn’t find it in his heart to hate her. Even as she embodied everything, he had sworn to protect his people from. He watched as she yanked the hood back over her head, a hand flying to her face as she turned from the crowd. Her shoulders jerking slightly as she stalked back down the steps without being dismissed.
Silence turned to screams in her wake as the citizens of Marrelin City stared at the rigid, desiccated corpse of Erick Kano. It seemed they had finally found the one thing that would turn the people of Torrelin off their drink.