Chapter Seven- A Wicked Offense
“I’m done waiting. Tonight. His curse will weaken.
When the crescent moon is highest in the sky,” the masked figure demands.
Days have passed since my night with Thorne.
I’m still trying to clear the fog in my brain as the man—barely more than a boy, really—before me shifts on his feet, reminding me to speak.
“How do you know—” I start.
“Do not make me wait again, Harrow.” He palms the hilt of his sword. “Or I will set fire to your precious Venomwoods.”
At this I lunge for him. He erects a wall of magic, stopping me. My ears ring and my vision swims but I focus on the young man who hired me for this hit.
“That was not the deal,” I allow a cobra to snake down my arm. It lifts its head towards the unknown scent, his tongue flicking out, inspecting. His dark eyes widen at the snake.
I don’t have a lot of confidence in his ability to go through with his threat but Sylvithria made me swear that no harm would come to them when I began down this path.
“I’ve been patient. Two years is far longer than I wagered from the Serpent of Netherhelm,” he purrs.
“If you go anywhere near the Venomwoods, I’ll make a glorious display of your intestines in your family home,” I sneer. My heart pounds but I see the moment the bold threat hits its mark.
“Tonight, Darkbloom,” the tall figure turns and disappears down the alleyway. I glance at the clock tower. I have six hours to kill Thorne Shadowfall. I curse myself for the way this man has turned my own need for vengeance into a weapon.
Unfortunately for me, the kingdom is hosting a ball tonight to honor a massive win in the Wastelands. Frostguard, the Kingdom of Ice Magic, was forced to retreat after their King was poisoned, leaving him unresponsive in his bed for the last week.
“Death to Frostguard!” Guards, soldiers, and knights chant throughout the dining hall.
Arched windows span the main wall, framing a view of the sky from the fifth floor.
The night sky threatens to reach down and consume me but I show no fear.
My gaze finds the royal family seated at the long table at the head of the hall, all dressed in dark shades that complement the gothic decor.
The sovereigns sit unnaturally still, observing the room as more nobles file in dressed in finery.
The Shadowfalls are rigid, all of them taking bites of their food with slow, graceful movements, existing in tune with one another. All except for Thorne.
The Executioner Prince is lounging in his chair, slouching where his family maintains perfect posture. He appears… bored and annoyed as though he’s been forced to attend the event against his will.
He clearly senses me watching him because he looks up from his glass. His eyes nearly clash with mine but I avert my eyes to Elmerov just in time.
My heart lurches into my throat at the close call. He scowls and turns his attention back to his glass of whisky.
“I hear Frostguard is planning to give us back the land that they stole!” Elm and I clasp hands. I smile at him.
Frostguard won many battles in the last hundred years, pressing Netherhelm back and claiming hundreds of Xeusis-blessed acres of land.
Frostguard wishes to blend our magic reservoirs with their own.
It cannot be done, it has not been done, and if Dreven and Aleksander have any say—it will not be done.
“This is good news, brother,” I tell Elm.
“Still, Terramora pushes from the east to aid Frostguard,” Reese cuts in.
“Let them, Earth Magic and an army of humans won’t shake us,” Elm boasts.
“As long as they don’t call the knighthood to battle, I’m happy.” I give a small laugh.
“Here, here,” they both agree and lift their glasses. I’m reminded that I need a drink.
I smooth the shoulders of my jerkin and ensure my sword is straight on my hip before approaching the table of royals to pay my required respects.
“May Xeusis bless your reign,” I say.
Dreven nods, Ivy is silent, Thorne eyes me, Aleksander glowers, the twins aren’t paying attention, and Asterin smiles at me.
I move on as the rest of the knighthood mimics the same set of words and bow.
I don’t blame Thorne, I’d be bored too. Wine settles warm in my stomach and I welcome it as I linger at the back of the room.
I have no appetite but I watch Thorne smile—actually fucking smile—at Julien and Julius.
My heart squeezes in my chest and I look away.
Such a cruel being as Thorne should not be capable of such affection, of such light in his eyes. Even if for just a brief moment.
An hour passes and I’ve become intimately acquainted with both the open bar and a girl named Morana who is laughing at a joke I made. Her honey eyes are only a shade lighter than her brunette hair and she is bold in her desire to bed me tonight.
Occasionally, I notice Thorne’s gaze cast over her as though interested to see how we interact. The way he watches us makes my stomach coil, though I can’t explain why.
Something catches my attention and I give Morana’s arm a squeeze because she’s looped hers in mine.
I turn my attention to the youngest Shadowfalls.
Julien and Julius are bickering on one of the balconies above the ballroom, and it’s becoming more noticeable.
Guests are starting to watch them, Morana can’t help but giggle when one of them smacks the other upside the head, causing his glasses to fall off of his nose.
Julien shoves Julius into the stone balcony ledge before stepping back and launching him over it with dark magic in a show that informs everyone that it has escalated from more than just friendly twin banter.
A dark cloud of magic wraps around Julius as he plummets toward the refreshments table below.
He stops himself just before hitting it with his own magic, then grabs a few small cakes and flings them upward at his brother.
One hits Julien square between the eyes.
Morana snorts in disbelief but can’t hide the laughter that follows.
I also find myself laughing at them and Thorne, who I didn’t see only a few people ahead of me, turns his head towards the sound.
I can’t help it, the wine makes me grin at him. It efficiently turns him back around.
Prince Aleksander snatches Julius from midair and slams him to the ground, his already tousled black hair falling in his eyes.
I search the room for the King and Queen, but they must have retired for the evening.
Princess Asterin stands on the balcony behind Julien, gripping him by the back of his collar.
“Forgive my brothers,” Aleksander announces, holding Julius in a similar manner. “Please, continue the music,” he gestures toward the orchestra seated on the circular pedestal at the center of the room.
“Can’t we have one night!” Asterin complains, snatching Julius from Aleksander and leading them from the ballroom.
“I think they’re my favorite,” Morana laughs and we toast to that.
The night proceeds as I catch glimpses of Thorne, trying not to be obvious. Drinking to distract my nerves and calm my shaking. If I try to kill him face to face and fail? I’m certain he would be able to kill me. I have met my match with him.
This has to work.
I pay no heed to his smile as he talks to people and I don’t let it take away from the decision I’ve made. This has to happen tonight.
I have less than an hour to end Thorne Shadowfall and I have the perfect way to make it look like an accident.
“Forgive me, beautiful,” I kiss Morana’s hand. “I have some business to tend to.”
She frowns but blushes at the contact of my lips to her skin. If it were any other night…. But Thorne has exited the hall—directly towards the north side of the palace that falls away to a steep ravine. I have to seize my opportunity.
The Northwoods are as good a place as any, especially because Thorne is well and truly plastered thanks to the extra shots that kept finding their way into his drinks. I watch his white hair disappear into the trees and send Crowley ahead to scout the area.
Fuck. Now. I’m doing this now. I will not fail this time.
I look up at the sky and, sure enough, the crescent moon is at its height with a red hue to it.
The way the breeze sways in the trees feels wrong tonight.
There’s no crisp refreshing inhale of breath despite the chill in the air.
No scent emanates from the Moonling trees this evening, and the Luminaria flower petals are dull as I slink in behind Prince Thorne.
The sensation of the trees moving around me steals my breath, but we are not in the Enchanted Tree Garden.
The trees don’t move on their own here. Still, the branches and shadows seem to lean in close to bear witness as though they know this is a pivotal moment foreseen by the Titans themselves at the start of time.
For some reason, I notice the lace on his right boot loosening.
My dagger feels foreign in my grip as I wrap my fingers around its worn handle.
Forty-seven. Forty-seven lives ended with this blade alone.
I’m often convinced that fractured pieces of their souls live within the steel, that they whisper to me.
My breath fans out before me, thin but fleeting. In his drunken state, Thorne stumbles over a log and my heart hammers in my throat. He approaches the ravine and there’s no more time to hesitate.
An accident. I’m reminded as my shaking hand closes around the dagger. Shit.
He’s eight feet from the edge, six feet from the tree stump he likes to sit on.
I’ve thought about doing it this way before, getting him alone and sending him over the edge.
But there was no guarantee he would die.
Now, there is and my stomach bottoms out.
As if in warning, a breeze blows violently over us, causing Thorne to look up and around curiously.
Then he sees me and I run, hurtling myself towards him.
The forest floor crunches in protest beneath my boots as I barrel towards him, his face alight with alarm.
But I’m not drunk and his magic is weaker right now.
My hands find the high collar of his mantle and he grunts as I push, digging my feet into the ground.
I use its leverage to send him back, one foot, two stumbling feet.
“Serpent!” He grinds out as tries to fight me off with sloppy slaps at my chest.
Three feet away from the edge.
He realizes with wide-eyed horror that the yawning expanse of the hundred-foot-deep ravine is at his back. It’s narrow, but deep.
Jagged rocks and trees jut out of the sides that will likely make for a painful fall down.
He grips my tunic, fisting it hard as he tries to sober himself.
His face is red, his eyes bloodshot as horror and true fear introduce themselves to him.
He’s been tortured. But has he ever been so certain he would die?
I feel his gloves against the bare skin of my neck, his body heat burning wild.
I feel him trying to execute a spell, any spell to fight me off.
“Harrow, please,” he begs. Somehow, there’s betrayal in his gaze as if he didn’t know what this was.
The rush of emotion I feel at the crack in his voice just begs me to go over the edge with him, to end myself.
Because how will I live with this? No. I don’t feel regret, I can’t.
I won’t. His wide pleading eyes tell me that despite the way he’s suffered, he has a reason to live.
His soul stills wants to live. I want to ask him, I want to know what he’s thinking of as he approaches his last moments.
Then, he kisses me. Desperately and rough as though it’s the only other thing he can think to do.
As if our intrigue and sexual tension is enough to change my mind.
He tastes like alcohol and sin, desperation and heartache, a lifetime of betrayal and hurt.
I convince myself that I’m doing him a favor.
I'll be his salvation, ending his suffering, this life void of love that he’s lived.
I tear away from him but I don’t meet his eyes, I can’t as he clings to me.
“Obey me,” I use my hypnosis against him for a second time. This time, though, it works. “Down!”
I yank him cruelly downward by his collar so he’ll release me and his boot kicks pebbles over the edge of the ravine.
He digs his hands into roots and rocks as I move to drag him by his legs, his shirt riding up to show a narrow waist and dimples in his lower back.
I sneer at whatever lives inside of me that craves him.
He grunts and groans something that I can’t make out and I see his magic trying to spark to life to stop this. Then he whimpers… actually fucking whimpers in fear when he realizes his magic isn’t going to help him.
With one final pull, I jump sideways as Thorne’s legs, then hips, waist, shoulders, head, and arms tumble downward over the edge.
He doesn’t scream but a gut-wrenching cry breaks free of him.
The sound doesn’t descend. I look over to find him about two feet below clinging stubbornly to life, to a tree whose roots are coming loose.
“Why?” He bellows and it echoes through the ravine, reverberating off of the walls of my ribcage. I try to steady myself as I watch him.
The choice has been made.
I lean down and sever the final roots with my dagger. A horrid cracking sound announces that the tree is free of him and I watch the broken man whose kiss still lingers on my lips, plummet to his death.