Chapter 13 #3
“Yeah. I know.” Izael sniffed dismissively. “I still had to try.”
“Now you sound like my lovely wife.” He was both glad and disappointed that Abigail was missing this moment.
Glad that his wife was not there to interrupt him.
But disappointed she was not enrobed in iron chains as his captive, forced to watch him in his purest form.
“But tell me this, Izael.” He gestured toward the outpost, where the humans were clearly preparing for siege warfare.
“Look at them down there. Do you see any white flags? Any emissaries coming forth to discuss terms? They know what we are, what we are capable of, and their response is not negotiation—it is not to beg for mercy. It is, in turn, preparation for war.”
A distant explosion echoed across the landscape—one of his advance scouts testing the humans' defenses, no doubt. The sound sent a thrill of anticipation through Valroy.
He turned away from Izael, his attention shifting to the tactical situation below. “Remember this, Izael. The question is not about what I have become. It never is. The question is simply about whether or not you have the courage to do what you feel must be done about it.”
Another explosion, closer this time. The humans were getting nervous, firing at shadows and suspicious movements in the growing darkness. Their fear was palpable now, a tangible thing that made the very air taste sweeter.
“Cruinn,” Valroy called out, not bothering to look back at the shapeshifter. “Signal the flanking forces. I want them in position now.”
“Yes, my lord.” But even Cruinn's voice carried a note of uncertainty now, influenced no doubt by Izael's pointed questions about the so-called righteousness of their cause.
And Cruinn and Bayodan had already betrayed him once before in his life.
Cruinn was so soft-hearted for an Unseelie.
They were too easily swayed. And where went Cruinn, went Bayodan.
And where went Bayodan went too many others.
Damnable feelings.
Damnable morals.
Damnable doubt.
The most insidious poison in any army's arsenal, and Izael was spreading it now by simply existing. By standing there, reminding everyone present that there might be other ways to handle their situation.
Ways that didn't require wholesale slaughter.
Ways that might preserve something resembling their souls.
Valroy felt his irritation spike into genuine anger.
This was exactly why he hated politics. Because occasionally, now and then, one came across an idealist. And idealists were irritating—not because they could stop him with force, but because they made others question whether he should be stopped.
They planted seeds of doubt that could grow into full rebellion if left unchecked.
“Izael,” he said softly, his back still turned. “I’m curious about something.”
“Yes?”
“When you pledged your service to the crown, did you mean it? Or was it simply words—pretty sounds to buy you time and position while you waited for a better opportunity?”
He could feel Izael's confusion at the question, could sense the younger fae trying to determine what answer would be safest. But safety wasn't really an option anymore, was it? Not for any of them.
“I meant it,” Izael said finally. “Every word.”
“Good.” Valroy turned around slowly, his smile absolutely radiant. “Then you'll understand why what happens next is necessary.”
The Maze burst from him like a physical thing, shadows pouring across the hillside in waves of absolute darkness. But these weren't the simple shadows of his earlier displays—this was entropy itself given form, the hungry void that lurked at the heart of his nature finally allowed to feed.
Izael had perhaps half a second to realize what was happening before the darkness reached him. To his credit, he did not try to run. Did not scream or cry. He simply stood there, teal eyes meeting Valroy's blue ones with something that might have been forgiveness.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
When the Maze receded a moment later, there was nothing left where Izael had been standing. No body, no ashes, no trace that he had ever existed except for the faint echo of his final expression.
He wasn’t surprised that Izael’s last moment was one of laughter.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Finally, it was Bayodan who cleared his throat. “My lord…was that wise? Izael was popular among certain factions. And Lady Alexandra has power that is—”
“Izael was a cancer,” Valroy replied calmly, as if he hadn't just erased one of their most influential nobles from existence. “A beautiful, irritating, chaotic cancer that would have rotted our purpose from within given enough time. And Alexandra…will be dealt with. Locate her and bring her to me.”
He turned to face his remaining lieutenants, noting with satisfaction that both Cruinn and Bayodan looked appropriately terrified. “Anyone else feeling conflicted about our mission? Now would be an excellent time to voice those concerns.”
Neither of them spoke.
“Excellent.” Valroy spread his wings, feeling the intoxicating rush of absolute power flow through him. No more doubt. No more voices of conscience. No more reminders that there might be better ways to handle their situation.
Just the clarity of purpose that came with burning all the bridges behind oneself.
“Signal the attack,” he commanded. “All forces. No prisoners. No mercy. No quarter given.”
As his followers scrambled to obey, Valroy allowed himself a moment of perfect contentment.
Below them, the human outpost waited in anxious trepidation of what was about to fall upon them.
Above them, the stars wheeled in patterns that belonged to all three realities simultaneously, a reminder that the old rules no longer applied.
By dawn, he would have his first real victory in this new war. And perhaps, if fortune smiled upon him, his dear half-brother would finally emerge from whatever hole he'd crawled into to collect the revenge that he had been threatening for two millennia.
Either way, the night promised to be absolutely magnificent.
The killing could finally begin.