Chapter 11
MATTHIAS
Still, they conceal their dark hearts in the shadows.
Watch us with envy. Even with Raul punished and the execution of two hundred of their number, they refuse to crawl away.
Their desperation to share the spoils of our Vyrium will destroy everything we’ve worked to curate.
It’s vital every move of these rebels, traitors to the whole continent, this so-called Midnight Insurgence, is monitored, logged and analysed.
Forget the new empress, it’s those damn rebels who remain our biggest threat.
— A SPEECH BY ROMERO IV TO THE ALLIANCE OF NATIONS
Memories of my all too brief marriage ached with every heartbeat.
Each breath was a damning clash of agony and joy.
My hands shuddered as images of the cave swam through my mind.
Did Sorrow know the battle I’d suffered?
All those months, waiting, giving her the space she craved?
How I became her slave as her kisses, ever hungry, claimed me?
Flashes of her curves – delicious, goading – ignited a fever that tore through every fibre of my being.
The echo of her touch etched into my mind.
The one and only time I’d made love to her, proved the level of my devotion, had been tainted by the mark I was too ashamed to admit to.
Dread grew with each soft thud of the horse’s hooves on the sodden road leading from Asmar. The empress had dressed me in suitable travelling clothes, perfect for someone who’d just escaped their fate at the hands of an erratic bitch.
There was a massive flaw, though. Although the drizzle soaked my hair as it stuck to my forehead and the breeze whipped up the corner of my travelling cloak, I wasn’t any freer than I had been shackled in my own cells. I was more chained than ever.
Locks of pale wispy hair billowed in the growing breeze as the empress kissed both my cheeks, my boots carrying me down the steps of my palace.
‘By the red moon, Asmar,’ she’d whispered.
‘You will return by the red moon with Mrs Asmar. You will convince her to return. You’ll hand her to me.
No truth.’ She’d stroked the face of the terrified girl.
‘Or when I find you, and I will find you, we’ll make a pool from their blood.
And I’ll cry. I’ll tell them how I tried to stop the mad, bad king. Red moon, Asmar.’
‘Witness my benevolence,’ she called, my people glaring at me as I mounted the steed, her guards, the men who’d escaped with me, surrounding my horse.
‘It is the wish of Evella that I reunite Asmar with his queen. Even though she lied to you, hid her nefarious gifts, Evella requests my guidance for her. With Sorrow, we will bring forward a new dawn. A Eusis reshaped.’
My horse whickered, as though it were desperate to escape the empress.
‘A new world, with new laws. Empires will rise from the ashes and new Gods will answer all who bow to them. So, wave to the old king, pray Evella keeps him safe as he returns with the wife he bought with your coffers. For Evella speaks of desecration should he fail.’
Turning, I watched as her head tilted, one hand gripping the ruby while the other waved.
A claw severed my chest at her words. The desecration she spoke of.
How she’d force my hand and slaughter the children of Asmar.
The children I’d sworn to protect. Unless I returned with my Sorrow.
My eyes held hers as she smiled, and the guards set off, their pace urgent.
I wondered if she heard the stream of curses running through my mind as the horse cantered onwards, taking the journey from Asmar to Drufaera.
The last time I’d taken this road, my trembling hands had barely clung to the reins.
My heart pounding to the beat of my horse’s hooves as I’d imagined the woman Sorrow had become.
The girl who’d owned my heart since we were children.
The one whose accident was my fault. And who, thanks to Romero, I’d never apologised to.
I’d saved her from becoming a sacrifice.
Ripped her from the precipice of Vyrus’s flames.
I’d been warned not to anger the God. That denying him his sacrifice would lead to devastation.
As I wiped the constant drizzle from my face, I feared I’d truly earned his ire.
It didn’t matter, though. I’d risk his wrath in this and every life for a single glimpse of her face.
And see her I would. I swallowed, taking in the guards who flanked me. All dressed in the black uniform of Asmar’s guard. It would be a great story. How I’d learnt to block the empress, break out and stumble across guards still loyal.
I blew out a shaky breath. Part of my heart skipped at the thought of seeing her again, the pulse quickly smothered by terror as I imagined her joy at my escape.
Would she kiss me? I snorted. A kiss would probably come straight after the punch I’d inevitably earned.
Would she willingly trust me, even after I screamed my warning?
Get on a horse as I brought her towards the clutches of the empress?
I wanted to believe that with distance, the empress’s unmitigated control would waver and I’d be my own master once more.
But the thought cooled swifter than an arrow.
Fate no longer smiled on King Matthias of Asmar.
I stared at my far-too steady hands, how they tugged the reins against my will, guiding the horse to take the westward road towards Sorrow.
My miserable soul screamed to take any other path.
But, of course, my movements were no longer mine.
The guards refused to speak to me, keeping their heads down and talking to each other in Carushan.
I’d had the opportunity to learn, when Sorrow and I were children, terrorising the substandard tutors Romero provided us with.
Instead of practising the harsh-sounding words, I’d written notes to distract Sorrow, drew rude pictures or simply slouched in my chair muttering about how dull it all was.
As I listened to their chattering, trying to pick out any familiar words, I slightly regretted my lackadaisical effort.
They might be discussing secrets that could help me avoid this massive shit hole I’d dug myself into.
Though as one mimicked a lewd gesture and the other laughed, I doubted it.
We’d long passed the last small town in Asmar.
A sleepy little place with a few scattered farms and basic stores lying on a dust-ridden track.
No one blinked as we’d passed through. Why would they?
I no longer resembled a king. I didn’t feel like one either.
The empress’s forces hadn’t descended so deeply into my lands yet.
She remained holed up in the Palace of Solace, tearing my home apart.
Delving into every crevice as though it held a crucial secret within its tattered walls.
I glanced over my shoulder, squinting through the rain and dusk. My gaze flickered to the guards flanking me. They laughed once more, passing cigarillos between them that refused to light in the drizzle.
Taking a moment to look back down the road, I wondered if I should tell them we were being followed.
As I set my gaze ahead, my lips closed. The empress had said nothing about warning the guards of any potential outlaws or vagabonds.
And, if they offered me a quick death? Well, then, at least I’d die knowing Sorrow remained safe.
As the guards swore at each other – turns out I’d learnt at least one word in those lessons after all – setting up a rather pathetic camp, I had to wonder how the empress had won her battles.
As they failed to light a fire or catch a rabbit, placing their bed rolls precariously close to a dripping bough, I grimaced.
The smallest of the four guards, and the loudest, made the mistake of thinking he could order me to set up while he and his comrades sat about playing cards.
As he glared at me, nursing the bruise on his jaw, he’d realised I had no intention of being his lackey.
It told me that a part of me still existed in the prison of my body.
That I still had some agency within. That perhaps, I could work out a way to avoid Sorrow, to save my people.
Not only had they failed to set up the most basic of camps, but not one of them had noticed the shadows shifting amongst the gloom of the trees.
My gaze flickered over to the tree line as a dusky figure slipped between the trunks.
It was far too dark for me to work out who they may be, but the lurch in my gut told me my suspicions might be right.
I’d heard whispers that the guards who were still loyal to me had headed north, riding under the banner of Lord Rossing, Asher’s father.
The man was a complete asshole, but I couldn’t fault his devotion to the Elmswood line.
These roving bandits didn’t work together in a way reminiscent of my guard, though.
I’d made an effort to train with them daily.
I’d wanted them to know me as a man, not just their king.
Surely, I’d recognise them? They weren’t from Carush either.
There was a slight chance they were from one of the other nations, perhaps Cai had sent help from Trespia, or more likely Queen Sarus, one of the few leaders who retained a sense of decency.
I shook my head as one of the guards offered me a damp cigarillo.
Shrugging, he placed it in his mouth. Taking another sweep of our surroundings, I was certain I knew which group was about to attack.
I blew out a long breath and steeled my spine as a shadow crept forward, as though it were nothing but a light evening breeze.
My fingers twitched, desperate to grab hold of a sword no longer at my hip.
Kicking off from the tree where I rested, I scanned the pile of weapons the empress’s guards had slung together.
Honestly? Had they even been trained? Not one of them was on lookout.
Not one noticed how both I and the bloody rebel were heading in the direction of their weapons.
I pretended to peer at the non-existent stars, hidden by a fine layer of wispy clouds.
More figures emerged from the woods, all clad in the tell-tale black of the Midnight Insurgence, all heading towards the discarded swords.
I swallowed down the panic. All I needed was one sword.
There was no delusion that the creeping rebels had any intention of sparing me, and I didn’t have a single reason to fight with them.
I understood their intentions – that every person should reap the benefits of Vyrium.
It was a belief I shared. I’d hung onto every passionate word my father had uttered on the subject.
But where had they been when he’d been punished by The Alliance?
The last time I’d ever seen the man whom I’d adored, he hadn’t even looked me in the eyes, a mere ghost of the king he’d been.
He’d told me, an eight-year-old child, that I was now the man of the family and it was up to me to protect our people, my siblings, my mother.
I could never forgive them for the hand they’d played in my father’s fall.
The way it destroyed him. I never saw him again.
Even when he’d died, mere days after Sorrow’s fall, I’d been so desperate to see her, I remained in Drufaera, missing his funeral.
Mother never forgave me.
This was my chance. I crouched down, tightening the straps of my boots, reaching back and slipping a sword behind me when I knew none of the guards watched.
I had no desire to serve my wife up on a plate for the empress.
But neither could I control my words or actions.
The only way I could ensure Sorrow’s safety would be to lay down my life.
I stood, fighting the tremble as the rebels reached the outskirts of our camp.
They paused, clad in tight black, only their wide eyes showing.
I crept back as the guards shared tough cheese, laughing darkly.
I’d go down fighting. Die with the memory of Sorrow’s kiss on my lips, content to meet Evella with some form of pride that, in the end, I hadn’t fucked up.
The rebel, I was now certain they were rebels, grabbed the weapons, passing them back to their comrades.
I gripped the sword, urging my quivering hand to halt, and as the rebels sprang on the unsuspecting, unarmed and horrendously outnumbered guards, I whispered a final I love you to the moon and faced my death.