Chapter Twelve
Would you like a musket ball to the head, or a dagger to the throat?
It wasn’t him. He had the same voice, the same steel gray eyes and light blond hair, even the same square jaw and long nose. But from up close, it was clear it wasn’t him, no matter how much Seraphina wanted him to be.
He currently had his musket trained on her.
“Hands where I can see them,” he said. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
He eyed the broken padlocks and the axe discarded on the floor.
Seraphina had her hands behind her back, fingers curled tightly around the hilts of her daggers.
“You,” she said when the captain’s eyes moved from the revenant in the crate back to hers. “Place the muzzle of your musket under your chin.”
His face paled. One moment, his cheeks were red from the cold, the next, all blood drained from his features, and it was as if Seraphina was looking at a ghost.
“I won’t make you pull the trigger,” she said. “But I’d rather it was in your face, not mine.”
He fought her order. She could see it in his eyes, suddenly stormy, in the furrow of his brow and the purse of his lips. The captain wasn’t as easily influenced as his subordinate. He was older, tougher, more experienced. His mind wasn’t as readily bent.
Seraphina raised her eyebrows in expectation. After a full minute of staring at each other, neither of them flinching, the captain turned his musket around and tucked its muzzle right under his chin. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“How are you doing this?” he asked through gritted teeth.
He was strong of mind, this one. He was the first of her victims to speak without being told.
“Never you mind that,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Franz Holzer.”
“Hm. Are you related to Leopold Holzer?”
“He’s my younger brother.”
That explained the uncanny resemblance. Seraphina wasn’t sure what to do with the information, though.
The man was her rapist’s brother. And he was a captain serving in the High Harvester’s army who’d ordered blood and gore, so he wouldn’t have to get his own hands dirty.
She was going to kill him, that wasn’t even a question.
If she thought about it, his connection to the man she was after was a bonus, really.
When she found Leopold Holzer, she could tell him she’d killed his brother right before she gutted him like a fish. Her revenge would be so much sweeter.
Seraphina showed him what she was holding behind her back. As she twirled the daggers playfully, she started pacing.
Idris hadn’t revealed himself yet. He was rooted in place, watching the scene unfold before him as if it were a bad dream he’d eventually wake up from.
“How would you like to die?” Seraphina asked Franz Holzer. “A musket ball to the head, or a dagger to the throat?”
“Why?” He bared his teeth at her, either to look menacing, or because he could hardly speak under the influence of the thrall relic.
Seraphina caught Idris’s gaze. It was better that he knew. Maybe he wouldn’t judge her as harshly.
“I’m taking the Sentinel with me, which means I need to release him from the Obedience Lattice.
That’s reason one, and the most important.
Reason two,” she counted on her fingers, “you are a senseless murderer, and as a member of the Sarumite Order and the resistance, I’ve decided you need to be put down.
We’re on opposite sides of the war. That’s how it works.
” She shrugged. “And reason number three is personal, and I’ve unraveled it just now, when you told me your name.
Two years ago, your brother and three of his mates attacked me on the open road, raped, mutilated me, and left me for dead. As you can see, I didn’t die.”
She spread her arms and gave him a mocking smile.
“I can’t quite remember if before that I had a life purpose.
I wanted the usual, I guess. To get married, build a family…
That’s not possible anymore since, oh… I almost forgot!
Your brother and his three mates also killed my betrothed.
So there I was, bleeding and defiled, alone, broken, having to perform a readjustment of my goals and expectations.
It unlocked something within me, a calling I hadn’t felt before, what Aristotle would name telos, the end toward which someone strives. ”
She paused for effect.
“Revenge.”
Idris averted his gaze.
The captain swallowed again. No words left his lips.
“I will take this silence as confirmation that you understand,” she said, referring to both of them.
“Now, would you like a musket ball to the head, or a dagger to the throat? I’m not cruel.
I’m only doing what needs to be done. Just the fact that I’m giving you a choice should prove it.
I will make it quick and as painless as I can. ”
He clenched his jaw and refused to speak.
Idris shuffled his feet, and Seraphina thought he was going to come out of hiding and step outside.
When another minute passed and no one moved or said a word, Seraphina sighed.
“You,” she said in a bored tone. “Make your choice.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Beads of sweat ran down his temples. The terrified look in his gray eyes almost made Seraphina falter. She knew that after tonight, it would haunt her nightmares.
“Musket,” he gritted out.
She sheathed her daggers.
“Kneel,” she said.
He fell to his knees, and Seraphina stepped closer and took the musket from his hands.
He fought her briefly, not wanting to let go, at which point she relaxed and waited for him to come to terms with the fact that this was happening and he couldn’t stop it.
His fingers unclenched from around the barrel, and she took the musket and pressed the muzzle between his eyes.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I am sorry, Franz Holzer?”
She pulled the trigger, never once averting her gaze from his. She did feel sorry. For everything. For what had happened to her, for Matteo – his secrets, his toll, and his death – for the war, and for Rune. For what all of it was making her do.
“Seraphina,” the urgency in Idris’s voice snapped her back to reality.
She turned around, musket still raised, the Sentinel in her line of shot. Nine stepped out of the crate holding the lattice in his hand.
“You, stand down. You are not to attack me or Idris. You are not to harm anyone unless I tell you to.”
He gave her a smile even as he froze to the spot.
“You can speak your mind,” she added, not wanting him to act like an empty vessel, devoid of conscience. “But don’t lie to me. You are forbidden from telling lies.”
His smile only widened.
“Mistress knows what she wants.” He inclined his head. “This belongs to you now. I was only intending to hand it over.”
Seraphina lowered the musket and took the Obedience Lattice from him.
Idris stepped to her side.
“What about the sentry?” he asked.
“Oh.” Seraphina turned to the soldier who was staring at his captain’s dead body. “You, go to bed. Don’t talk to anyone, and don’t tell anyone what happened here tonight.”
The young man turned on his heel and disappeared into the night. She didn’t know how long he’d remain in her thrall and follow her orders, which meant it was time for them to move.
“You understand this was necessary,” she told Idris.
He leveled her with a look she couldn’t interpret.
“We should go,” he said.
A truly depraved person would’ve killed the sentry as well.
It was foolish to let him live. Maybe he wouldn’t speak tomorrow or the day after, but at some point, his mind would shake off the invisible shackles, and word would get to the Harvester himself about who she was and what she’d done.
It was bad strategy. She’d go as far as to say it was signing her death sentence, but she’d gotten out of that a few times already.
She passed the lattice to Idris.
“You should keep it with the others.”
He only hesitated for a moment before folding it and placing it in his satchel. Both he and Seraphina noticed that the keybone wasn’t stained anymore. White and pristine. The stain had been the captain’s blood.
They found their way around the village, back to Bramble and the cart.
Idris led, since he could see in the dark, and Nine didn’t seem to have issues seeing, either.
Seraphina hung back, struggling in the snow, slipping on patches of ice.
She held her skirt up, but the hem was dirty and soggy.
She’d felt alert and powerful earlier, vibrating with the righteousness of her speech about the war, life purpose, and revenge, but it had all left her system.
She felt weighed down by her actions and decisions.
Her shoulders sagged, her feet were like heavy stones that required effort to move, her knees were weak, and there was something still lodged in her throat.
Not a metaphorical knot, something physical that tingled and scratched.
She coughed, the sound dry, rattling her chest. She swallowed quickly and often to try and hydrate her throat, but it was useless, the cough only intensified.
She needed water, or better, a hot cup of beer.
“Are you all right?” Idris turned back for her and put a hand on her shoulder.
She was doubled over, hacking, unable to stop or even breathe. She nodded.
“It will pass.”
She allowed him to thread an arm around her waist and leaned against him as he helped her stand upright.
The cart wasn’t far now, she just wanted to get out of the snow and curl up with a blanket.
Despite the Hearthband she was wearing, she felt cold.
There was a soreness in her muscles that hadn’t been there before.
Bramble greeted them with a nicker. Idris helped Seraphina up and tucked her in the back of the cart. She set her head on a folded blanket, eyes closing even as she knew she wouldn’t be granted sleep without torture. She was just so tired.
“You’re burning up,” Idris said, brushing hair out of her face.