Chapter Thirty-One #2
“I’m alright,” Killian said honestly. His pain had subsided as soon as Fyar’s condition stabilized, and all that was left was an aching soreness in his muscles. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Fyar hummed. Pleased. “Good.” And then his eyes closed, and they stayed closed.
Killian didn’t know how long he stood there after, watching the steady rise and fall of Fyar’s chest, listening for the steady thump thump thump of his heart.
He was almost afraid to go, as if Fyar’s heart may stop beating once Killian’s back was turned.
But he had to. It was his duty to pass judgment on the one who thought they could get away with this.
Killian found himself almost looking forward to it. At least there, he knew what he was doing, what he was up against. It would be a good outlet for this anger he was nurturing in his chest.
“Serua Baraeth. She was found near the palace gates, attempting to flee,” Loran reported as Killian descended the stairs into the dark dungeons. “She had this with her.” He held up a fat drawstring bag filled to the brim with gold and jewels.
Killian scowled. “Payment.”
Loran nodded and adjusted the sword on his hip. The lieutenant looked uneasy, focused and serious, but uneasy.
It was just the two of them down there, except for Serua, though a few others stood guard outside the entrance to the dungeons. Out of earshot and a safe distance away. They couldn’t risk any information leaking through the cracks in the form of loose lips.
“Was anyone with her?”
“No. She was alone.”
“What do you know of her?”
“Not much,” said Loran, adjusting his belt. “She’s been employed here for going on six hundred years. Never made a fuss. Generally well loved. Seemingly loyal.” He bit his lip. Hesitant. “What’s going on here, Killian? What happened? Is the king alright?”
The lieutenant had been sent away with little to no real information on what had taken place. He wasn’t privy to the whole of it. Loran had surely put some of the pieces together, but he was asking for more. For clarification. For confirmation.
Killian didn’t mince his words. “Serua Baraeth used her position in the king’s service to poison him. A cowards weapon. He’ll be alright, but it was close.”
Loran sucked in a sharp breath.
“She is just a pawn,” Killian went on. “Disposable.”
“A pawn? Who is backing her?”
“There is only theories. No proof. Yet.” Killian turned towards the dungeon where Serua was being kept. Locked behind a thick iron door. “I’ll explain more. After.”
Accepting that, Loran stepped to the side and followed Killian through the door to where Serua sat waiting. He stood at Killian’s back, a silent spectator.
Serua was old, nearing her ninth century and it showed.
She sat cross-legged on the wet dungeon floor, her back to the far wall, ignoring the way the cold seeped into her dress.
Her back was straight as a board with her hands folded carefully in her lap.
She had a strong nose and a heavy brow with dark coloring.
There was a handsome beauty to her, a sense of pride in every movement.
She didn’t flinch under Killian’s sharp gaze.
“This is the second time that I have stood here, in this spot, and accused someone of treason.” Killian’s voice was quiet and deadly. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Serua Baraeth?”
Serua lifted her chin. “I do not.”
“Do you deny the charges against you?”
“I do not.”
“Tell me why. Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t think I would need to tell you of all people why,” Serua said, glaring up at him. “The king’s attack dog. You were there. I’m sure you played your part in his own bout of treason.”
Killian growled.
Serua swallowed. “Fyar Engarathi and I are guilty of the same crime. And yet here I sit, while he had the throne for a century. No longer. I did my duty.” She nodded curtly and lowered her voice. “Yes. Yes. I did my duty to my kingdom. To my king.”
“He is your king,” Killian shouted, his temper flaring.
“He is not my king!” Serua matched him. “He killed my king!”
The silence was oppressive. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Killian felt Loran stiffen at his back.
“My king,” Serua wept, folding her hands over her heart. Chains rattling. “King Numar. Murdered by his own son. Oh, my king.”
Killian knelt. “Who told you these lies? Who are you working with?”
“No one had to tell me. I saw it with my own eyes.”
That wasn’t possible. “You lie.”
“I saw how he plotted—how you plotted—for the throne. No one had to tell me.” Serua’s voice had gone shrill, she curled in on herself and began to shake.
“Fyar Engarathi is a disgrace! He didn’t deserve to sit where King Numar sat.
He didn’t deserve it. So I-I did my duty.
I took care of the problem. I did my duty. ”
She continued to mumble under her breath, rocking back and forth.
Killian lunged forward, his hands working to pry open her mouth. She fought, shrieking as he held her down, his knee pressed into her stomach painfully. Wrenching her jaws apart, he took hold of her tongue and yanked.
There it was, a black line down the center. Enil. The same enil that Killian had seen on Fayren Ulr’s tongue months ago.
A chef in the kitchens and a servant with access to the king’s quarters. The Lords Yvylr had quite the reach.
Releasing her, Killian sat back on his heels, his eyes narrow as he watched her scramble away from him, gagging and choking, tears and spit trailing down her face.
“Fayren Ulr,” said Killian. Serua flinched. “Who else?”
Serua shook her head, her jaw clamped shut.
“Last chance. Who else?”
“I can’t say. I won’t say.”
“Then I suppose we’re done here.” Killian held out an open palm. “Lieutenant, your sword.”
There was the scratch of steel leaving its sheath. Then, the cold hilt pressed into Killian’s waiting hand.
Moving behind her, Killian took a handful of Serua’s hair and placed the sword against her throat. She fought him all the way, scratching and clawing at his forearms, raking deep scratched into his skin. He barely felt them.
At last, Killian leaned in close, and whispered into her ear.
“Serua Baraeth, you are charged with treason for the attempted assassination of your king, His Majesty Fyar Engarathi.” Serua jerked in his grip, a questioning whimper escaping her throat.
“Yes, that’s right. Rejoice. Our king still lives. You’ve failed.”
Serua slumped, all the fight draining out of her. “No.”
The sharp steel of Loran’s sword cut through muscle and sinew easily. Slit from one ear to the other, blood poured from Serua’s throat. She bled out quickly. She didn’t suffer for long.
A mercy she didn’t deserve.
Killian stared down at her until she stopped twitching. Stepping over her now lifeless body, Killian wiped her blood off from Loran’s sword on the fabric of his light linen sleep clothes and handed the blade back to his lieutenant.
Killian and Loran didn’t speak for a long moment, just stared at each other.
“Do you have anything to say?” Killian asked.
Loran simply shook his head no and took back his sword.
Kade paced back and forth in front of the fireplace in Killi’s room wringing his hands until his joints ached. The fire had long since died out, no one there to tend it since Killi had fled the room after ordering Kade to go for Hokda.
The healer had been in his own room just down the hall, holed up to rest and relax the night before four days roughing it out in the forest. He hadn’t been happy to see Kade when he’d shown up, frantically knocking and yelling at his door.
But sensing Kade’s panic and hearing his story, the healer had moved with urgency, disappearing back into his room and reappearing with a large leather case. He’d told Kade to go back to his room, go to sleep, and forget anything ever happened.
Kade had done none of those things. He’d tried to sleep, knowing the next day would be hell if he didn’t, but he only ended up tossing and turning in Killi’s bed, his mind racing. The image of Killi doubled over haunted him every time he closed his eyes.
It was early in the morning now, still before dawn. The apprentices were due to meet Hokda in just half an hour to receive their final instructions before the hunt began.
Kade couldn’t bring himself to leave, he kept glancing at the door, hoping Killi would walk through it. He didn’t have much time left to wait.
He still didn’t quite understand what had happened the night before. Every path, every idea he explored led right back to one answer, and he couldn’t accept that. He had to be wrong.
Killi’s skin had been pale and clammy, his breathing quick and shallow. His knees near buckling under his weight. One minute he was fine and the next…
The door opened and Kade jolted out of his thoughts. Killi slipped through, eyes downcast and distracted. There was a drag to his feet and a slump to his shoulders. His hair was damp and his skin flushed from the baths. He didn’t even seem to notice Kade was there.
It was obvious by the dark circles under his eyes that Killi—like Kade—hadn’t slept at all.
Kade leaped over the sofa and stopped Killi short in the arch before the bedroom.
There was a stinging in his eyes when Killi turned his face away from him.
“Killi.” His hands were trembling when he pressed them to Killi's chest, needing to feel the beating of his heart for himself. They slid up Killi’s body until they rested gently on his cheeks.
“You scared the life out of me. What happened? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t lie—not to me. Not now. Please.” Kade was dangerously close to breaking. Killi’s dark eyes were sad when they finally met Kade’s. “I saw it. I felt it. Your heart, Killi, your en…” Kade’s voice cracked, his voice thick. “I watched it fade. I-it was nearly gone. You were nearly gone.”
Lowering his head, Killi nuzzled into Kade’s hands, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed. It felt like an apology of sorts.