Chapter 64 #3
Tynan studies him, tapping the blade of his dagger against his cheek as he thinks. “And this is where your compass points you?”
“It is. To me, this is the only correct path. The only moral answer to this twisted game.”
“Ah, the moral answer.” Tynan nimbly spins the dagger around his fingers.
“How interesting a thought when one considers the basis for which we construct morals. The fickle concepts we use when creating them.” He paces behind the dangling lives, again tapping his dagger against his cheek. “Allow me to share my choice with you.”
“Your choice doesn’t matter, because I have already made mine.”
Tynan only hums, loosely waving his dagger in the air.
He halts suddenly and grips a fistful of Sterling’s hair, jerking his head back to expose his sullen face.
“See, here is the face of a man who has lived. Who has scars and wrinkles and sunspots to show for his time on this continent.” He throws Sterling’s head forward and moves to Thestis, gliding—though thankfully not cutting—the dagger down his cheek.
“And I think this is the face of someone who has not yet had that opportunity.”
Tynan drops the dagger from Thestis’s cheek, striding forward to stand in front of Gray.
“And when I see your face, I see fires and riots and pitiful ceremonies of people who never knew you but will immortalize you as the champion who could have changed everything but never got his chance. I see one thorn becoming a whole bush. I see a martyr.” He clasps his hands, sweeping his eyes along the length of Gray.
“I also see a wielder who possesses magic which could be indispensable during war. That could change the tides of battles, should he allow himself to be great. I see a youth who bears the cunning of his father without bearing the weight of his father’s age.
” A pause. “I see a resource far more valuable than both those lives combined.”
Gray grinds his teeth. “No life is more valuable than another.”
Tynan’s eyes flare with the thrill of a hunter catching prey.
He spins on his heels, returning to stand behind Gray’s father and Thestis.
“No? Then explain to me which life to save when choosing between a king or an uneducated servant. Between a skilled war general or a simple foot soldier. An exceptional healer on the battlefield or a mediocre water-wielder.”
Gray remains silent.
“Part of growing up, boy, is realizing some lives are more important than others. It is the way of this world, and those who use such vacillating things as morals to say otherwise are fools.” He places a hand on Thestis’s quaking shoulder.
“You see, Lion: morality is only a story we tell ourselves to make the choices of this world bearable. It gives an excuse to the inexcusable. It is pretty lies served on silver platters to disguise ugly acts as civilized. Weaponizes barbaric actions to dismantle civilizations when necessary. Morality is a tool. A resource which can be used as effectively as a blade. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Whatever you believe is yours to believe,” Gray says, flexing his jaw. “It changes nothing for me. My choice is and will always be my life for the preservation of theirs.”
Tynan studies him. “Very well,” he concedes through a sigh. “Come here and assume the boy’s position, if you must.”
Gray does as instructed, nudging Thestis gently with his elbow. “Go be free,” he whispers. “Go be great.”
“Gray…”
“Go,” Gray says one last time.
Thestis steps back, where he is met by two hooded guards who escort him out of the room. The unbearable weight that’s been pressing against Gray’s chest eases, if only a little.
“Kneel, boy.”
Gray does as instructed.
“My son,” his father says from beside him. “Please. Please. I am already a dead man without my Azalea. But I will become no more than a lost, withered soul if I am forced to lose you too.”
Despite everything, Gray manages to smile at his father. “You have raised me to be good and noble and true. I have lived by my morals, and I will die by them as well.”
Tynan flips his dagger and presses the blade to Gray’s throat. “Ready?”
Gray lifts his chin, providing Tynan with better access to his neck. “Do it.”
His gaze wanders and finds Lyra, her eyes wide as she drops to her knees, shaking her head. He knows this will hurt her—devastate her. But she survived the thought of his death once. She will survive it again. Even if this time it is real, and he won’t be coming back.
He continues watching her, deciding he is perfectly content for the other half of his soul to be the final thing he ever sees.
The girl he roamed courtyards and explored gardens with.
The best friend who stayed up late with him sucking on sweet fruit while they giggled incessantly.
The partner who always listened to him as he rambled on about his books and made him feel safe when talking about his passions.
Yes, his view as he goes is not a bad one—even if he wishes he could do more to change the tide for everyone. Wishes he could gaze upon copper hair and cobalt eyes one last time.
He never did confess to his feelings. Never was able to kiss her or hold her in the ways he truly wanted.
He never managed to tell her he stays up sometimes through the night, his mind awake with dreams of a future where they both wore rings and he played her music while a child’s laughter echoed through the wind.
It had always felt like a promise to him.
“Thank you for playing the game, Lion. You made it as interesting as I hoped you would.”
Gray shuts his eyes and sees beautiful copper waves rushing over a cobalt shore.
The dagger digs into his skin.
And then there is the ssssst sound of a blade slicing a throat. The tangy smell of blood as it pours from a fresh body. The dull thud as that bleeding body topples to the ground.
Through the haze of his mind, Gray is dimly aware of everything crashing down around him. Understands the ramifications of yet another Nightenjoy being murdered. Yet when he reopens his eyes, his skin unblemished and whole, he knows he is not the Nightenjoy to follow his mother.
He creaks his chin over his shoulder to find his father’s body crumpled forward in a pool of his own blood, King Alastair towering over it, a bloody dagger in his hand and a smile on his lips.
Tynan drops the blade from Gray’s throat and steps in front of him. “I told you my choice,” he says, words cold as ice. “I always go with my choice.”
All Gray can do is stare at the crimson puddle as it expands. As he does, he is surprised by how quiet his mind is. How suddenly his body just…ceases to exist. How soon the beautiful copper filling his mind seeps to crimson before turning wholly black.
The frigid numbness ravages him with the swiftness of a lethal storm overtaking a once sunny sea.
Is this what true pain is? Is this what it tastes like to have rot festering inside you?
Tynan grips his hair and jerks his head back. Whatever he sees in Gray’s eyes has him humming with approval. “Good. You’ve been properly broken, which means you are no longer a threat to me or my plans.” A heavy pause. “You will be the people’s champion no longer.”
He releases his hold on Gray’s hair, and his head falls forward as languidly as if his neck has no means to support the heavy thing.
Gray stares at the floor. At the red staining it.
As he does, he becomes faintly aware of the way his body slowly collapses inward.
The way his head droops more and more. The fact that he should rise to his feet and attempt to help the others.
To fight or stand by them. Maybe even try to swipe the dagger dangling from Tynan’s hand so carelessly in front of him.
It would be so easy. He could do it if he wanted.
He remains still.
There is not a single part of him left that can find it within itself to dredge up a desire to fight. To want something as petty and trivial as a last ditch effort at useless aid.
No.
He does not wish for anything but oblivion.
Tynan’s clap echoes like a thunderstrike. “Now, then. Who’s next?”