Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
He checked the needle blade was safely in its sheath, leaned back against the cold stones of the castle wall, and breathed deeply, rolling out the stiffness in his shoulders.
The last few hours had been exceedingly fraught.
But he’d done it. He wanted to laugh, but he swallowed it down. Now was not the time.
Narya was a typical spoiled girl. Too rich, pretty, and entitled to realize that the world was dark and dangerous. It was easy to make sure she heard the rumor of something forbidden and exciting. It was easy to entice her. And now she was dead. Because he’d killed her.
He’d done it swiftly and painlessly. Kindly even. More than the woman fucking the prince behind her cousin’s back deserved. Unlike Prince Shanrick, he was not a monster.
And now her soul was already lifting over Aobna.
Would it make its way back to the sands of Kwanam, to her home?
Would it follow the heated vortex around the Nabasberg, pass the darkness of Order, walk the fires of Chaos, and rejoin the Mother of the Weave as one of the ancestors?
Or would it become trapped in the misty clouds that spilled down the mountainside, never to settle, never to find a home?
His mother would say that Narya could only hope for purity through fire. But then, his mother was a crazy old woman, made insane by a brute of a husband, pain, and years of intensifying religious zeal. Still, the superstition she’d tried to drill into him was hard to forget.
She’d filled his childhood with the ceremonies and rites of Chaos.
Her life, and therefore his too, revolved around death.
She didn’t care if he was hungry, so long as he went to the temple and purified his sins.
And she didn’t care if Gebhard thumped them both, so long as, when they died, their spirits walked into the fire and were reborn.
He almost scribed a spiral in the air. The ward was so ingrained within him. But he held himself back. He knew the truth. Order and Chaos were just ideas to scare little children. And his own parents proved how little faith he should have in the Mother of All.
He let out a slow breath. He didn’t need to fear that Narya would haunt the misty paths… Rayan never had.
He allowed himself a small, silent grin.
Benja would have approved. He believed in doing what you had to do.
Even if, in the end, he’d been so obsessed with his own product that he’d let everything else slide into disarray—including himself—and missed his repayment deadline.
Repeatedly. Which was bloody, fucking stupid.
Gods, he hated old people. If he could, he would have left Mama behind long ago, too. He certainly wouldn’t have bothered with the thick blankets on her bed or the spicy meat-broth she enjoyed for her dinner. But it kept her alive... and that benefitted them both.
He pushed away from the wall, dragged a hand through his hair, and strode onward. His plan had worked almost perfectly. He’d expected there to be an immediate outcry—drama and chaos—which hadn’t happened yet. But it was coming; he could feel it.
Narya was dead, and the drakes had her body. It was only a matter of time before Batlok found out and all hell broke loose. And who was responsible for keeping everyone safe? Who had failed so spectacularly? Knight Commander Luka. It was perfect.
All he had to do was sit back and watch as Luka was punished, the royal wedding was called off, the war was reignited, the caravans to the front started moving once more, and his buyers went back to handing over their gold.