Chapter 19
Ahrick
Dawn came slowly to Fange City, as if the sun itself was reluctant to shed light on what was about to happen.
I watched it through the narrow slit in the cell wall—a crack barely wide enough for light, but enough to mark the passage of time. Enough to know my death was approaching with the sun, creeping closer with each ray that spilled across the scarred landscape outside.
The cell stank of old blood and despair—scents that had soaked into the stones over years.
Walls slick with moisture that might have been water or something worse, something I didn't want to think about.
Chains linked around my wrists, heavy iron that bit into my skin with every movement.
These wouldn't break easily. The metal was thick, reinforced, anchored to the wall with bolts that looked like they'd been driven into solid rock.
I could do it.
The thought was there, persistent, whispering in the back of my mind. I was Vaktaire. We were built for breaking things—chains, bones, spirits.
But there was no point.
Not yet.
The wound in my chest throbbed—a dull, persistent ache that reminded me I should already be dead.
I'd been dead, or close enough. In the throne room, when I'd lunged for Hewes with nothing but rage and desperation driving me forward.
I'd known it was suicide. Known the guards would shoot.
But if I could just get my hands around his throat, if I could just squeeze the life out of him before they put me down—
The blaster fire had punched through my chest like a fist of fire.
I remembered the impact. The way my legs had stopped working, folding beneath me like they belonged to someone else. The taste of copper flooding my mouth. The cold spreading through my limbs as blood pooled beneath me on the polished stone floor.
I'd looked up at Hewes from that spreading pool of my own blood, and I'd seen it in his eyes. Not fear. Not relief.
Disappointment.
Because a quick death in the throne room wasn't enough for him. Wasn't dramatic enough. Wasn't public enough.
So he'd sent the healers.
Three of them, with the skill and tech reserved for people Hewes wanted kept alive. They'd worked in silence, their faces carefully blank, stitching flesh and bone back together with healing that burned like acid in my veins.
It had taken hours. I'd drifted in and out of consciousness, caught between the agony of healing and the deeper agony of knowing why they were healing me.
Not mercy.
Hewes wanted his spectacle. Wanted to parade me in front of the city, broken and chained, before he ended me. He wanted everyone to see what happened to those who defied him. A Vaktaire warrior, brought low. Executed like a common criminal in the square where everyone could watch.
Where Merrilee might have watched, if I hadn't gotten her out.
I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, searching for that thread of connection that had been growing stronger every day since I'd met her. Like a gossamer strand woven through my chest, delicate but unbreakable, thrumming with warmth.
Merrilee.
The bond wasn't complete—I'd refused to finish it, refused to chain her to a prisoner's fate.
But even incomplete, I felt her. A warmth in my chest that hadn't to do with my own heartbeat, a presence that settled in the hollow spaces behind my ribs.
A sense of her that went deeper than thought, deeper than reason, deeper than anything I'd ever experienced with another living being.
And right now, that sense told me she was alive.
Safe.
I'd done what I needed to do. Kept her alive long enough to get away. Given her the Welati stone and told her to run. She'd listened. She'd survived.
That was enough.
It had to be enough.
The sound of boots on stone pulled me from my thoughts. Multiple sets. Heavy. Purposeful. The rhythmic march of guards who knew exactly where they were going and what they were about to do.
The guards were coming.
I opened my eyes and straightened, rolling my shoulders despite the protest of the chains, despite the way the metal cut deeper into already raw flesh.
If I was going to die, I'd do it standing.
I'd do it like a warrior the Vaktaire trained me to be before everything went to hell.
And if there was even half a chance, I'll kill Hewes before I took my last breath.
The door scraped open—metal on stone, a sound that set my teeth on edge and sent shivers down my spine.
Four guards. All armed with blasters and electro-staffs. All watching me like I might explode into violence at any moment, their bodies tense, ready to react.
Smart.
"Time to go," one of them said. An Ardesian with scarred hide that spoke of battles survived and a face that had seen too much violence. His eyes were dead, empty of everything except a cold professionalism. "Hewes wants you in the square before the sun clears the horizon."
"Of course he does." I kept my voice flat. Emotionless. "Wouldn't want to waste good light. An execution should be a spectacle, after all."
The Ardesian's mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile. "You've got a sense of humor. That's good. You'll need it where you're going."
They unlocked the chains from the wall but left my wrists bound, the metal still digging into skin that was already bruised and bleeding. Added shackles to my ankles—short chain between them, just enough to walk but not enough to run or fight effectively. They weren't taking any chances.
Then they led me out into the labyrinth.
The corridors of Fange City's lower levels were a maze of scavenged metal and stone, lit by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the walls and made the whole place look like something out of a nightmare.
We passed other cells—some empty, their doors hanging open like broken jaws, some occupied by prisoners who watched me with hollow eyes that had long since given up hope.
They knew where I was going.
What was about to happen.
Some of them had probably seen executions before, had watched other prisoners walk this same path to the same bloody end. Grateful it wasn't their turn yet, knowing it would be eventually.
We climbed. Up through the levels, through passages that grew wider and better lit as we approached the surface.
The air changed—less stale, less thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and despair, taking on the dry, dusty quality of Palaydium's atmosphere.
My heart rate increased despite my efforts to stay calm, and I felt sweat beginning to bead on my skin.
Then we emerged into the square.
A crowd had assembled. Hundreds of them.
Bodies packed into every available space, pressed against the buildings that ringed the square, climbing on top of structures for a better view of the entertainment.
Aliens of every species I'd ever seen and some I hadn't—Ardesian, Kerzak, Trogvyk, Romvesian, all of them here to watch a Vaktaire warrior die.
Entertainment.
A spectacle.
A warning to anyone else who might think about challenging Hewes's authority.
The execution block stood in the center of the square—a massive slab of stone that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of rock, worn smooth by time and use.
Dark stains covered its surface, layers upon layers of them, creating a macabre mosaic.
Old blood that had soaked into the stone over years, the life essence of countless victims.
How many had died on that block?
How many more would follow me before someone finally put an end to Hewes madness?
The executioner stood beside it—a massive Kaelaks with arms like tree trunks and shoulders broad enough to block out the sun.
He wore a blade that looked like it could cut through bone as easily as flesh, the metal gleaming in the early morning light.
A hood covered his face, but I saw his eyes through the slits cut in the fabric.
Cold.
He'd done this before. Many times. This was just another job, another body, another day's work.
The guards led me forward, their hands tight on my arms, and the crowd roared. Some cheering. Some jeering. All of them hungry for blood, for violence, for the visceral thrill of watching someone die.
Movement to my left caught my attention, pulling my focus from the baying crowd.
A cage.
They'd brought Persico out in the fucking cage.
The Kerzak crime lord sat hunched inside the bars, his massive frame barely fitting in the confined space, his body folded in on itself in a way that had to be painful. His dark eyes met mine across the square, and I saw something there I hadn't expected.
Respect.
Maybe even regret.
He'd been a bad male. A crime lord who'd built his empire on violence and fear, who'd made his fortune off the suffering of others.
But he'd been a bad male who understood balance, who knew the difference between necessary cruelty and pointless sadism.
Who knew when to push and when to hold back, when to show mercy and when to bring down the hammer.
Hewes didn't understand that.
Hewes only understood power, raw and unchecked, and the intoxicating rush of wielding it over those weaker than himself.
Speaking of which—
The crowd's roar shifted, grew louder, more frenzied, taking on a different quality.
Hewes emerged from the largest building on the square's edge, flanked by guards and looking like he owned the entire fucking planet. Everything about him screamed wealth and power.
He climbed onto a platform that had been erected beside the execution block—high enough that everyone saw him, close enough that he could watch the light fade from my eyes.
The crowd quieted as he raised his hands, a hush falling over the square like a blanket.
"Citizens of Fange City!" His voice carried across the square, amplified by speakers hidden somewhere in the buildings, echoing off the metal and stone. "Today marks a new beginning!"