Chapter 67 #2
Symond’s eyes glinted, curiosity outshining his determination to sulk. He walked forward, and I reluctantly trudged behind. I hated every last part of this.
There was a dark side to Diem’s desire to heal, and this was it.
Unlike the gloomy austerity of the other dungeon cells, this one had been filled with love and light.
Hanging lanterns cast a warm glow across plush cushions, thick furs, and rugs that covered the floor.
A large bed with piles of pillows had been placed in one corner, and a buffet of pastries and brightly colored sweets had been placed in another.
All of it looked untouched.
Diem was crouched on the floor, the cell’s inhabitant hidden behind her. “Have some water,” she begged. “You have to stay alive if you want to kill us.”
A sound rose that was more dying animal than living human. Symond craned his neck for a better look, and a boy lunged past Diem, swiping a hand at him with a snarl.
“Stuart, no!” Diem cried, catching the boy by the waist and wrestling him back.
I moved to help her, then froze in shock.
The boy I’d first met in Sophos, the lanky library clerk whose cheeks once turned pink every time Diem spoke to him, was unrecognizable.
His skin was loose and sallow, his hair missing in clumps.
His face was covered in bruises and scratches that I suspected came from the guards’ efforts to force food and water down his throat—Diem’s orders.
His dead eyes and jerky movements looked like something out of a nightmare, a creature that young children feared might emerge from under their bed.
He looked like a corpse waiting to be buried.
I took Stuart by the collar, pulling him off Diem. He swung his arms at me, clawing at my face, though his mortal nails slid harmlessly across my Descended skin.
“Stuart, calm down,” Diem pleaded. She reached for him, and I gently pushed her away. Stuart would not attack her, but his mindless frenzy could still get her hurt.
“He can’t hear you anymore, my heart.” It killed me to say it, and to feel the pain that rose in her when I did. I looked at Symond. “Ophiucae took his mind. Diem has been trying to find a way to restore it.”
“When I go in his head, everything looks blank,” she said to Symond. “I don’t know how to help him. You’re so experienced—and so powerful. You’re an expert with Umbros magic. Surely you know how to do what I couldn’t.”
Symond’s eyes narrowed. She was trying to flatter him into acquiescing, and he knew it. I just didn’t know if his ego was big enough for it to work.
Diem’s hopeful look made my stomach churn. If he failed, she’d be devastated. If he succeeded, it would mean the thousands of Sophosians she’d killed could have been saved—and that would destroy her in a way I didn’t think she’d ever come back from.
I lifted Stuart up and clamped his arms behind his back, alarmed at how fragile he felt beneath my grip. I’d fantasized once about giving the boy a painful death. I realized, with shame, that I’d gotten my wish.
“He won’t eat or drink unless we force him,” Diem said. “He doesn’t sleep or talk. The only thought left in his head is to kill.”
Symond took Stuart’s face in his hands, palms gripped to his temples, his expression inscrutable. “I see the issue.”
“Can you help him?” Diem asked.
“Yes. He’s trapped in a prison. I can set him free.”
Symond’s gaze rose to me. I felt the scratch of claws inside my mind, and then a vision—a foreign one, placed there by Symond’s magic. A warning . . . and a question.
“Permission, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Yes,” Diem breathed, a smile beginning to form.
But Symond didn’t act. It wasn’t Diem he was asking.
I should have demurred. It was her call to make, and if she truly understood, she would never agree.
Instead . . . I nodded.
Symond’s hands jerked to the right with a lethal crack, and Stuart went slack.
Diem screamed. She grabbed Stuart from me, sinking to her knees and clutching him against her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared at his bent neck and unblinking eyes. “What have you done?”
“What you wouldn’t,” Symond snapped. “And if I find the Centenaries that Ophiucae did this to in Umbros, I’ll snap their necks, too, the first chance I get.”
Diem’s arms fell to her sides, though her body shuddered with a mix of sobs and fury.
“You tortured that boy with your hubris,” he hissed. “You will never win this war if you’re not capable of taking lives.”
My mind filled with the memory of Diem in a fiery sea of orange and silver, a thousand Sophosian corpses burning at her feet. My fists curled.
“Do not speak to my Queen of what she is capable of doing,” I snarled.
Diem rose and walked to Symond, and I raised my shield around her. They stared at each other, separated by veils of shimmering black and glittering blue.
“Yrselle warned you,” he said. “About this. About Ophiucae. You didn’t listen.
” Diem didn’t react, and Symond’s features rippled with disgust. “You’re still not listening, are you?
You still think you can save everyone. The graves keep piling higher while the rest of us wait for you to be ready to hear.
” He stormed past her. “Tell your brother to find another Centenary. I’ve had enough of your kind of help. ”
Diem slowly sank back to her knees. She brushed the hair from Stuart’s forehead and placed a kiss on his cheek, then took his hand in hers. Her murmured words were lost in the echo of Symond’s footsteps, but I recognized enough to place the mortal Rite of Endings.
I walked to the base of the dungeon stairs, staring at Symond’s back as he climbed them to leave. “Yrselle warned you, too,” I shouted. “She said no one would escape this war, not even the Centenaries. Who’s the one that’s really refusing to listen?”
His footsteps paused—only for a second—then continued until a door creaked open and slammed.
I left Diem with her brother, grateful for the way he took one look at her reddened, swollen eyes and put her to work on his experiments to keep her busy.
I returned to the dungeon and gathered Stuart’s body in my arms, carrying him out of the palace, out the front gates, and into the dark, moonlit woods, where I dug a shallow pit, then covered him with soil.
I stood at his gravesite in solemn silence, wrestling with a complicated guilt.
I tried to recall the words of the mortal Rite of Endings, and when I failed, I turned instead to search the forest floor until I found a fallen branch, one end still green with leaves.
I jabbed the other end into the grave and used a spark of Lumnos magic to set the branch ablaze.
An effigy to the Everflame—the only other way I could think of to honor a mortal’s death.
I stayed until the fire died out, then smothered the dying embers with my shadows. I turned for the palace, but as I reached the forest’s edge, I heard fresh flames crackling behind me.
I wheeled around to douse them and caught a sudden flash of red, then total darkness. Even when I illuminated the trees with my light magic, everything around was bark brown or verdant green, and the burnt branch that marked Stuart’s grave showed no sign of rekindling.
The mysterious flicker of color stayed in my thoughts as I returned to Teller.
Diem had gone somewhere with Lily, so I helped him gather his things and escorted him to the Centenaries.
With dawn nearing, the various camps had begun to rise, and the sight of the new King Consort with a Centenary quickly attracted a crowd.
When Drusila confirmed that Teller’s revised concoction was a success, they erupted in a celebration so loud, the rest of Diem’s army emerged from their tents.
I clapped Teller on the back. “I always suspected a Bellator would save us,” I told him. “I didn’t realize all of you would.”
He grinned. “You’re one of us now. Better do your part.”
I allowed myself a smile, though the heaviness of the morning still sat upon my heart. “I’ll find a way.”
“Oh my gods,” someone shouted behind me. “Look—in the sky.”
The sounds of cheering faded to murmurs and gasps. Teller’s gaze shifted over my shoulder and grew round. I instinctively reached for my blade, magic conjuring in the other hand as I turned, bracing for the sight of Ophiucae’s gryvern.
Instead, I saw the first sliver of sun peeking over the horizon and casting its glow across the camps. A scarlet glow.
A blood sun had arrived.