Chapter 27
CHAPTER
It made no difference to me, the truths that were uncovered in the hours that followed.
Nothing could change what was coming to the Fae male who had taken my friend’s life.
Another deception, an attack from their own, disguised as retaliation from the North.
I knew better, and yet, I did not care what his reasons were, nor the duress he was under to commit such a heinous act.
I cared not for how Cairis managed to bring him to me, and I had little interest in whether Saryn approved of my methods or if the others would join.
He would pay with his life. And just before drawing his final breath, he would look into my eyes and feel the undertow of grief that had swept away any mercy, any hope he had of his life being spared.
Saryn sent for Trace, and when he arrived, I barely acknowledged his existence. I was acutely and singularly focused on one thing—the arrival of our guest.
Cairis proved efficient, and within hours, he was hauling a bound, struggling prisoner dressed in tattered rags to us.
I motioned for Cairis to take him to one of the burned-out homes behind our safehouse.
Saryn understood my intention. There would be no need to soil this place with blood, and since I planned to take my time, it would be better if we created some distance between the sounds of my meticulous work and any townsfolk.
Cairis dragged the limp and gagged murderer into the room, lit by a handful of lanterns.
It was sundown on the sabbath, and I couldn’t help but think it was the perfect setting for all things ceremonial.
Trace assisted in tying him to the table, following my instructions.
Saryn looked on with anticipation, sensing I was about to become what he had always hoped I would.
Cold. Callous. Calculated. Most of all—bloodthirsty.
Gia yanked the gag from his throat, none too gently, and his pleading began instantaneously.
“Please…please, take me back. He promised me my family would be protected. I only did what I was told.”
I knelt down and squeezed his mouth between my fingers, pinching his traitorous lips together to shut up the drivel he espoused.
“I don’t care if the Gods themselves promised you. Tonight you will witness the North's retribution and my wrath."
I stood and turned to face my companions and stated myself plainly.
“Let me assure you all that our friend, a sworn member of this Imperi, died alone, in pain and afraid. This sorry excuse of a creature took from her the only thing she guarded above all else, her innocence. He assaulted her and showed her no mercy.”
My peers stared down at the captive rendered defenseless before us. Each silent, but their eyes teemed with rage waiting to be unleashed.
“All of you once judged me for my late hours spent with the Vespers, but tonight, I will show you everything I learned. You can look away, or you can watch, but I will relish every minute of what is coming to him, and you will not get an ounce of guilt from me.”
Saryn listened intently, a sly smile spreading across his face. Tonight, I would savor my revenge, and he approved.
“I invite you to partake in avenging our friend. There is only one rule—I will deal the final blow. Take him to the brink of death as often as you wish, but you will heal him each time. If you take that from me, you will be next.”
In the hours that followed, we took turns unleashing ourselves to the fullest extent our imaginations could conjure.
The most reluctant of us was Varro. His kind and optimistic heart did not have a place in moments like this.
His killing was always precise, intentional, and merciful.
His Siren Song created forms of torture none of us could see, but I knew by the writhing and contortion of the prisoner’s body that Varro was doing his absolute best. Not for himself, but for my appeasement.
He cared for Nori, but he loved me—and what hurt me, pained him greatly.
By now the rest of us had clothes soaked twice through with blood, and I was shocked there was any of it left to mend our victim with each time the next resumed their craft. He reeked of his own urine, but the scent did not deter any of us.
“No mercy,” Gia said to me as she approached the table.
Her punishments were impressive. Part of me knew that with every slice, strike, and burn she was doing to him all the things she wished she could do to the king.
For all the times he placed his sweaty, drunken hands on her nude flesh.
I did not care what personal motivations each of them had, so long as this individual continued to suffer.
Each time the male passed out from our exhibitions, he was forced to return to consciousness. He would not sleep through a minute of this. He would feel every moment of it, just as she had.
I looked over at Saryn, wondering when and if he’d partake, but he just stood there, arms crossed, watching us like a proud father. He never once flinched at the sight of the blood, or at any of the actions we took. Like he’d seen it all before. Likely done it all before.
Trace practiced the gruesome methods he’d been forced to perform during his assignment. He removed fingers with ease and blinded him repeatedly—the only activity of the evening where I may have caught a flinch from Saryn.
Blind, heal, repeat.
I refused to meet Varro’s gaze, as I knew each decision I made saddened him, even frightened him.
He’d prefer to console my grief in other ways and put this wretch out of his misery, but he’d just have to love me despite what was about to transpire—what had been transpiring—even the side that was capable of all this.
He had to understand that had it been him instead of Nori, something far worse would come down upon this world.
It was well into the morning hours, and the exhaustion of our efforts had begun to set in. I directed Cairis and Trace to rotate the prisoner’s body, placing him face down on the table. Once he was fully secured, I climbed up on the table and straddled both sides of his bloodied lower back.
“Blade,” I commanded Trace.
He pulled a clean dagger from his thigh and placed it in my palm, giving me a nod of approval. It was then that I knew I was no better, no different than him. I had just been delaying the inevitable of what my future looked like.
This.
Until now, we had only been playing at the cleaner parts of our roles, but tonight we had all changed—and perhaps not for the better.
I leaned down and pressed the full weight of my body against his.
“How does it feel? Being hopeless, helpless, death whispering into your ear?”
The vile stranger could do nothing but whimper into the bloodied rag shoved into his mouth. I cared not for his words or pleas anyway.
“Do me a favor, close your eyes, think of flying…”
My instructions, like a hypnotizing song, was the last thing he heard before I plunged my dagger deep into the small area between his shoulder and spine.
The nest of the wing, as most Fae called it.
This is the place where our wings lay dormant before the magic allowed them to unfurl from our bodies.
“Show me your wing!” I yelled, demanding that he summon the one not pinned against my blade.
Sweat poured from his brow onto the table below and he winced from the immense pain of my weapon digging so deeply into his back.
“Show me your wing,” I demanded again, twisting my hand against the hilt of the dagger, causing him to writhe against it.
In this state, it would be a shock for him to have any magic left to summon them, but I felt the shift of his bones finally make way for his left wing. A white set of feathers adorned it. Blood was smeared across it and dripping from the tips, marring the beauty of it.
“How fitting,” I said. “She had white wings too. They were far more beautiful than yours.”
Abruptly, I grabbed his wing, yanking it back toward me at an unnatural angle, then tearing the dagger from his right shoulder.
I began to slice the muscle from the bone, flaying his wing from his limp, almost lifeless body.
Feathers scattered into the air and I tossed the bloody wing onto the floor where he could see it.
Some say there was no more painful way to die than having your wings removed.
The first few times I tried it with a Vesper, I threw up before getting the wing fully detached.
Something about the tension of the knife against the muscle and bone always made me sick before I could complete the task at hand.
But tonight, there was no hesitation, no restraint.
My stomach and nerves were calm despite the sight of it on the floor.
I could feel the life draining from him as blood seeped endlessly from the wound.
Finally ready to send him to the divine creators, I grabbed what was left of his hair and yanked his head backward to meet my hollow gaze.
I held my dagger tight against his throat and basked in the smell of fear wafting from every pore on his body.
“Tell the Gods I am not sorry.”
I slid the blade slowly across his throat, ensuring he met the same ending he granted my friend.
For the first time since his arrival, my body relaxed into the feel of the warm blood spilling over my hand.
I held his head firmly in place, watching every last trace of his existence disappear from this world.
The sound of his gurgling turned to silence, and all around me, the others stood in mournful silence for the one fate we could not stay.
My dearest friend, the purest amongst us. The most undeserving of a cruel end.
Mother Ilithyia, please send her back to me, even as a shadow.
Even as a dream.