30. Questions that Can’t Be Left Unanswered
Questions that Can’t Be Left Unanswered
Remme
T he world seems to blur around me as Scarlet's form crumples to the arena floor in a broken, bleeding heap. My heart clenches almost painfully in my chest at the sight, an icy fist of dread gripping my insides. Through the ringing in my ears, I'm dimly aware of the crowd's shrill cries of shock and horror, but my gaze remains transfixed, utterly unable to tear itself away.
Scarlet’s teammates reactions surprise me at how extreme they are considering I hadn’t seen them interact with her before this trial. To be honest, my own reaction also surprises me a bit. Olena shrieks wordlessly, hands clawing at her face in a paroxysm of dismay. Even the grizzled Marek appears shaken, bellowing furious oaths that are swallowed up by the swelling pandemonium. But their responses are mere background noise, meaningless din drowned out by the roar of my own pulse thundering through my skull.
All I can see is Scarlet's battered, motionless form amid that crystalline hellscape, rent flesh and torn garments painting a gruesome tapestry in shades of crimson. My gloved fists clench with such force that the metal bites into my palms, dread threatening to hollow me out from the inside.
Some rational corner of my mind knows this is likely just another deception, an elaborate illusion crafted for my benefit. I'd instructed the arena masters to test the competitors' skills to the utter limits - to separate the authentically gifted from the pretenders through any means necessary, no matter how traumatic. But another part of me cannot shake seeing Scarlet so horrifically broken before my eyes.
My jaw clenches hard enough to creak as I force my expression into stony impassivity once more. I cannot afford to let the court or citizens see even a flicker of the roiling tempest burning within me. One misplaced tell, one crack in the facade, and it could undo everything, leaving my obsessive yearnings laid bare for all to mock and condemn as weakness.
As the medical acolytes hurry to cart Scarlet's limp form off the field on a stretcher, I finally tear my stare away to sweep across the assembled viewing boxes. Predictably, it doesn't take long to pinpoint the source of the blusterous outrage echoing above the din.
Lord Greystone has surged out of his plush seat, flushed face contorted in a mask of rage as he pounds his meaty fists on the ornately carved balcony railing. A thin sheen of spittle froths at the corners of his mouth, strings of acidic vitriol no doubt pouring from his lips though the exact words are lost amid the general tumult. The blustering oaf seems damn near apoplectic at the sight of his prospective bride-to-be left in such a gruesome state, never mind that the entire debacle was almost certainly theatrical in nature.
I curl my lip in a sneer of disgust, unable to fully mask the contempt I feel for the man's greed and entitlement. As if he has any true claim or right to Scarlet, to dictate her heart or determine her worth based on his pitiful, lust-addled ambitions. The mere notion makes my stomach churn in revulsion.
My eyes drift inevitably back to the spot where Scarlet fell, now only marred by spatters of crimson amid the cracked stonework. Something in me clenches tighter at the sight, the urge to rush down and see for myself her state almost overwhelming my restraint. But no...I cannot compromise my position or give the game away to those circling vultures just waiting to seize any perceived weakness. I am the king, impartial and untouchable as the laws of nature themselves.
At least, that is the role I must play, otherwise all will be lost and I will not only put myself, but also Scarlet into danger.
Gritting my teeth, I force my attention back to the arena floor as the next team, including Rose, takes their position for the trial. My stomach clenches as I watch the old crone materialize in the center, the same haunting figure that tormented Scarlet's team with illusions and deceptions.
As the trial begins and the crone weaves her dark sorcery, Rose suddenly breaks formation. Taking one long last look around, she darts forward, mirroring the desperate move of the thief who infiltrated my castle. In a blur, she grabs the crone's foot and pulls as hard as she can, knocking the large woman to the ground in an eerily familiar takedown.
My breath catches in my throat as realization washes over me. That technique...that audacious, fluid strike - it's the same I witnessed the night the Bodian crown was nearly stolen. The same skill that allowed the thief to evade capture and slip away like a wraith into the night.
Is it mere coincidence? Or has Rose been the mastermind behind the kingdom's security breaches all along, methodically honing her skills for this grand performance? Is she part of the thieves guild I’m hunting as well? Is Scarlet connected to that as well? It can’t be a mere coincidence that she just channeled the god of thieves magic. I felt it as did everyone else in here. Rarely does a god interfere with mortal events, but when they do, they never do it subtly.
The notion that my own personal fixation may have blinded me to her possible connection to the thieves guild is sobering. While part of me recoils at the idea of Scarlet allying herself with such nefarious elements, I cannot discount the damning weight of evidence piling up - her flagrant disdain for authority, her remarkable skills at infiltration and subterfuge, and now this disturbing display of channeling forces beyond mortal ability from a picky god. All the pieces align in an almost inescapable pattern of guilt.
And yet...the part of me that thrills at her indomitable spirit, the fiery defiance kindled behind those eyes, cannot reconcile itself with condemning her so readily. There is an honesty, a raw authenticity about Scarlet that transcends the shadowed realms of deception and larceny. A part of her soul shines with the brilliant, uncompromising light of a bonfire piercing through the veil of deepest night. To extinguish that would be a tragedy beyond reckoning, an act from which I may never recover.
With an almost physical effort of will, I force my thoughts away from such perilous meanderings. There will be time enough to unravel this riddle and stake my heart upon the truth - whatever form it may ultimately take. For now, I am the implacable arbiter of these trials, and I must play that role flawlessly if I have any hope of claiming the prize that so consumes my every waking moment.
The rest of the day's events pass by in a blur of strained focus, my gaze constantly tracking Rose for any further anomalies amid the flurry of illusions and deceptions unfolding in the arena. Though she acquits herself admirably, I cannot shake the lingering suspicion first sparked by that peculiar shadow-play, that seemingly sentient aura which clung to her for those few, fleeting moments.
When at last the final gong reverberates through the arena to signal the day's end, I waste no time in rising from my viewing box and hurrying from the stifling confines. Affecting an aura of regal dignity, I nonetheless keep my strides brisk and purposeful, gradually allowing the courtly facade to slough away with each echoing footfall on the marble corridors.
Soon enough, I find myself standing before the door to the arena's auxiliary infirmary wing. A pair of armored guards snap to attention as I approach, leveling their pikes in crisp salutes. I wave them aside brusquely.
"Leave us," I growl in a tone that brokered no argument. "And ensure I am not disturbed unless the arena itself is burning down."
The men exchange a confused look but know better than to defy a direct order from their liege. With rigid bows, they retreat back up the corridor to take up positions flanking the intersection, their clanking footfalls fading into silence.
I let out a slow exhalation, feeling some of the weight sloughing from my shoulders the further I move from prying eyes and wagging tongues.
Pushing open the heavy oak door, I step into the dimly lit chamber to find Scarlet lying unconscious on a cot, her torso and limbs thickly wrapped in linen bandages. An elderly physician mutters beneath his breath while preparing a dressing tray of unguents, but he barely reacts to my entrance beyond a deferential nod of acknowledgment.
One way or another, Scarlet's role in all this will soon reach its end. Either she will prove innocent of any involvement with the thieves guild I've vowed to extinguish, finally laying my obsession to rest...or else that uncompromising spirit will flare brilliantly one last time before I am forced to snuff out its radiant pyre, forever damning a piece of my own humanity in the process.
As I approach the cot and gaze down upon Scarlet's peaceful features, I reach out to gently brush an errant lock of golden hair from her brow. My throat tightens imperceptibly as the fingertips of my golden gloves ghost across her pale skin, and I feel a phantom ache blossom somewhere deep within my soul. I so desperately wish to touch her directly, but a part of me knows that will never be.
"What secrets do you harbor?" I murmur, the barest of whispers as if giving voice to my yearning may somehow break this fragile spell. "And once they are out in the open, what cruelties will I be forced to bear in turn?"
Unconsciousness has smoothed the lines of defiance from Scarlet's features, leaving her looking almost vulnerably young in repose. It's all too easy to be lulled into seeing her as the innocent she may never have truly been, a beguiling fantasy to quell the tumult of my doubts. But I know better than to blindly entertain such indulgent delusions any longer.
One way or another, I tell myself as I finally turn away from that cot, the truth will be dragged into the unforgiving light soon enough. Should it prove my darkest fears true and Scarlet stands revealed as irredeemably entwined with the black-hearted guilds...then so be it. I will burn away that tangled web of treachery and deception by whatever means remain, no matter how deeply it leaves me scorched and hollowed in the process.
It's the only path left to me now. The sole flicker of hope still smoldering in the ashes of my existence.
No matter how dearly it may cost me, I cannot - I won't - allow that light to be extinguished before its secrets are finally, painfully laid bare