33. Varkhul
THIRTY-THREE
VARKHUL
The boy appears in front of me.
Twelve years old. Hands bound behind his back. Face streaked with dirt and tears.
I know this execution. I’ve relived it a hundred times since the claiming opened my sins to Eirene’s sight. The child accused of carrying the Veil’s taint, sentenced to death by a village that needed someone to blame for their plague.
He looks at me with those wide, confused eyes. “Did I do bad?”
The question hits harder than any blow. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know why he’s here, why the tall orc in dark armor is looking at him with such careful blankness. He just wants to know if he did bad.
No. No, you didn’t do bad. The village did bad. The order did bad. I did bad. You were just a child in the wrong place, and I killed you for it.
“I’m sorry.” The words tear out of me—hoarse, broken, the first thing I’ve managed to say since the shadows dragged me through the tear. “I’m sorry. I should have questioned. Should have refused. Should have been better.”
The boy doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at me with those terrible, innocent eyes.
Then he dissolves. Replaced by another face, another victim, another sin.
The infant. The one born to a woman who’d crossed the boundary while pregnant.
I didn’t execute this one myself. The order had a healer do it—a quiet smothering, they called it, merciful and quick. But I was there. I watched. I did nothing to stop it.
The baby doesn’t speak. Can’t speak. It just exists in front of me, a tiny form wrapped in gray cloth, never given the chance to open its eyes.
This is what she sees. The Sovereign’s voice is almost gentle. Every time she looks at you. Every time she feels the mark burn on her chest. She sees the monster who watched an infant die and called it justice.
“She sees more than that.” The words come out stronger than I expect. “She sees me trying to be different. Choosing to be better. That’s what she claimed—not the executioner I was, but the man I’m becoming.”
How naive. The Sovereign laughs—a hundred voices, all mocking. You don’t become better by wanting it. The blood on your hands doesn’t wash away with good intentions. Those children are still dead. Those innocents are still gone. No amount of love will bring them back.
“No. It won’t.” I meet the darkness where I imagine the Sovereign’s eyes would be. “But I can make sure no more die by my hand. I can use the blade that took their lives to protect others. I can honor their memory by being the guardian I should have been from the start.”
Guardian? The word drips with contempt. You? The executioner who never questioned, never hesitated, never showed mercy? You want to be a guardian now?
“Yes.” I feel the mark pulse on my chest—Eirene, somewhere in the darkness, fighting her way toward me. “For her. For the boundary. For every person I failed before.”
Silence. Long and cold and absolute.
Then the Sovereign speaks again, and all trace of mockery is gone from its voice.
Then let me show you what guardianship costs.
The brand over my heart explodes with agony.
Not the burn I’ve grown used to—this is different. Deeper. The Sovereign’s claws are inside me now, digging into the claiming that binds me to Eirene, prying at the magic that made us one. It’s trying to tear the mark apart. To sever what we built.
I scream. Can’t help it. The pain is beyond anything I’ve ever felt—worse than the wounds I’ve taken in battle, worse than the shadow-burn on my arms, worse than the guilt that’s been eating at me for twenty years.
This is my soul being ripped open, the part of me that belongs to Eirene being torn away piece by piece.
Your claiming makes you vulnerable. The Sovereign’s voice is triumphant. Did you really think I would let you keep this gift? This weakness?
The claws dig deeper. I feel threads snapping—the invisible ties that let me feel Eirene’s presence, share her emotions, know her heart as surely as I know my own. Each one that breaks is a fresh wave of agony.
When I’m done, you won’t be able to feel her at all.
The entity’s pleasure is nauseating. You’ll be alone in the darkness, with nothing but your sins for company.
And she—she’ll feel every moment of your breaking.
Every shred of you that I tear away. It will drive her mad with grief, and still she won’t be able to save you.
I try to fight. Try to hold onto the mark, to protect what’s left of my link to the woman I love. But the Sovereign is too strong. It’s had centuries to grow fat on stolen memories, centuries to master the art of destruction. I’m just one man—one broken, guilty man—hanging in chains of shadow.
Another thread snaps. I feel it go—the ability to sense Eirene’s emotions, the knowledge of whether she’s afraid or angry or determined. Gone.
Another. The warmth I’ve been clinging to, the reminder that I’m not alone—fading, dimming, slipping away.
“Eirene.” Her name is a prayer, a curse, a desperate plea to a universe that has no mercy for monsters like me. “Eirene, don’t—don’t come here. Don’t risk yourself for—”
But she’s already coming. I can feel that much—the faintest echo of her determination pulsing through what remains of our link. She’s in the Shadow Court. Bleeding herself dry to reach me. Walking through hell because she refuses to let me face it alone.
Yes. The Sovereign’s voice is silk over poison. Let her come. Let her see what you really are—hanging in my chains, screaming like all the others you’ve killed. Let her watch as I tear the last of your claiming away and leave you hollow.