Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
F allon stood on the platform of the funeral pyre that had been erected in the center of the crowded amphitheater. A bed of timber, kindling, and dried grasses were stacked up high enough to burn the red-headed Kaos witch who’d committed the worst sin against the demonborn in centuries, if not millennia.
Other than a few missing bricks and tile shingles from where the chimeras had perched during their escape, the city of Sinarya looked no worse for wear. The only evidence of the damage was the sectioned off remains of the temple beyond the public arena.
Fallon could see the people of his kingdom gathered in the stands, their anxious murmurs and hushed whispers mixing into a cacophony of noise. He wondered how many of them truly supported what he was doing, and how many were just there out of morbid curiosity. There hadn't been a public execution in quite a few years.
He stood still, stoic and silent as Worlic held out a scroll and announced the list of charges against Annika. She looked so pitiful and small from the bed of straw where she was kneeling. Worlic’s voice was practically jubilant as he read each individual charge against the accused witch.
Then it was time to be rid of her.
Tightening his grip on the handle of his sword, Fallon looked down at Annika. She seemed to have made her peace, yet there was a question burning at the tip of her tongue.
“Fallon—before you do this . . . can I please ask you a question?”
“Very well. What is it?”
“The last time I saw you, you said you didn’t try to burn me alive at the concert. But when I asked what really happened, you said it didn’t matter. Could you tell me now?”
Fallon thought back to his visit to the dungeon, when he’d informed her that her husband Talvi was not only a liar, but a dead liar. He reached out to reposition her long red braid in an attempt to buy them a little more time.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Annika. That’s why you walked away from me nearly unscathed. Not a single hair on your head was burned.”
“Then what made all the fire shoot out of you? What made your eyes turn yellow and glow the same as a chimera?”
He looked up and around the arena packed full of Sinaryans who were screaming for her blood to be spilled. It was a perverse outcome, but the Royal Council had given their sentence. She wasn’t innocent, but still…she wasn’t exactly guilty, either. It felt like Fallon had been tasked with beheading a sacred unicorn. When he looked down and his gaze met hers, his eyes began to sting.
“Something that hasn’t happened to a demonborn in over a thousand years,” he said, blinking the tears away until he found his resolve. “You set me on fire.”
He let go of her braid and clenched his jaw, unable to look away from her, wanting to tell her everything…every revelation he’d had about her and her power. How she’d restored his demonborn abilities to their full capacity, how she was just as blessed by the gods as he was. How the unicorn and the chimera were the two most powerful creatures in existence, and she had the essence of both, just like him, thanks to their blood exchange.
He wanted to tell her how he was proof that the red elixir in her veins was now strong enough to restore the powers of every demonborn alive, if only she’d lived long enough to give them a taste.
But more than anything, he wanted to tell her that her prophecy was meant exactly as it had been given—that because of his gift of fire, through her altered body, she would give birth to children who had the full powers of the demonborn, thusly anchoring their souls to the world of the living. She could’ve been a savior of the dying N?kki race…
If—and only if—they were willing to accept Kaos as the catalyst.
Which they never would.
It was such a horrendous shame that she wouldn’t live to see her prophecy come to fruition.
“Since you’re headed for the afterlife, I’ll tell you something that no one but you and I will ever know. I love Novi with all my heart...more than is probably wise...but I would’ve burned down the world for you.”
Fallon trembled as he heard himself speak those words out loud. Why had he said them? He hadn’t even thought them until this very moment, when Annika was kneeling on a funeral pyre with her hands tied behind her back.
All he wanted was to cut away the rope binding her wrists, pull her into the safety of his cloak, and shield her from harm. Why had he just proclaimed that he would’ve burned down the world for this precious golden goose when he couldn’t even conjure his demon fire to save her life?
Maybe if he’d had more time to hone his powers…more time to test Annika’s magic…
But Annika’s time had run out.
“I took care to sharpen my sword well,” he said quietly. He ran a single finger along Annika’s throat, knowing that the only thing he could do for her was deliver a strong, merciful blow. “As long as you keep still, you’ll feel no pain. I give you my word.”
Annika nodded her head and closed her eyes, which only made it harder for Fallon. She wasn’t fighting against her imminent death—she’d accepted her fate.
He took a deep breath, then lifted the Trunsin Blade over his head. He looked into the late morning sky, silently demanding the gods to make themselves known if they were watching this atrocity.
If this liberator of souls is meant to live, you’d better show me a fucking sign right now!
An invisible force yanked the black sword from Fallon’s hands so hard that the back of the blade struck his horned helmet. It let out a clang as Fallon gasped. One second the sacred sword was in his hands—now the Trunsin Blade was being dragged through the air, the tip catching on the gravel of the arena before the handle nestled itself in the grasp of an approaching redcloak.
The castle guard slowly stalked towards the platform while another one ran across the arena and climbed onto the funeral pyre. He didn’t stop until he was positioned between Fallon and Annika. He pulled off his helmet and threw it on the gravel below, his chest heaving with fury, his teeth bared in rage. Glaring at Fallon was a furious Kallo elf with murderous blue and green eyes… Eyes that silently showed him thirty ways he could kill him in three seconds or less.
If you come near her, I will end you, Talvi silently warned.
Fallon knew it wasn’t an act. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t so much as flinch until the suspected assassin realized the Crown Prince was unarmed. Talvi shot him a warning look before kneeling down and pulling his crying wife into his protective embrace.
The noise from the crowd was so loud that Fallon could hardly hear himself think. The redcloak holding the Trunsin Blade was still slowly advancing towards him. All of the greencloaks on duty had drawn their weapons, waiting for their prince to give them orders.
Fallon did nothing except watch the guard step onto the platform. He stayed at the edge, holding the Trunsin Blade like it belonged to him. He took off his helmet and squinted at the brightness of the sun, revealing his sunken cheeks and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day in nearly a hundred years. Fallon’s shoulders fell and his knees buckled so hard that it was a struggle to remain standing.
It couldn’t be…
“Fallon…it’s me,” said the man. His voice…it was so foreign, yet, so uncannily familiar. He took a step closer. “I’m home. I’m finally home.”
Fallon’s eyes flicked from the man in front of him to Talvi and Annika, then back to the man who looked so much like his dead brother. But after one look into those fathomless demonborn eyes, after not seeing him in almost a third of his life, Fallon finally made the connection.
“Dillon?”
“Yes,” the man nodded. He glanced down at the Trunsin Blade in his hand and gave his brother a faint grin. “You know...it’s bad luck to use another man’s sword. Especially to execute the wife of his good friend who was kind enough to free him from prison.”
Fallon’s breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard to keep from openly weeping, but it was no use. He motioned for the guards to lower their weapons, then flung his arms around his long lost brother.
“I asked the gods for a sign!” he gasped while breathing in the familiar scent of his own flesh and blood. He leaned back and let his glistening eyes take in his brother’s face. He was nothing but hard sinew and bone.
But his easy, confident smile was exactly the same.
“What is the meaning of this spectacle?” Worlic demanded, having pushed his way through the crowd that was starting to gather around the edge of the arena. He stomped up to the platform and scuttled over to where Fallon and the others stood. “You have a moral obligation to carry out this witch’s execution!” he yelled at Fallon. “If you don’t get on with?—”
“There will be no execution today, Worlic,” Dillon said cooly while tightening his grip on his sword. “Unless it should be yours .”
Squinting up at him over his red, puffy cheeks, the indignant snarl on Worlic’s face evaporated as he took a closer look at who’d just insulted him.
“Wait—you’re not—it can’t be, can it? Is it really you ?”
Dillon narrowed his eyes and lifted the Trunsin Blade to Worlic’s neck.
“The pigs on the Royal Council have gotten fat and lazy under your care, Fallon,” he warned in a sinister voice while keeping his eyes pinned on Worlic. “Perhaps it’s time to cull the herd. I’ve never seen such insolence.”
Fallon marveled at the open threat to the head councilman. There was no question in his mind that this man was King Balerin’s son.
“A thousand apologies, Your Highness!” Worlic squeaked before falling to his knees. He bowed his head as low as his belly would let him. “We thought you were d—you were—It’s been almost a hundred years , sire! Forgive me for not recognizing you!”
Fallon reached forward to place his hand on Dillon’s arm, urging him to lower his weapon.
“Perhaps Councilman Worlic would enjoy hosting a celebratory feast for the entire court in honor of your safe return home?” he suggested, trying to diffuse the tension.
“You’ll have to have honey cake, and roasted duck, and fountains of wine,” Dillon replied while shoving his helmet into the councilman’s arms. “And you’ll organize it all by tonight, won’t you, Worlic?”
“Tonight, sire?” Worlic stammered in surprise before quickly averting his eyes back to the ground. “Nothing would please me more, Your Highness. Consider it done.”
Fallon looked up at the restless crowds who’d started pushing closer to the arena to get a better view of what was happening. Their demands for Annika’s blood faded away as Fallon motioned for them to listen.
“Let it be known that on this day, after being detained as a prisoner of war by the Estellians for nearly a century,” he announced while waving Dillon over to join him, “my brother has finally come home! As you can see, he is very much alive! People of Sinarya—join me in welcoming our firstborn Sacred Son of Sinaryos, Prince Dillon Blackwood!”
A hush fell over the audience as they registered the unbelievable words their prince had just spoken. Gasps and murmurs of disbelief swelled into shouts and cries as everyone tried simultaneously to push their way to the main level for a closer look.
Greencloaks fell into a protective circle around the Sacred Sons and their companions. The bloodlust from earlier gave way to uncontainable exuberance. Everyone was falling over themselves to get a glimpse of their beloved prince who’d returned. The people of Sinarya began to move as one, like a tidal wave surging towards the safety of the shore.
Fighting his way through the crowd, Mauricio walked up to the edge of the platform, bowing reverently to Dillon.
“I can’t tell you how extraordinary it is to see you alive and in the flesh, Your Highness, but if we don’t get you back to the castle immediately, you might not make it out of here in one piece.”
Dillon nodded, then lifted his free hand to wave at his subjects. Screams and cheers erupted from the stands. People were fainting and sobbing on all sides of the amphitheater.
Grinning wider, Dillon lifted the Trunsin Blade high above his head, pointing at the sky.
“Long live the Blackwood Dynasty . . . and LONG LIVE SINARYOS!”