Chapter 21 Violets
Violets
Sinevia
The coronation had come and gone. Most of it was a blur to Sinevia, but the people didn’t question it, and that was enough.
Where a priestess of the old religion would have officiated decades ago, this was the first ceremony conducted by a clergyman of the Order.
A remnant of her father’s crusade sure to go once she plunged this kingdom into the darkness it deserved—a kingdom that must prove itself worthy of protection from the magic it fears, through sacrifices, tithes, and unfettered devotion to its queen and its queen alone.
But for now, she had recited the oaths, pledged herself to the crown and the people, and satisfied the illusion they clung to. A fitting starting point to set greater things in motion. A line lingered in her mind from the coronation vows:
“By the blood that binds me to this throne, and by the Blackwynd legacy, I pledge to honor what must be preserved—security and order—and to sever what must be destroyed—those things which are deceitful and feared. To uphold the Order. To keep the kingdom pure of magic and the lawlessness it sows.”
Deceitful and feared.
Sinevia turned these two words in particular over in her head as she gripped the cold metal of the prison keys. To some, they were threatening ideas to shun, but to her, they were the path to power and strength. And some fools, like her brother Asterious, couldn’t seem to fathom that path.
He was so powerful, yet he chose to fight it. To waste it.
She’d never forget that moonless night when she heard Daphne’s screams from the depths of the dungeons.
When he’d killed her. After she’d tried everything in her power to break those locks and get her out.
Every spell, every rune, every key she could find.
But it had been useless. As useless as begging her heartless father not to kill her best friend.
And the weight of those keys in her hand reminded her exactly why she could never again be reduced to begging for someone else’s mercy, only to be crushed when they chose not to give it.
And why she would make Asterious pay for Daphne’s death in blood.
His turn would come, but for now it was the bastard’s who’d turned Daphne in after she used magic to heal his fatal battle wound.
And here he was, standing attentive at the foot of her throne as though waiting for some noble orders, unaware of the surprise awaiting him. “You requested me, Your Majesty?”
She blinked. “General Arik. Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly.”
“Of course, My Queen.” He tucked in his arm and bowed at the waist. “It is my duty to meet your demands as swiftly as possible.” Sinevia loathed the sound of his sniveling voice.
He only cared about impressing his superiors so he could move up the ranks.
He would kiss the ass of whoever was on the throne, so long as it suited him.
“How admirable of you, General.” Sinevia stood and walked down to him, the keys jingling in her hand. “I requested you so that I could inquire your opinion of the state of our prisons.” She noted the uneasiness with which his eyes shifted, but of course he didn’t object.
“Come.” She linked her arm with his, earning a startled look from him. “Let’s take a walk down to the prisons for our inspection, shall we?”
She instructed her guards not to follow them down the long walk to the torchlit dungeons deep below the castle, where dripping sounds echoed in between the groans of prisoners and scampering rat feet.
“Tell me, General. Do you find these cells to be suitable punishment for say—a spineless traitor?” She ensured her arm was still linked with his. Her spells weren’t yet strong enough to work without touching the subject. But that wouldn’t be the case for much longer…
Arik fumbled with his answer, looking around, unsettled. “I—I would suppose so. At least until they are put to death, as the law demands of traitors.”
“Good.” Sinevia smiled. “Then you’re in the perfect place to fulfill your sentence.
” Before the shock could even show on his face, Arik’s body stiffened, his eyes wide with horror as Sinevia combined her Seer’s visions with the power of a Shadow spell to force images of his greatest fears into his mind.
And she ensured he would feel every moment of it as though it were real.
And by the blinded whites of his eyes, she could tell it was working.
He was lying miles from the battlefield, badly wounded.
The acrid metal taste of blood filled his mouth, and gasping for each breath felt like reaching for the moon.
Blood pooled around him as his innards lay beside him, ripped from his body, and great birds circled above.
He was dying a warrior’s death, and yet no one would ever find him to know.
Vultures would pick his bones dry long before anyone ever came across his flayed corpse.
He would die this way, for nothing. Forgotten, food for the wilderness, and without a semblance of honor.
Sinevia watched the quivering lump in Arik’s throat as he tried with all his might to scream, but he was paralyzed by her spell, forced to watch and feel the worst death he could imagine.
Until finally, Sinevia decided he’d suffered enough, and plunged a knife through his stomach.
He dropped to the floor, his muscles jolting from the pain and shock of the vision.
And then he became another soul to steal.
The perfect chance to strengthen her power.
She carved a rune into his still quaking body, and he withered him from the inside out, into a hollow shell of a carcass, and another blackened scar seared itself into Sinevia’s hands—the mark left behind from each soul taken in exchange for power.
This was the cost. This had to be done. All because of Daphne.
If Daphne had just told her she was using magic to heal, maybe Sinevia could've talked her out of it, told her not to risk wasting it on those ungrateful patients.
But she was too compassionate. Too weak to let them die.
And she'd trusted that damn Arik more than she'd trusted her own best friend.
Sinevia blinked, haunted by the memory she viewed as all but a betrayal.
Father was a fool, but he was right to fear magic.
It had cost Daphne her life. It had made her weak and naive.
Magic was dangerous unchecked. It couldn’t be eradicated, no matter how hard father tried.
It would always exist. So it only made sense that it should be wielded by one.
One with the strength and judgement required to suppress any power that could ever rise up against it.
To cut away weakness wherever it festered.
As she turned to go from the prisons, one cell caught her eye—the dark bloodstained dungeons that once held her brother.
His chains still strewn across the floor in the same spot they’d fallen since the day he broke free.
The dungeon she would visit so often to teach him songs and think of games to play through those iron bars.
Those iron bars she had promised to find a way to unlock one day. ..
She'd deal with Asterious and his court of fools soon enough.
But she was glad he ran. She'd planned on killing him at first, but his absence and the passage of time had birthed a far better idea for his punishment. She'd make him her slave, like father had done, except this time he’d no longer be shielded by prison walls. No. She’d put him on display for all to see, as a constant reminder of the power she held.
And until then, he wouldn't be able to take the high road forever.
She just had to bring out his bloodthirst again.
She was certain her curse would accomplish that with time—when the strength of his bare hands were no longer enough, and he couldn't stand to outrun the need to kill any longer.
And by then she'd be strong enough to put that bloodthirst under her command…
and trap him in it forever like he always feared.
She turned to leave, making the trek back to the throne room, where the Captain of the Guard opened the door for her and informed her of a visitor. She rolled her eyes and walked to the throne, permitting the doors to open once she was seated.
An interruption to her plotting burst forth in the form of the Captain entering the dimly lit throne room, his footsteps echoing on stone. As he walked the long, dark walkway towards the throne, Sinevia raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the dirty, hooded figure that limped beside him.
“Remind me of what this is about.” She commanded gently, her voice like a nightingale.
“Your Majesty.” The Captain bowed. “This gentleman requested an audience in your presence this morning. You told him to come back at midday.”
“Ah, yes.” Sinevia let a sigh escape her ruby lips as she smoothed the heavy velvet skirt across her lap. “And what is it you have come to ask?” Her dark gaze shifted to the man beside the Captain, who had now removed his hood to reveal his weathered face and balding hairline.
“Your Majesty.” The man bowed so low he nearly kissed the floor. “I have come to ask once more that you send aid to our city. There have been so many raids from the mountain tribes that things are beginning to feel—well—out of control. They are taking our food and flocks.”
“And which village is yours, again? Do remind me.” Sinevia’s tone was cold and her gaze unmoving.
“Misthelm, Your Majesty…” The man quaked, looking down at the floor.