Chapter 19 The Unseen Dagger
The Unseen Dagger
“The prisoner’s gone.”
The unexpected voice was muffled, coming from somewhere beyond the walls of the chamber, but it startled Luna all the same.
“He has to be here somewhere. Keep searching,” another answered.
“Not down this hall either,” a third voice replied from farther away.
Luna’s attention then snapped to Clyde’s still body; only the subtle rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive. She considered calling out for help, but the words froze on her tongue. What if they were the Darkened One’s men and not the king’s?
“It doesn’t matter,” the second voice said, closer now. “It’s time.”
Goosebumps prickled her skin, and her eyes flew to the door, dread clawing at her insides.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go through with this—”
“Not our call.”
The handle jingled. Luna ran to brace it.
But she was as strong as a wilting flower, and the door slammed open, sending her and the wedge of wood blocking it tumbling to the ground.
Pain pulsed through her as cloaked figures stormed into the room, their crimson fabrics stained dark with what she could only assume was blood.
They descended on her, wrenching her arms backwards as they hauled her upright.
Luna twisted and thrashed like a fly caught in a web, but their grip was merciless, fingers digging like iron hooks.
“Help!” she screamed to Clyde, to anyone—but he was too far gone. She was utterly alone.
The circle of red parted as a figure cloaked in black stepped forward. There was no denying who stood in front of her now.
The Darkened One.
Evil radiated from him like heat, scorching the breath from her lungs. He was a nightmare made flesh—a unicorn corrupted by demons. The black fabric masking his face hid his expression, but not the soulless void behind his eyes.
Luna’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a desperate cry for escape, but there was nowhere to run. Her very soul shrank, retreating from the darkness that threatened to consume her.
“Here lies a human sympathizer,” he said, his voice booming as it reverberated off the walls. “Tell me—what do we do with unicorns like this?”
“Kill ’em!” the others roared.
Her gaze dropped to the swords at their waists, slick with blood. One was likely stained with Venita’s; Luna’s stomach twisted. Clipped to their belts were small white canisters, the same kind used by the king’s guard. Why did the Darkened One’s men have them? Had they stolen them? Or . . .
A cruel laugh snapped her attention back.
“Any last words?” the Darkened One sneered.
“I . . .” Her voice broke. “I’m not one of you.”
His response was immediate. His sword flashed upward, slicing across her shoulder. Pain exploded, hot and sharp, and she cried out as her luminous blood streamed down her arm, agony buckling her knees. Only the guards’ grip kept her upright.
“Blood doesn’t lie,” he mused coldly.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, fury rising beneath her pain. If only she’d learned how to use her magic, maybe then . . .
“I’m not lying,” she hissed.
They laughed, clearly thinking her a fool—but she wasn’t lying. She didn’t consider herself a unicorn. She was Luna; nothing more, nothing less.
A man standing near her lifted his blade, flourishing it theatrically. The steel hissed, cutting the silence with deadly promise. Luna strained, fighting against the hands pinning her. It was no use. She should beg or plead for her life, but the words refused to form.
The Darkened One spoke again, “You’re either with us, or against us. And from where I stand . . .” He waved his hands, and the men holding her pushed her to her knees.
The executioner stepped forward, holding his blade above her throat.
She closed her eyes, expecting her life to flash before her . . . but it didn’t. Wasn’t that supposed to happen at the brink of death? Though she supposed she didn’t really get to live her life, everything she’d known, everything she’d ever believed in—it had all been a lie.
Cold steel nicked her skin. She trembled, adrenaline surging.
The sword lifted.
“No,” she whimpered softly, the word spilling from her lips over and over like a desperate prayer.
Nothing happened.
Peeking, she opened her eyes just a fraction—and in that instant, he swung. It was as if he’d only been waiting for her to witness her own death. The blade sliced through the air, moving in slow motion, each second stretching into an eternity as the gleaming edge descended towards her.
This was it; it’d all be over now.
She braced for the inevitable.
But still, it never came.
His blade stopped inches from her jugular. Her heart battered against her ribs and her entire body shook wildly; she was alive.
“Is this one a dud?” the man asked, stepping back to sheath his sword.
“Or just stupid,” said a familiar voice.
Luna turned, as much as the men holding her allowed, to see Clyde rising from the bed with an unsettling ease.
Impossible.
With how much blood he’d lost, he shouldn’t be moving—shouldn’t even be alive.
Her mouth parted, but before she could say anything, Clyde spoke to the room, “Take her to the king. Let him decide what to do.”
She blinked, fighting and failing to comprehend what was happening.
The men holding her nodded, lifting her to her feet.
“W-What’s going on?” she finally managed to say.
No one answered her.
The door swung open, revealing William on the other side. “I told you this wouldn’t work.”
“You’re alive?!” Luna exclaimed, joy briefly flooding her voice. When she left him in the ballroom, she thought she left him for dead.
He didn’t even so much as glance in her direction.
“I’m sorry,” Luna said—and she meant it. If she could go back, she would’ve picked saving him over Clyde, especially with how strange he was being.
William scoffed, his face a contorted mask of disdain. “Quit pretending you’re innocent, you filthy unicorn. You’re a murderer.”
She stopped walking, but the men holding her didn’t and began to drag her down the hall away from him. William must have seen the shock on her face because he added, “Diera’s dead because of you.”
Clyde shook his head, disappointment curling across his face. “All you had to do was transform.”
She opened her mouth to argue. “I didn’t—”
“You unicorns are all the same,” Clyde cut off as they rounded the corner, leaving William behind. “You hoard your power while others bleed for you.” He brushed his hand over his torn, bloody tunic, drawing her attention to his chest as if his wound was proof of his claim.
There wasn’t a wound anymore, though. Not even a scar.
She stared. “How?”
Clyde’s gaze hit the ceiling as if she’d asked the world’s stupidest question.
“You thought I was dying and you didn’t save me.
You could have, but you chose not to.” They rounded another corner, nearing the throne room.
“I have no sympathy for what’s coming,” he said.
His words were cold, absolute—a quiet death sentence.