CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE #2
Vesper met his stare, maybe to distract him, to try and stop this, to waste time because it was almost sundown. She wasn’t sure.
But Thellonius stalked over, expertly spinning his blade in his hand as if with each turn he invented a new way to carve into Vesper’s skin. Thellonius stopped in front of him and cocked his head.
“You’re a fucking coward,” Vesper snarled.
He spat on the ground, and there was—oh gods, a distinct red tinge tinted his saliva, like he bled internally.
“I hope you burn in the deepest pit of the Hollow. I hope Deimos feasts on your fears and makes fucking macramé with your tendons. Cages with your bones. And if Deimos doesn’t do it, I fucking will. ”
The threat didn’t faze him. And, to Emmery’s surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. Fucking laughed, like a deranged psychopath.
Then he kicked Vesper square in the face and sent him toppling backward in the chair. His head smacked against the hard floor with a crack.
Emmery’s breath stuttered, and she choked out his name, wanting to reach for him. But a creature hauled Vesper up before Thellonius had reached Zyphira again.
There was no stopping this.
Thellonius replaced his blade at the Oracle’s neck.
Emmery’s lungs seized, but she refused to look away, refused to give him the satisfaction, or leave Zyphira alone as she faced this. I’m with you, she wanted to call out but her voice failed.
The blade slit her neck from ear to ear.
Zyphira didn’t scream. She silently met death as crimson burst from the wound, that slice that spilled everything she had ever been onto that filthy stone floor. The creatures holding her dropped her body, and she slumped to the ground. Limp.
Dwindling.
Dim.
Gone.
The Council shed their cloaks to reveal skeletal hands and grotesque withered bodies with loose flesh. They leapt on her. And feasted.
Their jaws opened, unhinged like treasure chests full of needle-sharp teeth and black slithering tongues.
Emmery didn’t need to see it. Hearing it was enough.
The feral slurping. Sucking. Hissing and screeching.
Her vision wavered as she watched helplessly.
The creatures skulked away as if they had received what they needed and discarded the Oracle's body like a squashed grape. They left her a mess of meat and flesh. Her plum-coloured eyes stared up at the ceiling.
But she would never see the stars again.
Someone was screaming. Screaming and screaming and Emmery didn’t realize it was her until her throat burned, and she choked on it. The roaring in her ears and thundering of her heart beat out all else, her past, her future, and blurred her present.
Beside her Vesper fell utterly still, his face pale and frozen by shock, once again the wraith she’d seen the first day in the tavern. His face was bleeding, swelling even more, and Thellonius’s boot bruised into it. And then he leaned to his side and retched onto the floor.
He heaved. And heaved.
Panic rose in Emmery as she glanced around, her thoughts a tangled mess. And then the cold, grim reality sank in.
Zyphira was gone. And she’d let that happen. Because she could have burst free. It would have put her in immeasurable danger, but she could have saved her. And she didn’t.
This needed to end now. She needed to figure out exactly what this surrender was for. What they wanted from her.
Maybe it was the guilt or the panic or the unending string of berating comments her mind flung at her, but she summoned her voice and hollered, “Thellonius!” Her voice reverberated off the blank walls. “You promised you would free them if I surrendered. Where is everyone? Bring them forward!”
He leisurely turned on his heel. A cruel smile curled his lips as he gave her a morsel of his attention, as if it was all he would offer. As if she were a speck of dust, a crumb, the equivalent of a pesky house fly.
Her magic shoved against the restraints, waiting for permission. Clawing for it. Hollering at her.
Not yet, she whispered. Not yet.
He wiped his bloody blade on the saturated fabric of Zyphira’s dress, before he slid it back into its scabbard. “I never intended to let you walk out of here. Surely you knew that,” he said.
“You have no honour,” she snarled. “You’re a damn psychopath!
” She could barely hold it back, barely contain the rage that clouded her vision, the shadow that edged and threatened to overtake her again.
“How could you kill this innocent woman?
How could you lie and expect anyone here to follow you.
You wear a crown, but it's a jester's hat. A cruel sick joke you only play on yourself.”
“You know nothing of me,” he said, bored. He hauled Zyphira by the back of her dress and tossed her corpse aside. “And I care not what you think.”
“What about Destonne?” she spat. “What about your own son?”
Thellonius rolled his eyes, like the idea of caring what his son thought was futile and childish.
Emmery bit back the urge to scream. She thought of Dez and all his father had done to him. Forced him to live in pain and fear and crippled under the Council because he was desperate for his father’s approval. “How could you do that to him? Your own flesh and blood. You fucking monster.”
Thellonius grinned then, a devious glint in his eyes. His attention slid to her right as a figure appeared in the doorway. In the low light, Emmery made out nothing more than a shadow, but Vesper’s breath caught, and he made a tiny noise. A small, stricken sound of grief.
The woman entered the room with ethereal grace, both an otherworldly presence and a creature of the night stalking. Beautiful and oh so deadly.
Black waist-length hair cascaded in thick waves down her back and bounced as she walked.
Her tall, voluptuous silhouette shadowed on the wall, though one of her was undoubtedly enough to bring this place to its knees.
A bronze robe skimmed her body, cinched at her waist and trailed behind her in an elegant train.
The clicking of her heels consumed the room as Thellonius’s eyes lit up hungrily.
Atop her head sat a crown of golden stars tangled in vines, and a lavender vestige swathed her like expensive silk, brimming with outrageous power.
And as she reached the empty chair, she spun and perched herself upon it, as her fingers feathered on the armrests. Her intoxicating lavender eyes flitted to Emmery for the briefest of moments, a cruel tilt to her lips, before turning her attention to Vesper.
Emmery had seen that face before. Not in that expression, but she knew it. It mimicked the face of the man strapped to the chair beside her, but more delicate, feminine, less the sharpness and masculinity Vesper’s features contained, though they shared the same bow shaped lips.
Vesper opened his mouth to speak, and a sad, pained noise squeaked out before he choked, “Izzy?”