Chapter Thirty-Five - We Bloom
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
We Bloom
THE CROSSES STRETCHED out across the wide cavern.
Upon each of the ‘X’ shaped structures was a person; their body hanging lifeless.
Men. Women. They hung from the crosses, dead eyes unseeing.
Unmoving. Men in dark red robes travelled the spaces in between with a variety of different tools.
One with a gleaming saw, another with a trolley of glistening green glass bottles and jars.
“What…what is this place,” she asked, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.
“Progress,” said the King, “the future. We would never have made the magical advancements that we have without this. The Baurnhof.”
He tugged on her arm and found herself pulled along one of the long rows.
“Who are they?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Heretics, witches, traitors,” said the King with a shrug, “unfortunates with no other avenue. In this place, they find purpose. The power they have stolen is returned to Valdyr to protect it. To ensure that it flourishes.”
Rosamund watched as one of the red robed men approached the man on the cross, contorted in pain, fear filling his eyes.
His mouth opened in a silent scream, but there was no sound.
Blood began to stream in a wide arc from the man’s open mouth, guided into the glass bottle by the man in red robes.
They passed another cross where a red robed man was removing the leg of a woman.
Her eyes were lifeless, but Rosamund saw the way her fingers twitched. She was aware. She could feel it.
The composure she had been desperately clinging too since stepping out of the carriage escaped her.
Letting go of the King’s arm she bent over and retched, the smell of it mingling in the air with that of the copper taste of blood.
A warm hand was placed on her back and began to rub soothing circles into it.
She arched herself away from him, her skin crawling at his touch and wiped at her mouth.
He looked at her with nothing but concern, “forgive me, Rosamund. I did not think. This place can be overwhelming to newcomers. It’s just,” he smiled, “you’re so like him. It’s easy to forget.”
“My…my father saw this place?”
“Rosamund…your father built this place.”
No.
She could feel the vomit rising within her again and pushed it down, digging her nails into her palms as she stared at the King in horror.
Her father had built the Baurnhof. Her father had built this horrific place.
This torture chamber. This farm for his research.
She could not believe it. The King had to be lying. This was a trick; it had to be.
He had so many secrets…
“Why?”
The King gave her the same patronising smile from earlier, “to provide a ready supply of power and source of experimentation. To protect the kingdom. To advance our abilities. Here, our greatest minds have access to whatever power they require. Not to mention a ready supply of test subjects. Without their noble sacrifice there is much that would not have been possible for Valdyr.”
Her breathing was becoming ragged, and her vision began to blur. She dug her nails deeper into her flesh. She would not faint. She would not collapse. But the King’s words sunk deep into her, tearing into her heart.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t…
But he could. As much as she did not wish to believe it, she could not deny that it was possible. There were no lies in the King’s words.
“And of course, the Elixir,” said the King as he looked out lovingly at the rows of crosses, “that lifeblood that sustains me, my sons, their wives. Our immortality would not be possible without this place.”
Her throat grew thick, “Liathern’s Elixir?”
The King laughed softly, “It is true the goddess once provided such things. That the Temple was the only institution with the recipe. Prolonging the Kings life until his sons were ready to lead. However, your father, the cleverest man I ever met, he worked it out. The Elixir, our power, it’s not a gift from a long dead goddess. It is ours.”
This was heresy.
Everyone knew that magic was a gift from the goddess. The King was speaking heresy in front of her. Not only that, but that the divine Elixir that he drank now had been devised by her father.
“Your father understood what it would take to protect our kingdom from our enemies. Too long have the Temples controlled the flow of our royal line. Deciding when and how the kings of our past have died. When they stopped gifting my father with the elixir, I knew that I would not endure the same fate. Your father helped me, because he understood. It takes time for someone to learn to rule. It takes time for them to become strong.”
The King shook his head and began to walk down the line of crosses again. In a haze, Rosamund followed.
“My sons,” he let out huff of air and shook his head, “they are not ready. None of them are. Were any of them to take the throne now Valdyr would be lost. This recent embarrassment of a trial is example enough of that. Though I have some mastery over time, your father ensured that the Temples could not force me to give up my throne before any of them were ready. Until…he lost faith.”
The King paused, his eyes on the ground, the dark look from before returned. On Dorian, that look would have her rushing to him, taking his hand and offering him comfort. Rosamund could barely keep herself together and recoiled at the thought of getting any closer to the man in front of her.
The King sighed, “it was inevitable, I suppose. He believed that the elixir was corrupting. That we should stop and give the power back to the Temple,” she heard the pain in his words, the hurt, and it disgusted her, “he was so lost in his paranoia, his…jealousy, that he would rather see the death of his closest friend.”
It was true. Her father had tried to destroy the Baurnhof.
This Baurnhof. That was why he had betrayed the King, his friend.
To save him from himself, to save Valdyr from this monstrosity that he created.
Emotions whirled inside her like a storm, disgust for what he had made, hatred for not stopping it sooner, pain at the choice he had to make and regret for the man she thought he had been.
Her father had wanted to protect this kingdom, and his friend, and in the process had built something cruel and horrific.
“Rosamund,” said the King softly, taking a step towards her.
She backed away from him, her skin crawling when she saw the look of hurt that flashed in his eyes, “I am sorry that I had to do what I did to your father. It gave me no pleasure to do, it…damn well nearly killed me. But you must understand…he left me no choice. Your father was a traitor. To me. To Valdyr. To you. You do understand that. Don’t you Rosamund? ”
She could not speak. What did this man want?
Forgiveness? No. Only some acknowledgement that he was right.
That these terrible things that he had done, that he continued to do, was right.
He wanted from her what he had lost in her father.
Everything within her screamed ‘no’. To fly across the space between them, draw vines from the ground and tear him to shreds.
She wanted to unleash the storm of emotions within her and destroy him for everything he had done.
To her family. To these people. To Dorian.
To her. She wanted him to endure the slow agony he had inflicted on all of them.
And still, it would not be enough…
His power was beyond comprehension. She would not be able to take one step without him bringing the full force of the storm upon her.
Whatever cut she inflicted on him he would wind back the clock until it was healed and trap her.
Frozen in time whilst lightning struck her.
All that rage, all that untapped vengeance would be for nothing.
With some unknown reserves she forced a sympathetic smile, “of course, I understand.”
The King’s shoulders sagged with relief, and a relieved smile spread across his face, “good, that is…good. Thank you, Rosamund.”
He let out a soft huff of a laugh as he moved towards her, and she desperately fought not to step back or pull her hand away when he held it.
“Now…one last surprise,” he said cheerfully.
He gestured towards the cross that was closest to them. Rosamund was already exhausted, but somehow brought her eyes up to it, and this time, she did collapse.
The King caught her before she sunk fully to the ground, his arm around her waist, “there, there, I know you’ve had quite a few shocks. But look, he’s perfectly fine, see?”
Strapped to the cross with lifeless eyes, hung her youngest brother, Tristan.
The one they could not find. The one they could not save. Finding some strength, she lunged towards him, but The King kept a firm grip around her waist.
“Oh no, no, no. That’s not a good idea Rosamund. I promise you, your darling little brother is in no danger here. Not so long as you keep the faith.”
He turned her to face him as easily as if she had been a feather, his large hands holding her tightly, “do you think you can do that Rosamund? Can you do what your father could not? Keep your faith in Valdyr, in Dorian, in me?”
Her father had died trying to destroy this place and ruined his family.
Had he been seeking some sort of redemption?
Some way to atone for what he had created?
It did not matter, in the process of doing so he had ruined so many lives.
Now, the King had her brother, dangling him in front of her, contained in her father’s terrifying creation.
The intention was clear. Swear her loyalty to the King or lose her brother.
Fear turned to rage as she lifted her gaze to meet the Kings eyes.
She would destroy him. She would make him watch as his world crumbled around him. She would strip him of his power. She would inflict the same agonising pain that he did on these people, on her family, and she would make him beg for the end.
But not yet…forgive me Tristan.