Chapter 25
Now
Kauvras.I fought the bile that stung my throat, the sheer terror threatening to break me. Commander Vorkalth was growling. “Now, pretty thing, get on the ground.” I willed my knees to bend knowing this was not a battle I’d win, but they froze just as they had when I watched Larka die. “Or would you prefer to get on your knees for me?” His breath escaped the mask, hot on my face as he took my hand in his, his calloused palm dwarfing mine. A few of the masked men chuckled behind him as he held my hand. My heartbeat was wild. I didn’t feel the pain in my wrist or my foot or my ribs or the wound in my thigh. I only felt where his skin met mine and the pure, unadulterated dreadthat poured into me from his touch.
I hadn’t been afraid of death the day I hung over the cliff. I hadn’t been afraid of death the day I inhaled so much smoke that my vision turned black. I hadn’t been afraid of death the day I was caught stealing in Inkwell. I hadn’t been afraid of dying today. I’d been expecting it. I sure as hell wasn’t afraid of dying now. But living... The idea of living under the command of Kauvras, the idea of submitting to the commander in front of me stripped me bare. Ofthat,I was afraid. He finally dropped my hand. “Down,” he snarled.
I lowered myself to the ground, pausing on my knees to meet the invisible gaze behind his mask. The remaining members of the Board of Blood were silent behind me. Slowly, I crouched to the ground under his glare, making sure to keep as much in my field of vision as I could. How could I get him to kill me rather than kidnap me?
“Prepare the leechthorn,” he called behind him.
From the corner of my eye, I watched three masked men move toward Vorkalth while the rest stayed back, bows and swords still drawn. One man produced a cloth bag, while another produced a long glass pipe, and one held matches in his hand. The pipe was dipped into the bag, emerging filled with a fine violet powder. The same hue of violet that had flashed through my mind the past few years, since the day we sat in Ingra’s tent.
“Now, since we are on holy ground,” Vorkalth started, pacing across the room to the members of the Board, “I will give you each a choice.” The remaining brothers were huddled on the floor, Ludovicus still unconscious. “You surrender and take the pipe or you die here and now. I honor the Saints by giving you this choice as in any other situation, it would be made for you. Understood?” His voice dripped with amusement.
He didn’t wait for an answer before boots started rushing toward the Board of Blood, masked men yanking huddled figures by pale necks and black hair. Small bolts of satisfaction rushed through me as I watched the soldiers scream in the pasty white faces that had loomed over me mere minutes ago, delighting in my pain. Ludovicus was still in a heap on the ground as the brothers he had turned on so easily were given the choice to live a slave or die now.
I wanted to say I was worried at how much I enjoyed the sight of what came next. I wished I could say that terror was the only thing I felt. But the shock of it all was dotted with bits of pure elation as I watched the so-called sacred group of men be dismantled.
I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said through the chaos that echoed through the throne room, but suddenly Higgins was face down on the ground, a man in a stag mask driving a dagger into his back over and over as he cried out, blood pooling around him until he finally stilled.
Raolin was pulled to his feet, his black hair wrapped around the meaty hand of a man in a wolf mask. Raolin’s red eyes met mine, pleading and terror emanating from his gaze. I smirked. Ifuckingsmirked. It was the tiniest kernel of power, even while I was crouched on the ground. Watching the terror in his eyes melt into outright despair was enough.
A match was lit and held to the bowl of the pipe, small sparks fizzling as the contents began to glow. It was pressed to Raolin’s lips as he pulled back, but he was wildly outnumbered and eventually gave in to the visceral instinct to breathe. He writhed against the hands that held him, and Wrena’s story flashed through my mind, of the soldiers that ripped each other apart, that ripped themselves apart. In a twist of irony, a masked man produced manacles and shackled his wrists, then his ankles, the entire process taking a team of six to keep him subdued as he raged.
The noises that left his mouth were not human. He writhed against his chains, his limbs thrashing as much as they could while being held by the restraints. An animal. He was passed from soldier to soldier and shuffled to the back of the room.
Garit’s throat split open under the dagger of a man in a dragon’s head mask as he was propped on his knees. With a nauseating laugh, the man lifted a heavy boot and kicked him over. Anton attempted to fight the man in the lion’s head mask holding him, his amber eyes flying about the room. “Hey!” the lion screamed, motioning to a group of men. They came running, methodically pulling Anton to crouch and face the floor, one man pulling his hair toward him while the others secured his body, pulling it away from his head. I realized what was happening as the lion unsheathed a broadsword and held it above his head. A cry erupted from his throat as he swung the blade, severing Anton’s head. The men laughed, the one holding Anton by the hair tossing the severed head to the man with the face of a lion.
Balthazar was shuffled to the awaiting men with the pipe, his mouth in a firm line. He looked more dazed than terrified, and like Raolin he glanced in my direction. It took every ounce of me, every single bit of intestinal fortitude to keep myself from shrugging at him. That failed, though, and I raised my shoulders as best I could from the ground. Death may have been reaching for me, but before then, I would revel in their pain.
Balthazar turned his head toward his fallen leader, Ludovicus, the man who had been so willing to give up his brotherhood in exchange for...me.
Balthazar inhaled in a great gasp, having held his breath until he physically couldn’t any longer. He sucked in a huge drag of smoke, the coughing fit ebbing momentarily before turning into blind violence. It ripped through him as it had Raolin, and he was chained and paraded to the back, the sound of jeers and shouts from the other soldiers filling the room.
The two chained men had gone feral. “What do you think, Commander Vorkalth?” One of the soldiers holding the chains said. Vorkalth’s head nodded once.
The men were held down long enough for their chains to be unlocked before exploding into a tornado of brutality. The masked soldiers stood back and whooped as the men ripped each other apart, blood and hair and chunks of skin flying off of too-sharp nails.
In less than a minute, both men lay dead on the ground, skin ripped to shreds.
Vorkalth raised a fist and all the men went silent. He surveyed Ludovicus’ limp body, still crumpled on the floor. He cocked his head, a movement made all the more beastly because of the mask he wore. Suddenly, he turned to me, looking down to where I crouched. “Ludovicus the Wicked, yes?” I gave a slight nod, unsure of the meaning of his question, my face still on the ground. He chuckled as I kept my face straight, peering up from the floor. “Truth be told, with a name like that, I’d always pictured him to be a bit more intimidating. I suppose every time the story is told, the monster gets bigger.” He nudged the limp body with a boot. “Seize him,” he called to no one in particular, and soldiers descended to chain him. “Kauvras will be happy to see his old friend.”Motherfucker.The piece of shit knew Kauvras the whole time. Two men lifted him and carried him out, leaving only me.
“Up on your knees,” he ordered, and my stomach dropped. I slowly pushed myself up, the bulk of the pain replaced by adrenaline. Keeping my chin down but forcing myself to meet his gaze, I peered up at him from under my lashes. “What a pretty sight. You look as good on your knees as I thought you would,” he snarled, eliciting more snickers from the men behind him. “If only we weren’t on holy ground…” I swallowed back vomit once again as he grabbed the back of my head, pulling my face to look at him. “So, what will it be for you? Will you take the pipe? Or do you prefer to die by the hands of my men? Either way, I will be having my way with you.” His voice was gravelly and his words slithered down my spine like a serpent. Not the regal Nesanian serpent that lay trampled on the bloodied floor. No, the snake that slithered down my spine at his words was wrapped in scales of hatred and unforgiven sin.
“Death.” It was an easy answer. Death was an old friend calling to me. Larka and my Da were waiting for me beyond the line that separated life and death. I could almost hear Wrena’s sweet laugh, see Marita’s gray eyes, feel Cal’s hands on my skin. If there was one Saint I knew existed, it was Cyen, Saint of Death, and he was damn good at his job.
My mother’s face flashed through my mind. She would be married to Castemont for the rest of her life. But if I survived, what use would I be to her? I’d be carted away, fiending for a drug, ripping myself apart to get it. Ripping others apart to get it. I was dead either way. She was losing her only other child, but even if I had survived today’s Initiation, a part of me had died and would never awaken. Death. Easy answer. “I choose death.”
Commander Vorkalth lifted his brows. “Do you now?” He paced around me in the same sickening way Ludovicus had. I nodded my head. “Very well then.” He jerked his chin and three men were upon me. I didn’t fight as they held my hands behind my back, my broken body screaming in pain. I didn’t fight as one of them wrapped my hair in a fist and yanked my head back. I didn’t fight as one of them pressed a dagger to my exposed throat. I simply closed my eyes and waited for the blackness to swallow me.
A laugh echoed through the hall, one that was so deeply rooted in depravity that I swore this laugh could have burned down a whole forest. Vorkalth’s shoulders jolted as it came from the deepest, most evil pits of his soul. “You thought I’d kill you?” My eyes flew open to find the silver bear’s eyes of his mask looking in my direction. “Release her.” The soldiers did so with more force than was necessary, and I skidded across the filthy marble floor, rushing to stand. “You’re too pretty to kill. You’ll be taking the pipe.” I opened my mouth to protest but a man had covered my lips with his palm, pulling me back to a kneeling position.
Tears formed in my eyes, blurring my vision. I wanted to reach for the dagger only to plunge it into my own chest. I willed the wound on my thigh to open, to bleed, to drain me of life. I flexed my hand and wrist as much as I could, silently commanding the gash to split further, to bleed quicker. I took deep breaths, fighting through the searing pain of my broken ribs, hoping one was fractured and jagged enough to puncture a lung.
Anythingbut this.
I fought with everything I had to pull away. It was useless. The burning pipe was brought to my lips. I did all I could to keep from inhaling. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Vorkalth’s abrasive voice hummed in my ear.
No.No.
My vision began to darken and I prayed that I could somehow suffocate myself, that I could hold my breathjustlong enough to slip into oblivion…
Vorkalth slammed his fist into my stomach and I gasped in response, the soldiers shoving the pipe into my throat as the smoke poured into my lungs.