The Empty Throne. Cayla Kluver

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СКАЧАТЬ He took hold of my cloak, and I cowered, but no sign of recognition flickered in his eyes. His purpose was simply to dispose of me, which he accomplished by thrusting me back into the sea of bodies. Disturbance handled, he turned on his heel and nodded to the Governor, who let the blade of his hand slice the air.

      Through the blood in my eyes, I didn’t see my cousin fall, didn’t see his limbs flail in a vain effort to slow his momentum and land feet first, didn’t see him struggle against the handcuffs that bound him. But I heard the plank snap flat against the scaffolding and the people erupt with joy, their hunger for violence sated—the murderer William Wolfram Pyrite was no more. Then I doubled over, heaving again and again.

      The crowd started to disperse, and I stumbled away from the scene and into an alley, collapsing against one of its walls. I pounded my fist against the stone until it bled, then sank to the ground, guilt, sorrow, and despair pressing down on me. I felt like a broken, wounded animal, unable to defend itself and in need of a quick end to its suffering. And like that wounded animal, I whimpered, my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking back and forth.

      Though I wanted to blame the Governor for what he’d done, I couldn’t bring myself to do so. He’d acted out of ignorance and in accordance with the law. The one person I could blame—and hate and curse—was Shea, my former human friend who had handed my cousin over to the authorities for the price on his head. I wondered if I might not hurt her the next time we met. If she returned to Tairmor with her family, we might very well encounter one another. To me, she was worse than a traitor; as of a few moments ago, she’d become a killer.

      I closed my eyes, hoping to find some peace, but renderings of pain and loss paraded behind my lids, abrading my already raw emotions: my mother’s red hair aglow upon her funeral pyre; Zabriel, bleeding and in agony, clutching the long knife he had used to try to sever his wings; my younger cousin, Illumina, lurking in the shadows rather than participating in the Queen’s Court, her arms and chest freshly scarred; Evangeline, my friend who had likewise been brutalized by humans, lying cold and dead on the floor of the Fae-mily Home, telltale green staining the skin around her mouth; a halberd striking downward, not once, not twice, but three times, stripping me of my wings and my magic; Sepulchres placing the bones and carcasses of the children they consumed for their own survival into small wooden coffins; Zabriel’s body smashing upon the rocks at the bottom of the ravine before being dragged away by the river’s current.

      My entire body shuddered and I broke into sobs, though no amount of crying or pounding the wall would alleviate the ache I felt. No amount of regret or absolution would quiet it. This was an ache at the core of my being, and it would remain with me forever.

      When I had cried my eyes dry, I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, then stared vacantly at the stain on the fabric. My heart felt pummeled, each and every one of its beats echoing painfully in my head, and it took me a moment to realize the stain was mixed with blood. I touched my forehead and winced—my injury was perhaps more serious than I’d realized. Though part of me didn’t care, I nonetheless tugged open my pack to rummage through it. I pulled out a cloth to use for a bandage, and my gaze fell on Illumina’s sketchbook. A nauseous chill slithered over me, for the ramifications of the drawing it contained were almost too vile to contemplate. Could she have brought the hunters down on me? For Illumina to lay claim to the Faerie throne, both Zabriel and I had to be out of the way. Could her ambition have pushed her to take such an abominable and unforgivable action? And with Zabriel’s execution, was her path to the throne clear?

      Tightly rolling the cloth, I placed it against my forehead, wanting to stop the memories along with the flow of blood. Too many horrendous things had happened, and I didn’t know how to deal with any of them. Every fiber of my being felt taut, strung tight like a bowstring, ready to snap. A noise from the other end of the alley startled me, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Was someone else here? Was I being watched? Had Constable Farrier recognized me, after all?

      Before I could come to my feet, three men staggered around the corner, arguing heatedly among themselves as they made their way toward me. Not wanting to draw notice, I sank back against the wall, hoping that if I stayed still, I could blend in with the refuse. I winced internally—for all the help I’d been able to give Zabriel, I was of no more use than garbage.

      The men stopped a fair distance from me, apparently deciding the alley was a good place for a meeting, and began to pass carefully counted coins, shiny baubles, and grumbled complaints among themselves.

      “I would’ve thought ’e’d cry out,” griped a gray-haired fellow with missing front teeth. “Disappointin’ that ’e didn’t. Not nearly so festive when they’re quiet.”

      A smaller man with a jutting jaw and slim nose that brought to mind a rat laughed gleefully. “I ’eard ’e was somethin’ special, that one. Knew ’e’d be tough right to the end.”

      “Not sure we should ’ave to pay,” joined the third member of the group, by far the youngest, clutching his coin with dirty fingers. “He had a bag over ’is ’ead. Maybe ’e was gagged or had ’is tongue yanked out.” He opened his mouth to charmingly illustrate this approach, and my gut lurched. “Don’ seem right to pay without knowin’ the details.”

      “You’ll pay a’right,” the rat-like fellow threatened, giving the dissenter a shove. “Thems the risks ya run.”

      Besieged by nausea, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the gruesome exchange of blood money in which they were engaged. But I couldn’t shut out their commentary.

      “You lost, too, ya know,” the gray-haired man rejoined. “Them wings, them valuable wings, went with ’im over the edge.”

      “That’s right.” The youngest member of the trio had perked up, perhaps realizing he might get to keep some of his valuables. “You bet they’d slice ’em off. But I told ya the Gov’na likes them Fae. Wouldn’t butcher one for sport.”

      I stiffened and my eyes flew open, a spasm of symbiotic pain afflicting the muscles of my upper back. The rat-like fellow frowned, then rubbed his grizzled chin.

      “Maybe we could find ’em. You know, search in the gorge.”

      The other men stared, at last silent, though this blessing was short-lived.

      “And ’ow we goin’ to do that?” demanded the gray-haired member of the trio.

      “I ’eard tell of a secret entrance.”

      “Be off with ya, then. But I ain’t goin’ lookin’ for trouble. Don’ care to end up in the ’ands of the Scarlets meself.”

      Unable to tolerate more, I bolted from my hidden position, barreling out of the alley and down the street, running until I was too winded to go farther. My head was pounding, my side aching, and when I looked at my cloak, I could see smears of blood.

      Stumbling to the side of a building, I dropped my pack at my feet and searched through it again, this time dredging up an herbal salve. Clutching the small pouch, I washed away some of the blood on my face with water from a puddle, then caked on the thick substance. Once more pressing a cloth against it, I yanked free the sash that belted my tunic and tied it over the makeshift bandage and around my head. I closed my eyes and leaned against the building—perhaps if I stayed still for a bit, the bleeding would end and my nerves would calm.

      I didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel, and yet I couldn’t prevent my mind from conjuring images of my once-vibrant cousin. Zabriel the daring, downing the mug of Sale that had been spitefully held out to him by Enerris, Illumina’s father, even though it might have killed him СКАЧАТЬ