My mind, however, seems to be slowing down. So are my blinks. I’m trying to stay awake, trying to make sense of what’s happening. The gold is dripping off my hand like drying paint, just as drugged and paralyzed as I am, and it falls from my fingers in a useless drizzle onto the lush grass.
Rissa is struggling, muffled screams against the cloth, her terrified eyes locked on mine. And I have nothing. No other gold around to help us, my magic too tainted from this poison to use it even if there were and my body weren’t incapacitated.
And then two people walk forward. One of them is an unfamiliar man wearing a long white robe. A robe—and a large necklace hanging down with the emblem of Second Kingdom. My heart splits in fear, but then, my eyes fly to the second person moving out of the shadows.
Manu.
“It’s nothing personal, Doll,” he says quietly, dressed in blue so dark it’s nearly black, his arms bare, hair tied back tight. “But I am loyal to my sister.”
“And to the law of the Divine,” the robed man says.
Manu nods stiffly. “Let’s go. We can’t afford to be anywhere near here when Ravinger gets back.”
I try to scream against the cloth, but all that comes out is a blustering breath.
“What about this one?” someone asks—the man holding Rissa. “She’s just a saddle.”
It’s getting so hard to keep my eyes open. So hard to hold up my head. Rissa doesn’t look away from me, though. So I don’t look away from her either.
“Just knock her out and leave her,” Manu says.
Relief trickles through me, though the drug has even affected that, making it murky in its echoing gurgle.
But then the robed man shakes his head, and my entire body tightens. “No. We can’t afford loose ends. Kill her.”
My stomach roils. My lungs feel like they’re melting in my chest, continuing to pull in polluted air, but my bitter-stained tongue is too leaden to let out a cry of protest anyway.
When I see the man holding her start to plunge the dagger through her chest, time speeds up. Like it’s trying to get this over with, like my body and mind are far too slowed down for what’s happening.
I try to scream, but all I get out is the faintest of whimpers, and my vision starts to go black, my head pounding.
I watch as Rissa’s eyes flinch with pain and shock as she’s stabbed through.
Fast. Too fast I can’t stop it. Too fast that I can’t do anything.
The blade goes in, stuck through her body as easily as someone skewers a piece of meat. Her mouth parts in shock, gaze still locked on me, and then that shock turns to something else.
Something finite and fatal.
She slumps, and I slump with her.
Her body is tossed onto the garden grass with carelessness. There’s a bloodstain blooming amidst the flowers right there on her white dress, the blade still sticking up from her chest.
And it feels like a blade sticks right through my own heart, while a silent scream rends through my head.
Then, everything goes dark.
CHAPTER 59
SLADE
In just a week, the whole base has been saturated with the smell of shit and leather. The underground pipework has gotten clogged from overuse, so new latrines had to be dug. The rationing has been a nightmare to regulate too. There are still some soldiers sleeping in tents, even with the base putting up new buildings as quickly as we can make them, and there are nearly two hundred soldiers that Hojat and the other army menders are treating for travel wounds and sicknesses.
Morale hasn’t been the greatest. Not with the reduced food. Not with the tight living quarters and the fact that no one’s going to be dismissed to return home any time soon.
Queen Kaila and the other monarchs want to be difficult. Want to spread this narrative of Auren being a villain. Of me harboring a traitor. Of making Midas into some kind of martyr.
It’s all fucking noise.
But they can spread their sounds as much as they want. The queen may be a master of words, but I’m an expert at ignoring the clamor. I’m not the type of male to be swayed by sensationalized commotion meant to sway a populace.
Rot is silent.
So they can be as vociferous as they want, but at the end of the day, I will lay them to silent waste if I need to.
Across from me, Ryatt finishes up his reports. Things have been strained between us, but for all his bluster, he’s been carrying out every order. He looks wrecked though, eyes red from lack of sleep, his frown more pronounced than usual. His hair is still sweaty from wearing his helmet outside while he got updates from the list of volunteers who’d agreed to leave Brackhill to go and source more food.