The fall of kings, p.33
The Fall of Kings, page 33
Melissa moved behind her, dragging her gnarled fingers through Emma’s braid, ripping out the hair tie. Emma wished she knew a prayer, wished she believed in a god that would save her from this. She wished Vlad had killed her mother when he had had the chance. It was all a fantasy, a trick of the flames, broken apart by the feeling of the sheers snapping jagged cuts through her hair. The metallic grind and click of Emma’s curly locks falling off her head played a disturbing rhythm against her scalp. Her hair caught in the joint of the scissor’s handle and Melissa yanked them back, pulling it out at the root.
The sun finally drifted down far enough below the skyline that an inky blue replaced the reds and chased the oranges into the horizon. Sweat mixed with blood to drip into Emma’s eyes. Blinking it away she stared into the distance. Emma thought she should be crying, wailing at the injustice, but the tears wouldn’t come. Her body felt like a separate thing, as if she had become the pilot of some remote fleshy robotics. Drifting on a numb plane of existence outside the reach of the Order, Emma marveled in how peaceful it felt to give in to what was happening to her. It was so much easier than fighting, and she was so tired.
Melissa walked in front of her holding something high in her hands. It took a second to realize that it was the mutilated strands of her hair being held aloft like the severed head of some conquered emperor. The sharpness of Emma’s fury slammed her back into her body, back into the reality in which she lived. A King didn’t give up. Kings fought, they always had. Grams hadn’t let Emma stay home when Melissa had tried this shit the first time and Emma couldn’t give up just because Grams wasn’t here anymore.
“Let not even the first among us wear a crown of pride,” Melissa shouted before throwing the hair into the fire pit. It smoked and smelled like hell. “Humble yourselves before the order of life, the divinity of its conclusion, the gift we are given. We must prove we are worthy of the Divine Mortal’s sacrifice.”
Melissa turned her eyes to Emma, tilting her chin up with the sharp tip of the long sheers to look deep into her eyes. Emma was careful to let her’s stay soft and unfocused; broken. That was what Melissa wanted, what the Order wanted of her, a broken doll on which to prop all of their bull shit rhetoric. The edges of her mother’s face were fuzzy, and Emma didn’t try to focus in on Melissa. If she did, she would lose her temper again. Then they would have to find some other way to punish her.
A shudder ran down Emma’s spine at the thought, so she kept still and supple even as her mother rounded on her with the buzz of an electric clipper whizzing over her scalp. Short, uneven wisps of hair fell over her shoulders and down her forehead, itching her cheeks and her back, sticking to her sweat damp skin. She wanted to wipe them away, but Chase and Benedict still had a hold of her.
The clippers turned off and the silence left in their absence echoed in the crowd as they waited for Melissa to tell them what to do next, how best to abase themselves before their leader.
“Daphne,” surprisingly it was Marcus who spoke. “Step forward.”
Daphne nearly dropped the wooden box she had been clinging to with righteous jubilation and took a single shaky step towards Marcus. Based on the interactions Emma had seen between the two, she doubted Daphne trusted Marcus any more than Emma did.
“Daphne is my trusted advisor,” Melissa said with a cool smile stepping between them.
“And as you have said so gracefully this evening, my lady wife,” Marcus’ spoke with the hint of a cruel joke on his tongue. “Even the first among us need to be brought to kneel before the power of the Order. Daphne’s pride has led her astray. Look at how she holds herself even now as her sister suffers.”
Melissa looked like she might dig Marcus’ eyes out of his face and Daphne tittered behind her with sudden fear.
“Humility is not a quality she is lacking,” Melissa scrambled to piece together an argument that would leave her on top.
“Ah.” Marcus smiled, the kindness of which did not meet his eyes. “But humiliation is. There are consequences to every action and neglect. You are not through teaching tonight, dear wife of mine.”
There was a silent standoff between them while the Faithful watched on. They both fought to keep their faces neutral, Melissa leaning towards rage and vitriol, and Marcus’ smile wavering on the thin edge between acceptable and the sly grin of a of a monster who knows he’s won. Seconds ticked on. Emma grew tired of holding her head at such a tight angle to see into their faces, so she let it fall heavy to her chest. It had the unexpected effect of the goons loosening their grip. She must truly seem broken to them, if they were willing to risk her trying to escape.
“Perhaps you are right, my dear husband.” Melissa lost their standoff with as little grace as she could get away with. “Daphne.”
Emma could see Melissa’s feet when she turned around to face her disciple and then Daphne’s knees touch down on the stone dais. They were running out of room if they were going to keep bringing people up to have their heads shaved. Just then the grips on her arms retightened and Emma felt herself being hauled up to her feet and carted off of the platform. She stumbled, keeping her head down, hoping for the Goon Duo to screw up soon. She only needed a sliver of an opening. When they didn’t stop at the patio’s edge, Emma looked up. Melissa and Marcus both were consumed in a battle of wills, vying for the power position while trying to remain united in the eyes of the Faithful.
They pulled Emma away from the patio stuffed with tables and people and left-over bar-b-que. Fear set in as she was dragged through the shadow of the main house. Emma blinked through the sweat and black ring that was quickly trying to take up her vision. Shit, this was really happening. They were really… oh Jesus. Her heart pounded in her ears.
They stopped just inside the cusp of trees that crowded the far side of the property. It was almost pitch dark under the tree’s shade and Emma was having a hard time making out more than the outline of her captors. One of them let go to step fully in front of her. She didn’t know which one, she couldn’t make them out in the dark and hadn’t bothered to learn the difference between them anyway.
“Now you’re going be a good girl and do just what we say or I’m going have to cut you.” Whichever one of the goons it was pulled something out of his pocket. The last vestiges of sunset glinted momentarily off of a thin bladed pocketknife, nothing special, but it would hurt.
“You’re not going to need that Benny,” Chase spoke, settling his chin on her shoulder and rubbing his cheek against hers. “Look at her. They broke her just fine, should have shaved this bitch’s head first thing.”
“Maybe,” Benedict sidled close, so close that his breath blew away the clipped hair still clinging to her cheek. She could feel the press of his erection against her leg. “I think I would have liked to break her myself.”
He grabbed her with his knife free hand and smashed his thigh between hers, leaving his goon buddy high and dry.
“Dude,” Chase begrudged, throwing up his hands, not trying to stop Benedict from forcefully dry humping Emma.
“You’ll get your turn,” Benedict grunted continuing to smash his pelvis against Emma’s.
He kept on grunting and rutting against her, completely unaware that Emma had complete use of her arms again. Maybe all of the blood had rushed out of their heads and into their dicks, or maybe they really did think she was broken, but neither of them were keeping tabs on her hands.
The grunting in her ear tried to distract her from forming a plan. Not that she really had time for a plan, as Benedict reached for his fly, spinning her around and forcing her to bend over at the hips. Adrenaline flooded her brain. She was swimming on a rash of heightened senses, the noises from a light breeze and the grunting chuckles of her attackers drowning out everything. Benedict put his hand on her hip, fumbling to keep a hold of the knife and drag her pants off at the same time.
Emma reached behind her and grabbed the knife twisting it just right so she could pull it out of his unfocused grip. Folding her fingers around the sweaty handle, Emma thrust the blade backward into Benedict’s leg. It made a wet thunking sound as it punctured his thigh. The sound rolled Emma’s stomach. She readjusted her grip on the blade’s hilt and pulled it out. He yelled in pain, staggering forward to snatch at her tunic but Emma was already rushing Chase.
The smug bastard was standing there, his mouth half open in shock, hand still rubbing his dick through his chinos. She tackled him low in the stomach sending her shoulder hard into his gut. It knocked the air out of him, sending his arms up to his chest out of instinct. That’s when she stabbed him, quick little jabs, in and out, in and out, right in the softest part of his stomach.
Benedict came back to his senses, grabbing her from behind before she could make another set of holes in his accomplice. She landed face first in the dirt, unable to get her hands in front of her in time to break the fall. Dirt filled Emma’s mouth. Gritting her teeth against a scream of outrage, Emma wriggled her way out from under Benedict who had similarly been unable to slow his fall with anything other than Emma’s body. He clung to her legs and Emma struggled, kicking as hard as the awkward position would allow. For every inch of freedom she gained, her strength waned. He made a wild grab for her waist, growling obscenities at her. His fingers dug painfully into her sides and Emma swung at him, knife tight in her grip.
It sunk in just under Benedict’s jaw, next to his ear, and he made a horrible gasping noise that startled Emma so much she let go of the blade. His grip disintegrated and Emma crawled out from under his remaining weight. Gurgling and clasping at the handle still sticking out from his neck he flipped over. Benedict wasn’t getting back up; Emma was. She popped up from the ground, her body on fire with adrenaline. The wet earthen smells of the little cusp of trees tinged with copper. She scanned the area for Chase, he was slumped against a tree trunk holding his stomach with one hand, the blue light of his phone screen in the other. She tripped over Benedict, snatching the thing away from Chase and, chucking it into the yard, too far for either of them to reach in this condition.
“You haven’t stopped anything,” Chase wheezed, too weak to fight her anymore.
She had stopped them, though. Emma didn’t bother to explain that to him. There was a chance that they would both bleed out before anyone noticed they were gone, and she needed to climb over the wall before either of those things happened.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Daphne was sobbing quietly at Melissa’s feet, her hands clasped in prayer. She had an odd shaped head. Shaved now, the folds and dips of her skull created an uneven tapestry of hair. Little rivulets of sweat poured off Daphne’s head dragging snippets of hair and grime down her cheeks.
It was a stark tableau that didn’t play well into the motherly persona Melissa had been cultivating, but on the other hand, Marcus had been right when he accused Daphne of dropping her responsibilities when it came to keeping Emma in line. Melissa would have punished Daphne later of course, in the privacy of her quarters, where the implied failure of Melissa’s system wouldn’t be on display. Melissa hated Daphne for it. She hated Marcus too, of course, but she hated him for his weakness.
“Shh,” Melissa laid her hands gently on Daphne’s cheeks, letting her eyes skate over the older woman’s features. The faith shone in Daphne’s tears. “The Mortal holds us all in account.”
“Yes, Mother,” Daphne’s answer wavered through her muffled sobs.
“Have strength,” Melissa sighed, turning her attention from the woman at her feet. “Where is my daughter? Bring her here so that we might pray together.”
Melissa looked out into the sea of her people. Sweaty faces looked back, their wide dumb eyes blinking as if she hadn’t given them a direct command. Then the faces turned to look behind them in a staggered wave of confusion. Melissa shot Marcus a pinched look. There would be hell to pay if his pet Faithful had lost Emma.
Marcus was not looking at Melissa though, his attention was on the space to the left of the dais, where his stooges should have been. Instead of the clean-shaven mongrels, Chase and Benedict, some of Melissa’s loyal flock had crowded close to the proceedings, their sun worn faces turned up to Melissa in adoration. Emma was unaccounted for once again. Melissa almost felt a swell of pride for her daughter’s ingenuity, though it was suspicious that Chase and Benedict hadn’t called the alarm with so many helpful hands at the ready.
Briefly she turned to Daphne and her bald nubbly head. Perhaps their vanity wouldn’t permit them such a weakness. It was no mind now, they would have to be punished, and just to keep himself in the light of the Faithful’s good graces Marcus would have to do it himself. The thought of the Marcus having to prostrate himself before his false believers made Melissa smile.
“I will not shoulder the weight of your failure, husband dear,” Melissa hissed at Marcus as she made her way towards where Emma should have been.
“Nor would I expect you to, darling,” Marcus bit back, pushing past her. With a hard flick of his wrist, he sent a dozen of his business suited henchmen out into the grounds. He marched quickly off the dais and towards a burly looking man with a well-kept bun and a fine suit. Melissa appreciated that the man at least kept with one of the traditions of their faith. She would have to learn his name. It was always good to have ears on her husband.
“Mother,” a soft voice cooed up at Melissa. “Mother, I saw them.”
The girl who spoke was young maybe seventeen, pretty in a natural way that Melissa approved of. The girl’s sun burned cheeks and soft eyes, gave Melissa’s heart a little thump of nostalgia. She would have to learn the girl’s name as well. She might be a good match for Marcus’ traditional man, a pawn to move the board in her favor.
“Where did they chase Emma?” Melissa smiled down at the girl.
“She wasn’t running away,” the girl looked scared as if she were sharing a secret for which she might be punished for revealing. “They were pulling her towards the trees, away from the main house.”
Melissa’s vision whited out for a moment, as bile crept up her throat. The better half of her temper shrunk away from the forefront. If those Filthy little heathens touched her daughter, Melissa would have their scalps.
“Collect Daphne.” Melissa blinked her vision fizzling back. She spoke to the girl over her shoulder as she rushed towards Marcus, a snarl already starting in her throat. “Take our flock back to the woman’s house, all of them, even our men.”
Melissa didn’t wait for the girl to acknowledge the order; she didn’t need to. The sea of Faithful faces began to depart in mass. Even Daphne’s grotesque sobbing grew soft as they all departed, or perhaps it was the growing fury buzzing in Melissa’s head drowning them out. The tall man Marcus was talking to must have sensed it too, because he departed with a quick nod in deference as Melissa stalked closer.
“What did you promise them?” Melissa shrieked her hands digging into Marcus’ sport coat, the fine summer wool a disgusting indulgence. She pulled him down to meet her eyes.
“I do not make promises with things that are not my own,” Marcus replied, his eyes just as cold as hers. “They went after her because your ungrateful little bitch doesn’t know her place. Emma ran off and now we’ll have to start this all over again.”
“She didn’t run.” Melissa bared her teeth, a near feral desire to rip out Marcus’ throat boiling in her chest.
“You were distracted by your wayward lamb,” Marcus pulled her fingers off the lapels of his jacket one by one. “And Emma took advantage.”
“Your goons took advantage,” Melissa spit out, her fingers turning white in his grip. “My people saw them taking her into the woods.”
Marcus’ face went white as a sheet. Without a word he dropped Melissa’s hands, storming in the direction of the front wall where the densest collection of trees clustered near the front of their property.
“If they have ruined her...” Melissa’s threat followed Marcus as swiftly as she did.
“She was ruined long before she stepped foot on this property.” Marcus didn’t look back at his wife as he spoke. “Did you really think a King woman could help herself? You certainly didn’t.”
“I was young—”
“You were a slut,” Marcus interrupted with sharp finality. “I took you in, the Order took you in and we were ready to take your bastard in too and look where that has gotten us? My son dead, my legacy gone, because of this little bitch.”
“She is a King.” Melissa’s voice was tight, her heart barely bruised by Marcus’ cruel words. She had long since given up on him. “Whether her conception was pure or not, she has the pedigree we both know you need to keep the Order in line. You don’t have enough power to keep the Faithful true without it.”
“I am all powerful,” Marcus shouted, turning on his heel to smack Melissa soundly across the face.
Two of the men Marcus had sent out earlier to look for the missing trio looked away at the sound of his hand meeting Melissa’s cheek.
“I wondered if you would ever grow the balls to hit me,” Melissa let the pain radiate down her spine, affixing its clarity to her spirit. “How much power it must take to strike an injured woman.”
She watched the victory die in his eyes as she moved past him. Further into the wooded area a dark form rose out of the ground near the roots of a tree. As she approached, Melissa could hear pained moaning, the kind of high-pitched keening of wounded animals. Mindless of the jagged underbrush Melissa rushed forward, even as ungrateful as she was, Emma could not be left to the actions of those brutes for even a second longer. Stumbling, Melissa fell to her knees beside the lump of darkness.
“Emma, baby,” she called, her fingers digging into the figure desperately trying to turn it over. Her eyes adjusted to the light as the wind picked up, rustling the leaves just enough to let in the barest hint of cloudy moon light. The body beneath her was not Emma.
A bright tunnel of light beamed onto Chase’s agonized face. He cried out as the light shone in his eyes, raising a bloody hand to shade them from the unexpected assault. The light ran from Chase to another shadowy lump Melissa had only just noticed. The soles of Benedict’s shoes came into view, then his legs and torso. A pool of something dark and viscus spilled around his body, and it was definitely just a body now. The flashlight of Marcus’ cell phone passed by Melissa where she knelt at Chase’s side. He scanned the area to no avail. Emma was gone.
