Our vicious oaths, p.20
Our Vicious Oaths, page 20
“Your boon is granted,” he told the boy. “On one condition: Are you all right with his request?” he asked the stripling’s mother.
She gazed at her son with a mixture of worry and pride for an extended time before turning to face Malachi. “I am,” she answered at last. She turned back to the boy. “Make good choices. Do not forget who and where you come from. Make your father and I even prouder than we already are,” she impressed upon her son.
Once more, Malachi locked his expression down. The woman’s words were eerily similar to the last sentences Malachi’s own mother had ever spoken to him. He’d been a boy of seven—not nearly seventeen—when he’d heard them and his mother had then erected a rune ward around him that she’d prayed would hold even in her death. Malachi scrubbed away the memory he tried very hard not to ever revisit.
He now apparently had a new soldier for his palace. More important, though, he now had names of soldiers in this stronghold that needed seeing to.
“You both should go—now,” he said to the mother and son. “Same for all of you,” he commanded to the other servants. Turning to his Cadre, he grinned viciously.
“Now we truly begin the hunt.”
Chapter Seventeen
THE GUILTY SOLDIERS THOUGHT THEY COULD FLEE the palace and escape punishment while Malachi questioned the servants. Hilarious.
He caught up with the treasonous pricks about a hundred paces south of Cygrove’s borders. Malachi surmised they’d been headed for the southern lands. The fact that they’d made a run for it toward the Stone Dominion was even more laughable. Surely they didn’t think he feared repercussions of crossing into another monarch’s territory uninvited to execute them?
“I will ask you only once: Why did Lady Niyarre send an assassin to kill the Aether princess, whom I’ve claimed as my possession?” Malachi asked after he and his Cadre had surrounded them in the misty woods. Perhaps just as effective in keeping the soldiers cowed, however, was the fact that Kadeesha and her Nkita hovered in the skies overhead, their enormous kongamatos casting shadows over the area. “I want to know the precise game she is playing at, I want to know her ultimate goal, and I want the names of every lord prime you know of who is conspiring with her.” That last part was the most pertinent information he needed to unearth and the part that pissed him the hell off. That anyone had the gall …
He stared down the ten fae who’d cease to exist in a few moments, letting his glacial gaze show them how grisly their deaths could be if this interrogation displeased him in any way. Let them see that the path their demise took could be blessedly quick or torturously slow. The idiots decided to be silent.
The latter it is.
Malachi considered signaling Kadeesha and the kongamatos lower, but tossed the idea aside. The kongamatos’ mere presence in the skies was threat enough, and he much preferred to make the warden’s soldiers shit themselves on his own.
Shadows slithered forward, swirling amidst the thick mists of the valley. The fae cried out from the icy burn Malachi knew his shadows left behind as they manifested into solid things that locked around the guards’ wrists, necks, and ankles like manacles chaining them in place. His shadows yanked each one to their knees, then snapped their heads back so their chins were tilted upward, the easily shreddable flesh of their throats bared.
As he walked forward, Jakobi muttered, “This asshole isn’t about to let the rest of us have any fun.” A round of grumbles from the rest of his Cadre followed.
“Don’t worry,” he promised his inner circle, “I’m certain we have a slew of lord primes to murder when we get home.” He continued stalking toward the warden’s soldiers who’d been foolish enough to follow her to their deaths. “I don’t hear anyone answering my questions,” he spoke plainly. Softly. Screams pierced the air as his void magic poured darkness into their mouths, noses, eyes, made it seep through the minuscule pores of their skin. The screams hit a shriller pitch as the darkness burrowed into their souls and ate away at their very essence.
The elemental powers—air, stone, wind, fire—were born of the inherent magic within the lands each faefolk spanned. But the other three faefolk, Hyperion, Aether, and Apollyon—their sources of magic were of an entirely different nature. Hyperion fae possessed magic that drew upon the power of the sun. Aether fae tapped into something that was far above and beyond a mere fifth element—aether permeated all matter and all space. It was the fundamental substance from which the Celestials had forged every living and nonliving thing in the world.
Then there were the Apollyon fae.
They drew upon the power of the moon and the dark, icy Void that existed not on this plane but in a pocket between realms and was the origin source from which all realms, including the one Nimani existed in, was birthed. At least, that was how the preachings of the clerics went. Malachi had stopped placing the religious leaders on a pedestal a long time ago, and as a result, he believed little he couldn’t see or prove for himself. So while he wasn’t sure about the exact origins of all the classes of fae magic, he was sure that the darkness that coursed through his veins felt like being trapped in an endless hell, in a void region that was deprived of all light and sound and only allowed you to feel … where an executioner wielded a frozen hatchet and used it to carve off pieces of you—body and soul—bit by bit.
This was something he truly knew too. When he’d reached the age of maturity, Nychelle had made sure he experienced what being on the receiving end of his own void magic felt like. She’d used a common siphoning rune to briefly steal his power and turn it against him. A king must know his own power intimately if he is to wield it to maximum effect, and he must understand the extent of the havoc it can wreak if he is to wield it responsibly, Nychelle had said.
He inwardly winced at that memory, even as his chuckle now mingled with the Stone Court soldiers’ endless wails. He needed to thank his auntie for making this moment so much more delicious by ensuring he knew precisely how much agony these bastards lingered in. Blood began leaking from the eyes of his captives. Next, it oozed from their noses and mouths, transforming their screams into gurgles as they choked on it. Malachi eased up on the one named Gengin while letting the light fade from the eyes of the others. Once their bodies slumped against the grass, nearly ensconced by the mists that were heaviest nearest the ground, Malachi severed his assault completely on Gengin.
“Start talking,” he ordered, “and I’ll extend you the charity of taking your head rather than resuming the mode of death the other traitors have suffered.”
“The … the warden,” Gengin sputtered, lips and teeth stained red. “She feared that the Aether bitch might be wedded to either you or Cassius—or the Hyperion king if he got her back, or someone else—to make the future that the Celestials predicted come to pass. Lady Niyarre … she … supports Cassius’s challenge for the throne only on the surface. She thought it would distract you, Your Grace, and allow her to kill the Aether—”
“Watch what word you use,” he said, his voice as icy as the cold that had killed the other soldiers, all while wondering why he cared how she was insulted.
Because she is mine to insult—not anyone else’s, and certainly not this piece of shit before me.
Swallowing, Gengin said, “The princess.” Malachi nodded, and then motioned with his hand for the guard to continue. “She knows you wouldn’t pass up the chance to use such a valuable tool to stabilize your rule and make people forget about the prophecy concerning yourself. Taking as your queen and siring a child with the very woman that the Celestials seem to favor would counter the Cleric’s Rebellion’s longtime opposition to you as monarch and make it much harder for them to eventually unseat you.”
Shadows lashed at Gengin and Malachi knew darkness clung to him as well. Knew his pupils had shifted to pools of black that were as glacial and unforgiving as the Void. “First thing,” Malachi snarled, “are you telling me that you, a sentry who had gate duty, are privy to all this? Secondly, are you telling me, soldier, that Lady Niyarre is involved with the Cleric’s Rebellion? To what extent?” The asshole trembled, like he knew the rest of what he was about to admit would piss Malachi off more.
“My patience is wearing severely thin,” Malachi warned when Gengin didn’t continue divulging what he knew at once.
“We talk,” Gengin said. “Us guards. My friends …” He looked around the field, as if realizing that those friends were no more, and choked.
“Tell me,” Malachi commanded.
“Some were part of her personal security. They … they told me what they’d heard.”
“And the rest?” Malachi asked, getting to the true information he craved.
“The … the Cleric’s Rebellion has vowed to support Lady Niyarre’s ascension to the Apollyon throne and in turn she has provided sanctuary for its faithful members since … since the former king and queen’s deaths.”
Malachi blinked. Then he saw black. A roaring thundered in his ears at the knowledge. The fucking Cleric’s Rebellion. Lady Niyarre was working with the bloody damned Cleric’s Rebellion. And the rot that his father hadn’t perceived and excised when he should have was spreading. But it wouldn’t continue to do so for long. It wasn’t only his rage that crackled in the air around them. Malachi felt the potent rage of each of his Cadre too.
“How long have they been allied?” Jakobi demanded, a void sword having already formed in his grasp.
Gengin eyed the weapon and the stench of his fear intensified. He swallowed thickly. “Since before the former king and queen’s deaths. She was meant to become the court’s new queen.”
“But she didn’t,” Malachi growled. “Their little coup was only partially successful and then the survivors had to scuttle into hiding.” At least all survivors who were not Lady Niyarre, for no one had discerned until this point that she’d been a part of the rebellion’s treachery all along. The bitch had been right there, right under their noses, and she’d escaped suspicion. Further, Malachi had slept with her daughter … an occurrence he was now damn certain was no coincidence.
“The warden’s daughter, Lady Arrenia—what role does she play in this?” Malachi questioned coolly. He wanted to hear the verbal confirmation so when he tore through Lady Niyarre’s entire cursed bloodline, there would be no excuses for people to balk at his actions. He’d be well and truly justified and operating within Court Law.
Gengin recovered a portion of his balls. “Arrenia was meant to get close to you. She was to learn any habits or weaknesses that the rebellion could use against you,” he sneered.
“Again, how would you possibly know this? How would any of your friends?” Malachi asked, curling shadows around Gengin’s throat just tight enough to wipe off the insulting sneer. “There’s no way they’d be so careless as to speak of this around any of you.”
“Bed talk makes for loose lips,” Gengin choked out, and glanced at a body to his left. “He … Arrenia … They were close.”
And now they’re far apart. But not for long …
“Where is the warden hiding the Cleric’s Rebellion?” Shionne asked, interrupting Malachi’s violent thoughts even as he felt the surrounding mist plunging to unforgivable temperatures.
“I don’t know,” Gengin said.
“What else do you know, then?” Shionne pressed. “How about the names of other lord primes conspiring with Lady Niyarre? Can you tell me that?”
“I … I can’t,” Gengin gritted out. “I don’t know.”
It might’ve been the truth, or it might’ve been a moronic attempt at a lie. Malachi decided at this point he was very close to just ending this idiot’s life, so instead he chose to play nice and share.
“Jakobi, Shionne—would you two like to verify if that’s true?” he offered the pair.
Jakobi tossed him a gleeful smile. Shionne crooned, “That sounds delightful.”
They struck at the same time. Jakobi sliced his void sword across Gengin’s gut, spilling his entrails; Shionne forwent using a void blade and instead let ice that would deliver an agony worse than frostbite encase Gengin’s body from the neck down. It’d also prevent Gengin’s gut wound from beginning to heal while simultaneously keeping him alive.
The man screamed so loud that the kongamatos above screeched in response, causing even Malachi and his Cadre to glance up.
“We can repeat this process over and over, as many times as it takes,” Malachi said. He motioned to Kadeesha, who hovered nearby in the air. “Or we can involve others. There are fae who command aether fire here. And I have a feeling their beasts are never too full for another bite or two. Which means I can ask the archprincess to thaw you out, let Jakobi spill more of your insides, and have Shionne freeze you again to prevent immediate healing from kicking in many, many times.
“Or just feed you to a kongamato.”
“I swear I speak true!” Gengin cried. “I do not know of the whereabouts of the Cleric’s Rebellion! The information is above me! I am only a lowly sentry!”
“Who talks with your other ‘lowly’ sentries, who seem to have quite a bit of information. So my question is: Do we believe him?” Malachi asked his Cadre.
“Honestly, I think I do,” Dedrick grunted, in on the fact that Malachi was toying with this guard, who looked relieved until he said, “but it is best to be thorough.” He produced a void dagger. He stalked to Gengin and plunged it into his right eye. The soldier shrieked. “Are you certain you do not possess that information?” Dedrick inquired.
“No! No! No!” Gengin wailed.
“No you don’t? Or no, you aren’t certain?”
While Gengin tried to parse that sophistry, Dedrick pulled the blade out and then stabbed him in the cheek. “What’s that?” he asked. “Dagger got your tongue?”
“I think he’s useless now,” Zayvier spoke up. His cool blue gaze settled on Malachi with a weight that implored him to put Gengin out of his misery. “We’ve gained enough, and you cannot force additional sap from a dried-out tap,” he told Dedrick blandly.
Dedrick grunted in annoyance. He left the dagger lodged in Gengin’s cheek. “When will your balls finally drop?” he asked Zayvier, who’d always been a shade sensitive to violence and found it intolerable when senseless.
Zayvier waved the taunt off. “That happened forever ago. But if you want confirmation, I’ll allow an up-close inspection. But be sure to use all tongue; I’m not a fan of teeth.”
Jakobi and Kiyun snickered. If Malachi was in a better mood, he would’ve done the same, but there wasn’t shit funny about the situation. “We’re done here,” Malachi told Dedrick, honoring Zayvier’s line that he’d long ago drawn.
Dedrick grumbled but yanked the dagger out of Gengin’s cheek finally and wiped its blood off against his pants. “He seems to be speaking the truth.”
“Agreed.” Malachi scrubbed his hand across his jaw. It was all he could do not to slip into a cold, killing rage that would wreak indiscriminate destruction. That might prove the bullshit prophecy true after all. Still, the roaring inside his veins hadn’t dampened since Gengin mentioned the Cleric’s Rebellion. It spilled forth from his blood, lashing against Malachi’s mind like a furious hurricane. He blinked, forcing the thickest part of the black haze away because he wanted to see clearly what happened next. Wanting to prove—to himself as much as anyone—that the prophecy was false.
As king of the Apollyonfolk, the mantle we wear is only as strong as our word; if that is worth nothing, then so is our crown.
That was a lesson that had often been imparted by his father. Another one of the few points on how to rule that they’d agreed upon. So, Malachi kept his word now. He resisted the urge to send tendrils of darkness infiltrating every crevice of Gengin’s being, directing them to break him apart piece by piece, and slower than the others had died. Rather, he drew in a calming breath, curbing the need to do precisely that. He then formed a pair of void scimitars and cleaved the soldier’s head from his shoulders. Gengin’s lifeless eyes stared up from the ground at Malachi’s feet.
“Take the heads of the others and bring them with us. They’re decorating my war room,” he told his Cadre.
Zayvier cleared his throat. “We’re placing our kills inside the palace now?”
“Trystin and Nychelle are going to love the new decor.” Jakobi snorted.
“I don’t give a fuck about Trystin’s sensibilities, and my auntie will see we have little other choice,” Malachi stated. “After all, the courtyard will be crowded with the heads of treasonous nobles and clerics by the time my larger hunt is finished.”
“Does that mean we’re returning to the palace and snatching up Lady Niyarre at once?” Shionne asked eagerly.
“Not right away,” Malachi decided. “How about we let her, and any other lord primes who might support her bid for queen, squirm for a bit?”
“I know that look,” Shionne said. “And I’m glad I stay on your good side. What’s the full plan?”
“You and Jakobi hang back and launch a full inquisition among the warden’s army while she’s away at court,” Malachi said. “Somebody among them must know of where she’s stashed the remaining members of the Cleric’s Rebellion. I don’t care what it takes to obtain the information; whatever you’ve got to do, you have the crown’s blessing.” He held both Shionne’s and Jakobi’s gazes so they understood that if they needed to take a route that made the deaths of Gengin and the others look merciful, they had the official order up-front. Which also meant that if things unavoidably got too grisly, the blowback wouldn’t fall on anyone except their brutal liege whose orders they were only following. The individuals on the ground with him were his Cadre, but they were also lord primes and were expected to at least play at being some level of civilized. Malachi, on the other hand, was already thought of by many as a king who’d bring ruin to his court, so everyone already expected him to be reprehensible.
