The halo has just wrapped the city in its tender golden light, and the cold stars flicker beyond it with mocking indifference.
The freshly cut planks of the wooden scaffold and the banks for the nobles surrounding it still trickle resin. The spectators are already in their seats. I have selected the attendees carefully. Only the cruelest schemers, the rebels, and traitors sit on the wooden benches, probably interpreting my invitation as a warning. Or as a sign of benevolence. They are enjoying their refreshments, oblivious to what’s about to come, eagerly awaiting the bloody spectacle. I climb the rough-hewn wooden steps to the scaffold with my Shadowblades knights at my side. The murmurs muffle. We must be a gruesome sight. All of us clad in full black armor, our blades on display.
“Bring in the accused!” I rumble, and the guards drag the shackled mage to the scaffold. Gods, she’s a pitiful sight. Bloodied and bruised, wearing a tattered hemp shirt, she’s missing fingers and an eye and has to be carried to the scaffold. Older than any other Unseelie in this court, everyone can clearly see that life is leaving her. I’ll grant her a quick death out of respect for all the years she served my family. A more merciful ruler would’ve exiled her for her negligence in missing two of our sworn enemies right under our noses. But this mistake has cost the life of the royal family. Her existence would still be a threat, and I don’t plan on wasting my precious resources on watching the old witch and guessing what she’s up to. I have enough enemies as it is.
“You are accused of neglecting your duties to keep our kingdom safe. You failed to detect the presence of two Seelie Fae in our court, one of them of royal blood. This failure brought the demise of my parents. For this, I sentence you to die.” My voice is loud and clear, and the audience trembles in blood-thirsty anticipation.
One of my knights takes a pair of scissors and cuts her hair short; the snipping is the only sound echoing the tall city walls. Petrified, Aernysse is forced to her knees, and I stalk toward her, blade drawn.
“Mercy…” her bloodless lips mumble.
Mercy means weakness. Something that died with my parents in that temple deep in Silverbriar Woods. Numb, I raise my Shadowblade.
A swift swing and her head rolls down the scaffold to the front rows of benches, and a tall crimson beam spurts from her neck. Then, her body collapses on the planks with a thud, and the crowd explodes in loud cheering. One of the nobles in the front row lifts the severed head and spins her in some macabre dance, making me wince with disgust.
What a fine selection of spectators I’ve made. This is the worst of my court. The blackest souls, the heartless monsters, the unscrupulous opportunists.
The darkness beyond the city walls grows thicker. New refreshments are served. The chamberlain was ordered not to be savvy on the wine. The crowd is exchanging rude jokes, and a troupe of artists climbs the blood-soaked scaffold, one of them dressed as Aernysse, and performs a play of the mage’s arrival in Atos’s Underworld.
The audience is roaring with laughter, the wine flows like a river, and all of them look to the street leading to the palace for the next execution planned for tonight. They lick their lips, eager for the highlight of the night.
The cheer and the scent of blood have surely attracted Shadowfeeders and Tainted outside, but the halo and the tall walls keep them at bay.
The night is already pitch black, and I can hear grunts, wails and dragging steps on the other side of the city walls; and scratching on the gate. The guards on the parapet are getting nervous, shouting commands, and shooting at something below.
“Bring in the Seelie!” It’s a struggle to maintain my impassive and imperious demeanor.
I avoid looking into Talysse’s eyes when they bring her before me, but the sight of her tattered clothes and the bruises from the heavy shackles on her arms make me wince. She pales a little when she sees all the blood and Aernysse’s lifeless body but straightens her shoulders and climbs the steps to her doom with dignity. Her Ancestral Mark across her collarbone is clearly on display—I narrow my eyes, memorizing every single detail of it. For a split second, our eyes lock.
“Talysse of No Name, you are accused of high treason, conspiring against the crown, resulting in the death of the royal family and many Unseelie casualties. I hereby sentence you to death.” Even the wind, sweeping petals, and dry leaves along the night streets, has died out. The crowd holds its breath.
“I have a final wish, Aeidas,” she speaks boldly, drawing a wave of protests and insults from the audience. Chicken bones and half eaten fruits aimed at her shower the scaffold. I ignore the disrespectful way she addressed me and nod, encouraging her to speak.
“I want to meet my end without chains,” she says.
Oh, Talysse.
It’s hard to swallow my chuckle. You’re making it so easy for me. I stride toward her, the keys to her chains in my pocket. Leaning in, inhaling this maddening scent of hyacinth and sunshine one last time, I unlock the heavy padlock. The chains drop with a deafening rattle.
“Be ready, Talysse,” I whisper in her ear, “be ready to run.”
The crowd grows eerily quiet, all eyes following eagerly my moves. Everyone was murmuring that I was infatuated with her, that I wanted her for my concubine. Many have seen us together. The spectators leave their benches and creep closer to the scaffold, eager to see not only blood spill but a death sentence to an impossible love. They want to see my heart break.
I take a step back, taking in her inky hair braided in a crown, the curve of her neck, and the delicate, sharp tip of her ear peeking between the strands. My knights disperse among the crowd as I raise my blade.
The crowd is confused. Instead of looking at the kneeling Seelie before me, I look up to the sky.
Three…
Two…
One…
The bell of the temple of Heroy rings three times, marking midnight.
Then, just like that, the light of the Beacon flickers and dies.
The city plunges into darkness.
