I prod further, “The movement must be making more noise across the kingdoms than we anticipated.”
Shifting my eyes down to my feet I continue. “Perhaps he isn’t as popular as he assumes.”
The Devourer interrupts me, voice quiet. “I’m the one who decided to move your execution to this day.”
My eyebrows jerk up, mouth falling open. I feel the color drain from my face, the numbness returning in a rush. Confusion quickly turns to anger. My body drops against the damp wall and slowly slumps to the floor.
This is it. Everything I’ve ever fought for feels meaningless when confronted with my death. Rage bubbles within me and unbridles my tongue as if I could lash The Devourer with my sharp words.
“You’re as wicked as King Euron, as unfeeling and vile as he is.
Unexpectedly another man's voice booms through the doorway.
“Kassiel, we need to talk.”
It’s unfamiliar to me who speaks and I can’t decipher the tone.
“What do you need?” The Devourer’s words are clipped but his gaze on me remains soft.
“It’s about Orlin, he’s pissed that you’re not waiting for King Euron’s approval,” the man replies.
Approval of what?
The Devourer pinches the bridge of his nose and utters, “Fuck me.”
Releasing his grip, he looks up to the ceiling and stares. His face hardens before he replies again.
“I’ll be right there, Rune. Stall him if you can.”
The soft squeak of the door closing is the only answer that comes. The latch clicks and I stare at the figure cloaked in ebony before me, a stark reminder of who he serves and how he lives differently from the rest of us who are born with magic.
I tilt my head to the side and ask the only thing that I can think of, “How could you choose this for me?”
The question is silly, he’s the royal executioner, this is very well his only job.
“Does the king know of your plans to not send me to his menagerie?”
“His majesty hasn’t received the raven yet, so no. He isn’t aware. I haven’t told him of your rarity, only Rune knows. Orlin also is unaware.” He lifts his chin in resolve.
I focus on the details of his face. If he wasn’t The Devourer, damnit, he would be rather handsome. His bold brow bone is set and the muscles in his chiseled jaw taut.
He’s cloaked in ebony, the shadows clinging to him like they’ve found their salvation.
I’m even more confused, my chest tightens as if a thread has pulled. Why would he rather me die than give me a chance at life, even if it meant I’d be under the king’s control?
“Why do you hate me so?” I try to bite the words off, but they are spoken before I can stop myself.
“Why do you stand for a king that culls us like cattle?” The pitch in my voice is higher than I’d like but the reservoir of emotion starts to crack under this new revelation.
“How can you watch our people be used for unspeakable things?” The echo of my yell causes a twitch in his face.
“I’ve seen more than you could ever understand. There are far more unspeakable things than even you know, little warrior.” His voice is flat and detached, the nickname sounding more like a curse.
In the time it’s taken him to speak, he stands before me, towering over my frame.
I swallow, unable to speak.
“I will not use the Mors Finalem on you.”
