“I am no queen to cogs,” Eimarille said, staring Sabine down.
Her words drew sharp gasps from those nearby and privy to the execution about to take place. Melvin reached without looking, his hand finding Ezra’s and gripping tight. He didn’t look away from Sabine, didn’t want to know if some other Blade was coming up behind them in the shadows. If they died tonight, they’d die together.
Eimarille stepped forward, her heels clicking against the flagstone in between the sound of exploding fireworks. “You have operated out of Helia on behalf of the Clockwork Brigade for quite some time. While your husband has served his country well at sea, you have betrayed it.”
“I know not what you speak of. I am loyal to Daijal.”
“You are loyal to a false queen in the east.”
Sabine pushed herself to her feet, the motion somehow hiding her retrieval of her wand until it didn’t. She raised it not at Eimarille but at herself, resting the tip against her right temple. The clarion crystal there brightened as she called forth the aether, her magic curling against the skin of her face and loose strands of hair. Payton’s shocked gasp told Melvin the naval captain had never been privy to Sabine’s most closely guarded secret. “Caris Rourke is the rightful queen of Ashion.”
Gone was her subservience, and in its place was a righteous fury that Melvin felt in his bones, though he dared not ever show it. Sabine stood beneath the glow of gas lamps and magic, facing off against a woman who had signed her death sentence before she’d ever set foot on the Khaur bloodline’s estate.
The sound of safeties being clicked off pistols made Melvin jerk, and he gazed wildly about at the guards whose weapons were now drawn and pointed at Sabine. Terilyn hadn’t moved from Payton’s side, her stiletto still resting against his throat. The Blade’s attention wasn’t on anyone but Eimarille, who stopped arm’s distance from Sabine, one slender hand turning palm up, starfire flickering into existence in the cradle of her fingers.
The molten light of starfire brightened the area considerably, as if an impossible miniature sun rested in her hand. Melvin couldn’t see Eimarille’s face, only the back of her, but her voice was thick with regret he almost believed she truly felt. But it was all a lie, he knew. Eimarille was the puppet master holding Maricol’s strings, granted that right by a star god at odds with the rest of his brethren.
“You dishonor your husband’s bloodline,” Eimarille said.
“I loved my husband, unlike the way you pretended to love yours,” Sabine said. The magic at her temple grew brighter, gaze becoming distant. “And I loved my queen. For her, I will forget.”
Sabine was a magician skilled in mind magic, and to turn it on herself to protect the memories and names of the cogs she worked with was a sacrifice Melvin didn’t feel worthy of. Not when he stood silently by as Eimarille cast her starfire at Sabine, the magic-driven flames licking at the gown she wore and the flesh beneath it.
Payton’s cry couldn’t be drowned out by the fireworks as Sabine went up in starfire, never uttering a sound, forgetting how to at the behest of her own magic if she was lucky. Ezra’s grip on Melvin’s hand was bone-bruising, and he could hear the shallow way his husband breathed beside him. The smell of burning human flesh had Melvin turning his face aside, trying not to gag, trying not to cry, feeling desperately, achingly guilty that it was neither himself nor Ezra who’d been the focus of Eimarille’s ire and glad for it.
The ball in Haighmoor and the one tonight and all the rest on Eimarille’s social calendar were nothing but staged executions. In every home that held them, a cog would die, and there was precious little Melvin could do from here on out other than order the chains to flee east. Doing so would cripple the Clockwork Brigade in Daijal, and perhaps that was Eimarille’s desire all along.
“I am sorry you had to find out this way, Captain,” Eimarille said in a soothing voice that did little to slow the trip-hammer of Melvin’s heart.
Melvin watched Eimarille comfort Payton, breathing shallowly so as not to take in the smell of Sabine’s death. The captain’s grief and shock was like an opera mask painted on his face, the man having aged a decade in moments. Payton’s gaze remained riveted on the smoldering remains of his wife, who was nothing but ash and whose name would never be written on a memory wall.
Despite the roiling in his gut, Melvin rallied himself to do his duty to his family, hoping that Eimarille’s edicts were for Sabine alone tonight. He let go of Ezra despite it being the last thing he wanted to do. Melvin didn’t need to fake the solemn expression on his face at all as he approached Eimarille and Payton. He dutifully rocked to a halt when a soldier got in his way, pistol holstered now but hand resting on the sturdy brass grip. Melvin sketched a shallow bow in Eimarille’s direction when she looked over at him, no hint of remorse in her eyes.
“I’ll have my servants handle the…mess, my queen. Perhaps it would be best if we finished up inside?” Melvin asked.
“An excellent idea. If you’ve a private room we may use? I fear the good captain is in need of a respite,” Eimarille said.
“Of course. Let me escort you both there.”
The guard let him pass after that, and Melvin wasn’t at all surprised to find that Terilyn remained by Eimarille’s side. Ezra stayed behind long enough to usher everyone who had borne witness to Sabine’s execution back into the estate, the whispers about what had occurred already spreading amongst the guests. Melvin desperately wanted to keep Ezra with him, but Eimarille required all of his focus.
He escorted the queen and the shell-shocked captain into the library at the other end of the wing, allowing Terilyn to enter first. Only when she gave a nod did Eimarille guide Payton inside, speaking low and soft to a man whose world she’d burned to ash. Melvin was careful to keep the horror, anger, and grief off his own face, knowing that to mourn now would leave his bloodline suspect.
Payton sank onto the chaise, cradling his head in his hands, not quite able to muffle his sobs. Eimarille didn’t try to console him for his loss, only his ignorance. “You didn’t know. She hid her lies well.”
“She was mywife,” Payton gasped out.
“She was a cog, but that has no bearing on you or your bloodline. You are not at fault.”
Payton finally lifted his head, eyes wet and reddened, and looked up at her beseechingly. “My queen, I am no traitor.”
Eimarille touched her fingers to his cheek. “I know. You would have met her same fate if I had information otherwise. Be at ease, Lord Garnier. Your bloodline remains untarnished. I only execute those that are disloyal.”
“I am loyal, my queen.”
“I know you are.”
Melvin stayed put, watching as Eimarille promised lies to a man too grief-stricken to appreciate them. He knew, even if Payton didn’t, that if Eimarille wanted the Garnier bloodline excised from the nobility genealogies, it would be.
