She wheezes her last breath as her eyes flash open, and her arms flail out, one knocking me straight in the stomach.
The sickening crunch of her rib snapping under the force of my full body weight echoes in the room while her spine bows in agony.
Only when she stops moving do I remove the dagger, dripping with the stink of her life essence.
Panting, I look at her unseeing eyes. The only one left in her family is her nephew Rholker, and he’s next. Lijasa’s whole circle was full of slavers and liars. Those who take pleasure in pain.
I turn back to the lifeless body and summon a spell light. A table lined with sharp, clean tools is positioned next to the bloody corpse sitting in a chair.
The poor human was tortured to death.
Hot tears gloss over my eyes, and rage flows through my veins. Turning back to the dead giant in the bed, I see red. She died too fast. Perhaps I should have made her suffer longer.
The Butcher lives once more. Next to the pain I feel over the human, there is no dark corner of my soul that harbors space for mourning another giant pawn in a cruel dynasty, nearly ended.
I hurl the knife at her throat, just for good measure. More viscous liquid leaks onto the nightgown, staining the collardeep crimson. It doesn’t spurt, more proof that her heart has stopped.
My blood pumps through my veins, filled with adrenaline and rage andpain. My voice is ragged as I gasp for breath.
This damned trip. I was free from these tortuous ghosts. Why do they now stand in the room watching me war within my wretched mind?
It isn’t until I hear Ulla’s gasping that I turn back around. Her chest heaves as she looks at the dead giant. I drag my hand over my face, smearing a bit of half-flaking blood from my face.
Her hand reaches up to cover her mouth, and I see it tremble.
Thorne covers it with his own steady palm.
“Ulla,” I say, reaching out to rest my hand on her shoulder.
“I said no more death,” she chokes out. We stand there, enemy and friend, comforting the healer. She is no stranger to death, but this was… different.
Seconds later, Ra'Salore creeps in, only to stop abruptly.
“What the hell is he doing here?” he demands when he sees Thorne. Then he makes a gagging noise and covers his nose when he sees the other deceased figure.
Thorne rips off the entirety of his mask and his silver hair spills out in short, strangely well-styled curls. His eyes are practically burning, and I get the sense that he’s not a man easily restrained.
Though, he was by Ulla.
Ulla, who cries over the vicious murder of an evil woman. A bead of shame blossoms in my throat as Ra'Salore reaches over and draws her into his arms, away from Thorne and me. She folds into his arms and Thorne tilts his head to the side.
“Has she never seen a dead thing before?” he asks, completely ignoring the fact that he just tried to kill us.
I frown, not wanting to anger him if he has a tie to Mrath. Ifeel raw, exposed, but those emotions can be felt later. When I don’t have so many foreign eyes on me.
“Millions of our people died in the Great War. She’s a healer, she’s seen death often.”
He looks at me with a sour expression. “Then why does she weep over that damnable creature?”
“I’ve… never seen someone killed before. It was shocking,” she hiccups. Then, as if she had forgotten her terror at the death moments before, she meets my eye. “Are you all right?”
No.
I nod. “I’ve done what needed to be done.”
Thorne’s expression softens. “Well then. Enough talking, let’s go back to Mrath before you drown us all in your misplaced tears.”
Her cheeks glisten, and I look at Ulla with nothing but respect. She stood in the way of the blade meant for my flesh in my weakness and was soft enough to weep for my soul, as I have seen her do for any of her friends.
