“Is he one of the republicans?”
“We’re not sure. He certainly spouted some anti-monarchy rhetoric,but who knows how genuine it was.” She wonders why the assassin would say that if he wasn’t genuine. The more she thinks about it, the more she wonders if it could be the rebels trying to kill them, despite what Zryan said about it not being their style. What better way to disrupt the monarchy than by taking out both the heirs?
“So you got nothing out of him? None of the Blooded or the witches could help?”
He practically growls, and it is anything but scary. “We used everything and everyone at our disposal, got all the information we could, which wasn’t much. He proved surprisingly robust in the face of many of our methods, including your mother’s and her spymaster’s. We think whoever hired him put their own—very powerful—wards in place.” Meaning they must have bound the assassin magically somehow. His eyes find hers—more graphite than silver today. He continues, “If I had learned anything, I’d tell you.”
She wants to ask him why, when he doesn’t have to tell her anything at all. They are heirs to two countries a hairline fracture away from war. She is the woman who threatens to bring his kingdom to ruin if she wins this duel, the woman who could throw Vatra into a state of energy poverty if she takes the Heart. She just can’t work him out, and she definitely doesn’t trust him, but there’s something so… honorable and honest about him. Even when he’s being an arrogant asshole.
A hush falls, and a man who looks like a reanimated corpse emerges from the shadows at the back of the temple. He’s surrounded by four of the queen’s Primes and two Dreki, his hands bound in iron gauntlets that are attached with manacles at the wrist, and his ankles are chained, clanking as he shuffles forward. His skin is waxen, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes deep set, like something is eating him alive. Or like he hasn’t seen sunlight in months.
Is this a double execution? The man must be deemed very dangerous to require so many guards.
“What did he do?” Astrid whispers.
“Absolutely nothing,” Zryan says. “It’s old bigotry.”
She turns sharply to him. “What do you mean? Why is he being condemned to death?”
“He’s not.” Zryan’s jaw clenches. “He’s the executioner.”
The executioner? But then why is he chained? Why is he so obviously a prisoner? Before Astrid can question Zryan further, another Dreki removes the hood from the Levitator who tried to kill her. The Curer has done a poor job of knitting his neck back together where Astrid almost chewed through him, and when the man turns to the side, she sees the angry puckered skin where his eye once was.
“I hope it hurts like Hel,” she says under her breath, and Bastet hisses in agreement.
Zryan inches closer to her. “I know it did, Dimples. Because I took his other eye, and his screams were music to my fucking ears.”
Astrid should be disturbed by what he just said; but, no, she is something quite the opposite.Enemy, she reminds herself for the umpteenth time, but she’s struggling more and more to believe it.
The king addresses the assassin, and Zryan straightens, a hardness taking over him once more.
“You have been accused and found guilty of the attempted murder of Princess Astrid Nachstern and Princess Skylar de Veras.” Astrid hears Skylar tut when the king uses her official title. “For this you have been condemned to die.” The blind assassin drops his head. “Your sentence will be carried out here in the house of Arach. May He have mercy on your soul.”
The king practically spits the last part, undermining anything he says about mercy, and steps back next to his mate. One of the black-cloaked figures holds a palm over the executioner’s gauntlets and they click open, freeing his hands. He approaches the condemned man, and though the Levitator can’t see, he flicks his head toward the executioner, following the sound of those rattling ankle chains, lips quivering as though he might cry.
The executioner places his fingertips on the assassin’s temples. The man tries to throw him off, but another of the queen’s Primes steps out of line, holding up his hand, and the prisoner stills, his skin flushing red. A Blood Wielder. The executioner adjusts his hands on the man the best he can while manacled, and she dreads what he’s going to do.
She hears Skylar’s breathing stumble, hears her gasp something—fear and awe mixed together—and in the next second Astrid sees why.
Translucent tendrils slither from the executioner’s hands andwrap themselves around the assassin’s head and neck; and where they touch, the prisoner’s face discolors, veins blackening, bruises blooming and spreading under his skin, until eventually he begins to spasm, his limbs jerking unnaturally. He shrieks and Astrid clasps her hands behind her back to avoid covering her ears. A writhing, viscous substance pours from the assassin, and she realizes it’s his life force—his very essence—and the executioner, to Astrid’s horror, is absorbing it.
“What in the name of Sqaõi is that?” Astrid breathes. Her dad never warned her about Blooded like this.
Skylar’s voice trembles. “An Exhauster. They shouldn’t exist, they were all hunted to extinction decades ago. By the last Vatran king and his ancestors before him…” She trails off, shaking her head.
She’s still staring at the executioner, her face scrunched in disgust, and Astrid doesn’t blame her. The Exhauster is draining the life from the man, the Levitator’s body withering until he crumples to the floor and the Exhauster has to fall with him to maintain the contact. She can hear the Exhauster’s rattling breaths, not as if he’s struggling, but as if he’s taking some pleasure from this.
Something weaves through her legs, and she looks down to see Bastet. She stays focused on her familiar until it’s all over, until the man has been officially declared dead and his body removed from the temple.
“Where are they taking it?” she asks no one in particular.
“The dragons,” Zryan answers. “Waste not, want not.”
Well, at least she doesn’t have to witness this meal, not like the last man the king put to death.
The Exhauster is surrounded once more by guards, gauntlets back in place, and he’s escorted to the back of the temple. There must be another entrance.
“Where does he stay? Why do they treat him like that? Did he hurt people?” Astrid asks in quick succession.
