“Let the rest of them leave, men. Or drink, or fuck. I don’t care. We’ve got what we came for, and it’s not even half till morning yet.”
Shouts of relief and glee merged, but I barely heard them. Only the swift thumping of blood rushed white noise through my ears.
My life was over. Perhaps I had a day or so left, since all executions happened at the Catcher’s Keep, which would require riding to. But it felt hopeless, having been close enough to feel victory in my hand, and not had enough time to shatter it.
The Reaper gestured to the barkeep, who briefly glanced at me with sympathy. “Bring bread and ale for the girl.”
Once the keeper left earshot, the Reaper turned to me. Contentment drew a smile across his rugged face. He dug his fingers deeper into my neck.
“Enjoy it.” He belted the words loud enough for the entire tavern to hear. “For it will be your last.”
“Dray,” another Reaper came to stand beside us. “Should we stay for the night, though we’ve located the curse-bearer already? It may be safer to leave for the Keep right away.”
The Reaper gripping me – Dray – glanced around the tavern. The others mingled among townsfolk, gesturing great retellings of battles or sexual conquests – it was hard to tell the difference.
Dray shook his head. “They’re tired, Emiri. Let them have full bellies and ale-warmed hearts before we leave in the morning.”
Emiri nodded, though his expression remained skeptical, and rejoined the others.
The barkeep returned and settled a plate of fresh bread and butter in front of me. He found a black-handled knife and sliced the bread, leaving the blade to protrude from a slab of butter in a small dish. A moment later, he placed a large mug of ale beside the bread.
Though my stomach twisted with panic and dread, I snatched the booze. Both my hands barely circled the large container. I forced the tepid liquid down my throat, between breaths, until the mug proved empty.
Dray raised a brow and flicked his fingers. “Another, then.”
I wasn’t sure I wished for another, but didn’t protest when the second one arrived. I gripped the base and pretended to stare into its amber contents, when I actually peered over the rim at the bread waiting for me.
The knife dipped carefully into the bowl of butter. Its dark handle ate away any hints of light the tavern offered, an endless pool of darkness and decay. It mirrored my emotions so well.
A very similar blade would be against my neck tomorrow, or the next day. Larger, hopefully, to slice through in a swift strike. And smooth, without the serrated teeth to cut into my skin.
Though being curse-bearing meant death followed me like a lost dog on the road, I’d never thought much about the consequences of being caught. I knew I faced execution, but the nuances of how and where failed to conjure in my imagination. We’d have to travel to the Keep. I’d likely be tired after riding for so long. If this were my last meal, then I would die with my stomach growling.
And I had to wonder if it would hurt.
The butter didn’t seem to protest its fate. Perhaps I would be similar.
I raised the second cup and drained that, too. Dray didn’t ask for a third glass, as he’d shifted his attention from me – except the tight grip on the back of my neck – to another of his men engaged in a hearty story.
The ale calmed more of the panic. Acceptance sank in. It really happened. They had caught me. I would never break the curse, and my family would have to continue hiding, until one of them risked death to find another Orb of Oruthur. Only six existed in the world. Their chance of success remained slim.
As the panic peeled away, a new layer thickened beneath it.
Rage.
My life hung on the line because a selfish king wished to cleanse the very people he’d sworn to protect. The curse I bore impacted little of my life compared to many others, but it remained a fate I did not request. Surely carrying such a weight did not merit a death sentence.
And then I thought of my father. The roar of anger thundered through my ears the way it always did when my mind ventured to him. None of us – me, my mother, or my sister – would even have such a burden if he hadn’t wronged the woman in the woods, and my mother, in a single sweep. Instead, he’d taken her as a lover and scorned her when she found she’d have to share him – with his wife.
The cackle of her laughter as she set the curse over my family still rang through my ears when the quiet grew too thin.
None of that remained my fault. I didn’t deserve to die.
I refused to be a willing participant in my own execution.
My hand blurred across my vision before I’d consciously decided my next move. The polished handle sank a chill into my flushed skin. The butter offered little resistance in my moment of insanity, and the knife pulled free immediately.
I did not allow it to remain so for long.
