Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"
Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky
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Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 43 страниц)
Part Four
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44
Aknock sounded on my office door, followed by one of my sentries’ voices. “Messages for you, My Kral.”
“Enter,” I called out lazily. I set the note from one of the unhappy nobles aside and slid my boots off the desk.
The red-armored guard entered, carrying two sealed rolls on a gold tray. He bowed, nose far below his waist, as he offered them to me. My jaw tightened when I noted Rokath’s seal in the wax on one. The other was from Kiira.
“Dismissed,” I grumbled as I weighed them both in my hands. The sentry departed immediately.
Deciding to read the worst first, I broke open Rokath’s note. “What could he possibly want now?” I grumbled to myself. Unrolling the parchment, I scanned its contents.
My Kral,
The Angels mounted a surprise attack in Fured. We were able to rout them, but not without cost. A captured Myrza informed us that the Angels have altered their plans of attack. They plan to spread out along the wall and attempt to penetrate the realm at multiple points.
Now is your chance to prove your commitment to these changes. Should you fail to act, I will not send aid if the Angels enter Uzhhorod.
I request that you send any reinforcements you have been able to gather to the portion of the wall closest to Uzhhorod to ensure they do not breach there. More assistance will come from other units once the officer in charge has notified me of their arrival at the watchtower.
The Halálhívó
My nostrils flared as I let out a long breath. I was still so fucking angry—with my cousins, with myself. Rokath’s blunt note was so typical of him, but I still didn’t appreciate the threat and mistrust. Kiira’s revelation had shaken me. Dragged me in front of a mirror to bear witness to my own shortcomings. I hadn’t even fucking realized how deep I’d gone in with my beliefs. Confronting the ugly parts of oneself was no easy task.
Especially when I kept getting these fucking notes from the nobles questioning our choices. I’d only managed to get through three today, and an entire stack awaited me on the far corner of my desk.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I penned a message of my own to be distributed throughout the city, requesting volunteers. The head of the Kral’s Guard could oversee their training and departure to the wall.
I’d figure out how to quell the unrest later.
With a sigh, I snatched Kiira’s and opened it, hoping hers would be kinder than Rokath’s. The innermost page contained a short note.
Read these, then distribute them to the priestesses. The myth of the Halálhívó and the Szélhámos is strong among the soldiers in Fured. This should help you combat any pushback you might receive.
No salutation, no valediction. Just instruction. It stung even more than Rokath’s accusatory note. Kiira and I had always been close, given our continual proximity. Rokath was gone for months, if not years at a time, while Kiira was always a short ride away.
Has she always resented me?
I thought after all we’d shared…
I loved her deeply, and the ache of disappointing her remained weeks later. Her venomous displeasure, spit from her mouth during our heated conversation, was a knife to my heart. That she’d sided with Rokath time and time again, and then united with Assyria to drive even more points home…
Shoving the pain my mind was trying to inflict on me aside, I tossed the terse page and began reading the remaining dozen.
Story after story of Rokath and Assyria working together, using their magic together, of Assyria impersonating the mighty Halálhívó wound their way in Kiira’s elegant script. Quotes of veneration from the soldiers abounded. The final installment detailed the prowess both demonstrated at the Battle of Fured, and how together, they’d saved the academy and townspeople from certain death at the hands of the Angels who sought to exterminate our race.
By the end, even I was swayed by her impassioned words. I’d seen the two of them together, and yet the picture she painted cast them in an entirely new light. It was almost…treasonous how well she portrayed them as the mates sent from the Fates to save us all. The perfect union, just like the perfect circles between their shoulder blades.
As I slipped the second to last page off, I was confronted with just that. Someone had drawn a striking likeness of the two of them together, standing over a bloody battlefield. They only had eyes for each other though, and the artist had captured an incredible depth of emotion. Their backs were bare, exposing their mate marks. Rokath’s tattoos and muscled shoulders were entirely accurate.
Which meant they must have posed for the portrait.
My fingers tightened over the parchment. I’d never been pressured into marrying, nor had I planned to for many years to come. My premier kept me satisfied, especially with how handsomely I paid them. Yet no one held my heart in their hands, except for my cousin—as fucked up as that was. Perhaps now was the time to solidify her place by my side, to combat whatever exalted status Rokath and Assyria would receive.
The last thing I wanted was for the nobles and the populace to think Rokath should replace me on the throne.
I gritted my teeth so hard my head started to pound.
I need a fucking drink.
Throwing Kiira’s stories onto my desk, I stalked to a table where a decanter waited and poured enough scale into it to burn me up from the inside out. After throwing the whole tumbler back, I went to the windows overlooking the Skala Mountains and attempted to rein in the anger racing through my veins.
It would do me no good to lose my cool now, not when I had to play all of this in just the right way. Rokath held a lot of power, should he want to wield it against me. My cunning and smooth talking had always gotten me where I needed to go. Yet no one feared me like they feared him.
The tension in my neck and shoulders eased as the alcohol worked its way through me. Clarity returned as my inner turmoil lessened. I rested my forearm against the glass and looked down at the grounds of Gyor Palace, spotting movement along the outer wall.
Red armored guards walked the perimeter, checking for weaknesses. One pushed some bushes aside and slammed the hilt of his sword into a spot. It held firm. Then, they moved along, repeating the motion until they were out of my sight.
An idea struck me.
My defenses had always been the nobles. What better way to secure my place than tests of loyalty? I could frame it as part of the larger commitment I’d made to shaping society. Not only would they have to affirm their belief in the new order, but they’d also have to denounce one of their own to pass the test—Ollmund Varrir.
In the days since I’d been back in the capital, I’d stewed on how to execute him, to make him pay for the crimes against my cousin. It was a delicate balance, since he held so much sway over the other nobles. Since he’d been an architect of our initial changes in his own right. We were beholden to him, with his one favor still uncalled.
There was no way I’d allow him to use it now.
I had to prove to Kiira that I believed her. And more than anything, I wanted to be the one to do it. Rokath would have in a heartbeat, which would have only shifted her allegiance further to him.
The plan unfolded in my mind. Cunning. Cruel. Creative.
I strode to my desk and scanned the remaining notes from the Nayúr and Kormánzó. Some had sent messages of dissent. Others had not opined at all. I tallied the spread and made a mental list of who to pressure—and who to crush.
Dusk was fast approaching by the time I finished penning the last letter. Dropping the wax onto the fold, I waited a moment, then stamped my signet ring into it. The three skulled sigil of House Vrak stared back at me when I pulled it away.
I called for my sentries again. They entered, hands on the hilts of their weapons. After a quick scan of the space, the leader asked, “What do you need, sir?”
“Take these and distribute them. Ensure that each party accompanies you back to Gyor. Settle them in the grand ballroom,” I instructed with practiced precision.
“Yes, My Kral,” he confirmed. “Anything else?”
“Have your Parancsok meet me there. We have some things to plan.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, then distributed piles of notes to those behind him. While many of the nobility were in the capital, the Kormánzó on the southern plains were not in residence. Since I’d recently appointed the one that oversaw Stryi, I didn’t have to doubt his loyalty. In fact, I’d chosen him specifically because he’d been so fervent in his attempts to garner my favor.
I wrote him a note separately, instructing him to carry out a similar test of loyalty to me in the south, and to execute anyone who refused to profess their devotion to me as their Kral.
Satisfied, I grabbed my sword, securing the scabbard around my waist, then lifted my crown from the pedestal in the far corner. The plush velvet had a permanent ring from the weight of it.
Settling it over my brow, I ensured it wouldn’t fall with a quick shove down my head. Then, I fixed my hair atop it so it was tidy. My attire wasn’t as formal as I would have liked, but that was no problem. I didn’t want to stain my best clothing with the blood of the male who raped Kiira.
Grabbing the final note, I set out for the aviary, which was thankfully on the way to the grand ballroom. The Parancsok of the Kral’s guard was already waiting by the time I strode inside.
“Prepare a pyre in the courtyard,” I commanded, my tone cold. He spun away from the windows facing the very place and eyed me warily.
“May I ask why?” he pressed. We were as close as a master and servant could be, and while I normally wouldn’t mind his question, I was in no mood for it.
“Because the nobility of the Demon Realm need reminding that I am in charge and that an attack on House Vrak comes with consequences,” I snarled, nails digging into my palm.
“Understood,” he replied, his garnet armor gleaming under the lights of the ballroom.
“And ensure that they see exactly what you are doing while they approach the front doors,” I instructed. This was part of the psychological attack, and it was paramount to snatching their obedience and weaving it to me and only me.
“As you wish. May your thread hold strong, My Kral.” He swept into a bow before striding out through the large glass doors.
I surveyed the ballroom, devoid of life save for myself. A handful of tables pressed into the far side, behind the gray basalt pillars that held up the floors above. Chairs too were stacked in the shadows. Otherwise, the only adornments were the gilding on the walls.
The real show wouldn’t be in here anyway.
Smacking wood drew my attention to the servants rushed to prepare a pyre outside, the dying sun casting them in an eerie glow. Another group appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later. “My Kral,” the first said, dipping into a low curtsey. “Do you need anything in here?”
“My throne,” I announced. It was the final piece to my regal ensemble, the reminder of who the fuck I was. Unfortunately, its current position didn’t have a view that would serve my purposes.
They scurried away to fetch it from a few rooms over. Minutes after they placed it in the middle of the grand ballroom, the first of the noble houses appeared. House Turrokar, permanently relocated to the capital since the Angels overran their territory, halted as a unit when they saw me lounging atop my throne.
Kormánzó Sorn was the first to step forward and greet me. “We have come at your urgent request, My Kral.”
“Find a place to stand while we wait for the others.” I waved my hand as if I were dismissing a fly from my presence. He gathered his family and relocated them out of my sight. Their whispers echoed in the empty space before the patriarch shushed them.
Several houses followed after them, receiving the same treatment from me. Tension hung in the air like a thick fog while I waited for the one family I really fucking wanted to see—House Varrir.
They were fashionably late, as always preferring to make an entrance. I masked a smile behind rough knuckles. I’d counted on their pompousness, and they had delivered.
Orith, the daughter, dipped into a curtsey so low I was surprised her nose didn’t brush the floor. Veilless, with cleavage on full display, I knew exactly what Ollmund’s designs were. Thank the Fates he’d never used his second term to force us into marrying her. Scorned by Rokath, affirmed by Kiira, he was tossing her at my feet instead. But his attempts to close the distance between us were for his own power plays, and not because he revered me as a God among Demons, unlike many others.
“Please stand,” I commanded, my voice hard despite the pleasantry.
“May the Reaper’s eye pass over you, My Kral,” Ollmund purred like he hadn’t fucking assaulted the female I loved.
A muscle feathered in my jaw as I rose to my full height. “Ollmund, just the male I was waiting on.” I kept my voice courtly, not betraying the anger rising within me at the sight of his lecherous face.
“What an honor, My Kral. What have I done to deserve this favor?” he asked, hands folding behind his lower back. He regarded me with a wide, easy stance that told me he didn’t view me as a real threat.
I took a step forward and let out a sinister laugh. “I’m not sure I would call what I am about to rain down on you ‘favor.’”
The gathered nobles sucked in a sharp breath.
Ollmund’s bushy brows dipped together. “I’m not sure I un–”
Before he could finish his sentence, I stepped forward and punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, wheezing. I didn’t hesitate to throw an uppercut to his jaw, launching him backward. With a groan, he curled up on the ground, still clutching his abdomen.
I stomped on his lower leg with all my might, the crunch under my boot echoing around the ballroom with a satisfying crunch.
A few screams tore from the throats of the ladies of the court, horrified by my violence. They were unaccustomed to such actions. They’d forgotten I’d trained at the military academy for decades and had done patrols on the border for years before returning to Uzhhorod.
Just because I didn’t personally lead the army didn’t mean I couldn’t knock them about.
I dragged my attention away from the pathetic male at my feet, finding his wife and daughter with their hands clasped over their mouths and backing away. “I have received many notes these past days,” I boomed, scanning the crowd with a dark expression. “Though none have been so self righteous as Ollmund Varrir’s.” Not necessarily true, but if he attempted to convince the others to believe him over me, I’d have his tongue. “The Fates have demanded these changes themselves. Why else would they have sent the Szélhámos to mate the Halálhívó? Just today I received word from the High Priestess of their battle prowess. How they took on thousands single handedly and won!”
They’d read Kiira’s full, dramatized account soon enough.
“But that is not why I gathered you here.”
The room fell so silent that when a piece of metal clinked against the floor, many jumped.
“Ollmund Varrir has assaulted a member of House Vrak.” I let the words sink in and snapped my attention back to the male at my feet. He’d gone utterly still. Beneath his weathered skin, he paled. The wrinkles around the corner of his mouth deepened, along with the ones on his forehead.
I crouched down, then spoke low enough so only he could hear me. “You raped the High Priestess. Did you think the Fates wouldn’t punish you for that? That I wouldn’t punish you for that? The Reaper has come for you this day, Ollmund.”
A choked sob escaped him as I rose and returned my attention to the rest of them. “For that, he will be killed. His family will be stripped of their titles and impoverished. The crown claims all their coin and lands until a suitable replacement is found.”
That caused a stir among the crowd. It was well known that House Varrir held strong ties to House Vrak since my ascension. To see them stripped to beggars now? That was the shock, the unpredictability, the instability among them I needed to shove my agenda through.
I held up a hand, silencing them again. “The time has come for each one of you to swear fealty to me again, to confirm you understand the consequences for defying my holy orders and my holy throne.”
I drew a dagger from my waist, leaving my sword where it was. For now. “But first, I have justice to execute.”
Ollmund scrambled backward as I stalked toward him. Somehow, he managed to stumble to his feet. I herded him toward the double doors, which the Kral’s Guard swung open. A gust of winter air chilled the room nearly as much as my actions.
He raced into the dark, attempting to flee, but the soldiers caught him by the arms and dragged him to his knees. “Ollmund!” his wife shouted, falling over the threshold.
I paused, pivoting to the gathered nobility. “I suggest you gather around the windows to witness what happens when a member of House Vrak is attacked.”
None of them hesitated to press forward, all probably planning how they’d snatch the richest house’s title and lands for themselves.
“Father!” Orith cried, clutching her mother for comfort.
“Light the pyre,” I ordered one of the males. He took a torch to the base of it, and smoke soon filtered through the night. When the fire caught, it cast the scene in a haunting glow.
Ollmund struggled against the hold as I approached. “I did no such thing! I would never harm you, Xannirin.” His voice carried through the night, likely in a last effort to reach his peers. His final political play to highlight me as their adversary instead of their ruler.
I leaned down and hissed in his ear, “We both know it wasn’t me. Speak what you did aloud, and I will not burn you. You’ll spend all eternity trapped in this world, yearning for the next life you’ll never have. It is honestly what I should do, but unfortunately I have to cater to the other sycophants in there. It wouldn’t help me to let you rot, as much as I want to.”
“I am calling on my second term,” he wheezed. “You will not kill me.”
Red coated my vision. How dare he attempt to stop me from showing Kiira that she deserved justice? My palms tingled with the memory of our blood oath.
“No,” I growled. “You forfeit that term when you raped Kiira.”
The vehemence in my tone made him whimper.
“On his feet,” I commanded, stepping back. My guard hauled him upright. “Strip him.”
Another raced forward, using a knife to shred his fine clothes from his body. Screams and pleas of mercy tore from his wife and daughter, but I paid them no attention as I turned to the nobility.
“Witness my wrath. Imprint it on your memory so that you may never attempt to rise against me.”
With that, I dug the blade into Ollmund’s skin, dragging it in one forty-five degree line, then another, until a large X covered his portly torso. Had I taken inspiration from Rokath? Absolutely. If it worked for him, it would work for me.
“Bring the whip,” I ordered, palm up and waiting. A guard settled it in my hand a moment later. With predatory slowness, I rounded to his naked backside. I stared every head of house down, slow and unblinking.
Muscles tense, Ollmund attempted to smother his sobs. I raised the nine tails studded with metal, the air hissing past my ear.
And then, I struck with all my might.
He screamed, pitching forward. If it weren’t for my guard holding him, he would have collapsed to the ground. I didn’t hesitate to deliver another blow, then one after that. Blood welled as I tore up his backside, but satisfaction was still out of reach.
Many females turned away as a garnet puddle formed around us. Yet the males, with hard set jaws, watched on, knowing they’d be judged for it. The firelight reflected their rage back to me. Their defiance. Their malicious intent. Mixed among the fearful were a few brave souls who would receive personal visits from me over the coming days.
Ribs emerged from the flayed meat of Ollmund’s back. The heat from the pyre rose to a new height, searing into my skin. The crackling accompanied my ominous steps as I drew my dagger and rounded the pathetic male.
Tears and snot streamed down his face, and his head hung limply. I gave him a few slaps to stir him. “You are no male, and for that, you will have your cock and balls removed before I throw you onto the logs. Pray to the Weaver now to bring you back as a female so you aren’t shamed with your utter lack.”
Eyes wide, he started to plead with me again, but I reached down and yanked what the Weaver had not blessed him with in this life. A scream ripped from him, and I wasted no time in slicing both away. Blood spurted from the wound, but I kept hold of the offending organs, intending to use them as proof to my cousins that I was committed to our changes.
What would Kiira think when she received them? Would she realize then the lengths I would go to for her? Would she see me as her protector as she saw Rokath?
That was all I wanted from her now. For her to remember the way we’d laugh late into the night. The softness of her voice, the way she’d prop her feet on my lap while we drank decadent wine. How she’d lean into me as I settled her in my bed to sleep it off.
I wanted to return to the before of her resentment. Before she turned to Rokath for confirmation instead of me. Before she clung to Rapp, let him make her smile and chase away her pain.
She should have looked at me like that.
Damn the consequences the Fates would invoke for disallowing Ollmund to call upon his second favor. This was far more important.
“Burn him,” I commanded my guard.
They dragged his now-limp body away, leaving the pool of his life behind. Without much care, they tossed him onto the pyre. His wife and daughter screamed again, lost to their hysteria. Orith sprinted past me, falling to her knees just out of range of the blaze.
His wife collapsed, and no one moved to help her, which pleased me greatly.
“Find me a box for these,” I told one of the soldiers, lifting Ollmund’s dick and balls. “And a wet towel.”
“Yes, My Kral,” he said, then hurried away. At the entrance to the ballroom, I kicked off my boots, not wanting to stain my floors with the offender’s blood. By the time I reached my throne, servants appeared, boxing up the organs and cleaning me off. Once they finished, I lounged on my throne again.
“Who wants to go first?” I asked casually, like I hadn’t just slaughtered one of their own and forced them to watch.
Several heads of houses hurried forward, dropping to one knee and resting their foreheads on their arms.
Exactly where they should be.
“Repeat after me,” I ordered, pulling a slip of parchment from my pocket. I’d formed the oath carefully to ensure their loyalty was to me, rather than our house as a whole.
“I, the devoted head of my noble house, bow to the burgundy banner of House Vrak.”
A handful of masculine voices echoed my words, slightly muffled by their positions.
“Before the sacred gazes of the Weaver, the Giver, and the Reaper, I kneel in unwavering fealty to the sovereign ruler of the Demon Realm. I sacrifice my blood to bind my magic, my body, my fate to the Kral.”
Each male drew a dagger and cut deep into his palms, giving the stone their offering.
“To House Vrak, I pledge my sword. To the Kral, I pledge my eternal servitude.”
They repeated all my words back to me flawlessly.
“May the thread of your loyalty to me be woven into the tapestry of your life, unbreakable and enduring. May your gifts hold strong when I call upon you. May the Reaper’s eye pass over you that you may follow me into an age of domination on this continent.”
I let the words sink in, giving the crowd a quick scan. Then, I issued my command. “Rise and kiss the signet ring.”
One by one they did, whispering further pledges to me as they touched the sacred gem. After they settled back in their places, another group rushed forward, and we repeated the process. No male, female, or child was exempt. The ceremony lasted long into the night, and by the time everyone had finished, many swayed on their feet.
Yet I had one more order for them all. One that I hoped would satisfy Kiira and win her affections back to me.
“All fallen will be paid double for their services, and none will be held against their will any longer. They are free to live their lives as they were before, should they so choose. A missive will be sent across the realm in the morning, along with stories from the High Priestess. Read them all and imprint this new order onto your minds. I will not stand for anything less than utter compliance. Am I clear?”
“Yes, My Kral,” the voices affirmed, many bowing their heads in deference to me.
I didn’t deign to dismiss them as I strode from the room. The door slammed behind me, and my guard fell into step as we wound through the palace, back to my chambers.
The nobles knelt. Bled. Affirmed their allegiance. To me.
And soon…so would Kiira.
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