Page 33 of The Rat King
She’d already been through so much. I couldn’t imagine losing a child the way she had and then being accused of their murder. Over the last month, she’d recounted the story of the accidental drowning at least ten times and the details never wavered, making me believe what she claimed was true. But her innocence didn’t seem to matter in this world. Her husband blamed the death on her and here she was, staged to be executed for her alleged crime.
This morning, she seemed settled, resigned to her fate. But now she shook violently and made a crazed humming sound that got louder with each passing moment. Her wrists were bound in front of her. Her clothing was worn and soiled with prison grime like the rest of us.
Another man stood beside her and kept bumping into her as if he was trying to edge past her off the stage, but was hindered by his loosely bound feet. A long, grisly scar ran from his ear, down his neck and across his chest. Without his fur, I could see the skin was red and angry, oozing in a few places.
The man in front of me hobbled forward with a noticeable limp, but otherwise looked unscathed. Even his hair appeared to be freshly combed and he held his chin high.
Several of the prisoners gasped as a broad man clad in brown executioner-style robes strode onto the stage with a curved steel axe. Leviticus, who seemed to have taken over the kingdom after he’d sentenced me, followed him, making me wonder why Nighval hadn’t turned up in all this time. I thought they’d have reinstated him as king, but there was no sign of him.
Leviticus wore a tan jacket and chestnut brown pants. He flicked his dark eyes to me every few steps as he approached. He pulled the pewter caps that were like thimbles off the tips of his fingers, which had been clawed moments earlier, and stuffed them into his pocket. His clothes showed minor wear, making me wonder why more of these creatures didn’t use the caps. Someone from below handed him a stool, which he had to bend down to accept.
Guards now stood on either side of me and were between each of the other prisoners. Dripping liquid drew my attention. The first man in our line had a dark stain on the front of his trousers, and urine was splashing onto the planks. With each plop, he released a sob.
Leviticus cleared his throat, garnering the crowd’s attention. “Good people, you’ve come here to watch these prisoners die for their crimes, in accordance with the law. Their sins are grave, their guilt is certain, and their souls are unrepentant, but they will die as men. The executioner will cleanse his axe with their blood by the light of the moon. You may now pray for their souls.” Murmurs bubbled up from the crowd, and many eyes closed as Leviticus ended his short speech. He motioned for the first prisoner to be brought forward and to kneel.
As the guard forced the quaking man’s head into the depression in the block, reality struck me, and I swayed. A rough hand seized my elbow, righting me.
“Your turn’ll be soon, king-killer,” his gruff voice sounded in my ear. “Savin’ you for last.” Then he gave me a rotten grin.
I didn’t reply. There was no point. I’d convinced myself it was an accident, self-defense at the minimum, but Xavier was dead, and they’d found me fleeing the scene. I closed my eyes as the executioner raised his axe. A sickening wet noise like in the movies echoed all around and wood thudded as the axe sheered the man’s head off clean, sinking into the block. The calm man beside me doubled over, heaving, but his guard latched onto his shoulders, yanking him backward so he ended up vomiting down his front. The foul smell made me nearly lose it.
I glanced back to where the first prisoner had fallen after I heard the scuffle of boots, then the scraping of a body being dragged across the platform. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, and they had him down the stairs. His head still lay on its side in front of the block in a puddle of blood and the executioner nudged it with the toe of his boot until it rolled off the edge and cracked into the stones below, causing the onlookers to jolt back.
They shoved the next prisoner into place. “On your knees,” the guard managing him demanded.
I looked toward the moon and prayed. I wasn’t religious, per se, so it wasn’t a deity I prayed to. It was the divine spirit of the moon, the witch mother, the wise women, my aunt, and even mother nature herself. At the rate they were going, my sisters had less than ten minutes, so I prayed hard to anyone who would listen.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the next executions were carried out. The crowd let out a collective scream. Another thud of the axe came in quick succession. I peeked and nearly hurled. Annabelle must have jerked, and he’d missed. Panic clawed up my throat. I gurgled a cry before I got ahold of myself. I’d spoken with her a few hours ago and now she was dead, killed in one of the grisliest ways I could imagine. If anyone told me they still dealt with prisoners this way on this plane, it might have given me pause.
Then the presence beside me was gone. I jumped when the axe thudded into the block.
It was my turn.
I opened my eyes as the guard forced me to my knees in the warm puddle of blood. Leviticus rose from his stool and came to stand beside me. The other prisoners hadn’t been given a chance to speak, or even had words said for them. They had conducted the entire procedure without fanfare.
He knelt down so we were eye level. “You deserve so much worse than this, witch.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced my eyes toward the crowd. “Your actions sentenced each one of those people to live in their cursed form forever. Not only is your heart full of fear, it is shallow, and darker than a moonless night.” The condemnation in his voice hit me like an anvil. I trembled.
As I stared down at the crowd, the blood beneath me cooling, tears streamed down my cheeks. Everything had gone so wrong. The witches had been mistaken when they thought to put their faith in me as a final effort to stop the warlocks from enacting their vengeance. I had been such a poor choice. I loved pretty things, and makeup, designer clothes, and the theater. Fairytale endings and corny romances. I’d have made an excellent queen if my king hadn’t been a rat-man and let me have any say. Instead, I’d been no more than a caged bird naively unwilling to see the bars around her until it was too late.
Now here I was, knees drenched in blood, cursing our matron who I was convinced knew what I’d face and sent me, anyway. She said,don’t lose your fire, and I hadn’t. And look where that got me. She should have sent someone else. Someone less superficial, with a bigger heart.
“Are you ready to die, like our king, witch?” Leviticus said, releasing me. My eyes shifted back to him, and a wave of guilt sent me forward, bracing my hands against the block, which was sturdier than it looked. I jerked my hands away like it was a hot poker, but my guard shoved my shoulders forward and my chest hit the block.
A scream lodged in my throat. My lungs pulled in their last sips of air and my mind spun. They weren’t coming. The executioner stepped forward. No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NOOO, NOOOOOO!
“NOOO!” a voice rang through the air as the axe whooshed, rising overhead. That voice wasn’t mine. Hoofbeats pounded across the stones and Nighval’s booming voice cried, “NOOO! Stop,” He called again. “Halt!”
I peeled my eyes open to see the dark-haired, scar covered man striding toward me atop a huge midnight colored horse that looked like a Clydesdale. Or maybe bigger. The beautiful animal’s glossy coat was gleaming in the moonlight and Nighval wore a fitted suit almost as dark and with crisscrossing straps with tarnished silver buckles. It made the pale skin of his neck stand out in contrast, drawing my eye to the veins in his throat which bulged as the muscles in his jaw strained. I didn’t catch his eyes before he swung down off the massive animal and stormed up the stairs.
I got a good look at the fury in their dark depths as he stomped across the platform in my direction. The executioner stood frozen in place, axe raised in the air as Nighval passed. Leviticus stepped forward, but Nighval brushed him away easily. I scampered back, falling on my ass, then scooted backward before I bumped into the boots of the guard behind me.
Nighval didn’t hesitate. He knelt down and got in my face so I could feel the vitriol thrumming off of him like a palpable force. So much power—was that his magic? I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t speak. My mind was reeling. Did he want to exact revenge for his brother? Was what he had planned for me worse? A violent shudder tore through me.
“You could have had a good man, but now you have me,” he said. I really didn’t like the glint in his eye, but at least I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t dead, and the realization rattled through me. He reached forward and cupped my cheek roughly, the callouses on his hands scraping across my delicate skin. Holding up a blue-green glowing pill, similar to a NyQuil capsule.
He pushed the pill between my lips. My hands flew to my face, but he held my cheeks firm, as his fingers pressed further into my mouth until they were practically down my throat. I gagged. He clamped my mouth shut and said, “Swallow.”
I did. I swallowed the mystery pill because I had no choice, and he released me. My skin burned from where he’d touched me, and his eyes raked over my face as they waited for the pill to take whatever effect he was expecting.
