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Rage.
Rage.
This man does not believe in me.
He does not support me.
No, he believed the words the traitor Loris spewed at the tournament.
Not just believed them. He took them to heart; he took place in a resistance, trying to turn fae against me.
This is not just him not believing in me and my greatness like those others in the dungeons. No, this is him actively working against me.
Against me.
Against me.
Does he not see how good I am? How good he has it? Does he not know the way my siblings would treat him?
"You dare work against me?" I say through gritted teeth, pointing the blade at him. "You think you know better than your God?"
"You're no God of mine," he spits, his nose curled in asneer. "The only God I believe in is the Shadowweaver."
"The Shadowweaver is mine! My daughter! Of my magic!" I'm on my feet now, charging towards him, and he holds his ground, not even flinching as I approach.
Fool.
"She will never be corrupted by the likes of you." The man is stupid and brave, and if his blood is to be believed—which it should be because blood tells no lies—he is instrumental in forming a group of fae who wish to rid Krillium of me.
Of it's rightful God.
I cannot let this stand.
"You have beenjudged and been found lacking," I say, stepping towards him. He curls his fists at his side, chin held high, facing his consequence with bravery that he is stupid to posses. "You are found guilty of blasphemy and conspiracy against your God. Your sentence is death."
Bracken's eyes widen a fraction, and I watch the light go out as I pull the blade across his throat.
The blood drains, splashing my bare feet and staining the marble below us.
No, I don't think I will let them clean this up.
It's such a pretty pattern.
Chapter 34
Zeph
Viola and I went looking for Solarius and Avidor to explain what was going on in Ytopie to them. I could not be more disappointed in what we found.
"It's none of my business," Solarius drawls, arms crossed, as he looks down his nose at Viola. He's beautiful, with his dark skin, golden hair, and perfect features, but his face is twisted with cruelty. "Those fae are not my children. I need to find the humans who worship me and regain my power."
"They are your children," Viola sneers, taking a step towards him. "Your brother is escalating, imprisoning anyone who does not follow his command. I do not want to think about what is next. I will not condemn an entire city to his machinations."
"But you're not going to stop Himureal yet, are you?" Avidor says from his position on the bench pushed against the wall of the home we gave him. He crosses his ankle over his knee, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The Decay that begins from his fingertips, so like Viola's, flexes with the motion.
While the Decay looks the same, they carry it so differently. Avidor's seems to overwhelm him as if it's growing uncontrollably, and he's fighting to hold it back. It writhes under his skin likeworms, searching for a path of fresh skin.
In contrast, Viola's lines of Decay are like an electrical storm at night, charged and ready to strike out. It's a decoration, a war paint, and a reservoir of power. I wonder if she can pull from it and use it as a magic source if push comes to shove. It has not grown past her wrists, staying exactly where the gloves put it when she took on Avidor's power.
