Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

THIRTY-TWO

Author's Note: After realising this story in fact doesn't have a book trailer and since mashing clips together is my favourite time-wasting thing to do, guess who spent half the day mashing clips together and then had to start editing this chapter at 11PM after realising it was 11PM? If you guessed @ me then you are correct - I have no time management skills, clearly :~) 

The trailer linked above is technically only a trailer for the last few chapters after this one - it doesn't represent everything that is about to happen, but rather portrays the atmosphere and general sense of what is about to go down... give it a watch and enjoy the chapter!!

Chapter Thirty-Two

When Pasiphae finally scrubbed all the blood off her skin, she had probably used up the entire palace's water supply. If it wasn't for how gross the water had become—with little chunks of dirt floating at the surface—she would have been tempted to soak inside her third bath forever, but she was half-convinced one of those dirt chunks was an artificial insect, and Pasiphae had enough decency not to run a fourth bath.

Exhaling tiredly, Pasiphae at last clambered out of the tub and pressed the button that would allow it to drain, before wiping herself dry with a fluffy towel that had been left on the countertop. She stayed like that for a while, simply sitting on the edge of the tub with the towel wrapped around her, staring off into space.

For when Pasiphae closed her eyes, she only saw Deaths. She saw the lives she had taken—she envisioned the frozen stares of their last moments—and she breathed in, she held the knowledge firm in her heart and let it burn, scar, remember.

But then, she knew to exhale, she knew to expel the guilt and force it to scatter, lest it quietly collect and destroy her from the inside out when she wasn't paying attention.

In the span of a minute, Mirza Volos and Herayn Micorphius had stared their next life in the face and ceased to exist in this one. Now, if Psyche had worked fast, their bodies were nothing but ash and dust, swirling away with the same breeze that Charlize chased as she ushered Juventas out of Court and into the warm home of a caregiver in a far village. It was exile, in a way, but it was a life of safety, one that was far removed from the impending revolution.

Mirza and Herayn had been such colossal threats. And yet the moment their entourage of other nobles had disbanded and fled into the tunnels—every faery for themselves—searching for the other exits hidden within the labyrinth, they had fallen.

Now one last threat remained within the borders of Airesi: Queen Evara.

Pasiphae had hoped to ask Stavros some more questions about what it knew, but when she had emerged from underground, the sylph had disappeared. Perhaps it had returned to the friends it had come with. With Juventas' medium magic released, the sylphs in Airesi had been freed from Morgana's command—at least until she encountered them again.

The whole of Airesi was in a strange, waiting period at present.

Pasiphae had thought it a bad idea for Mirza's technical murder to become public knowledge, and so they would hide it until absolutely necessary. They would keep up the pretence that the throne was still occupied by a King Consort. They would maintain the facade until the wedding ceremony: maintain the facade that the nobles had control, safety, power, and then they would take it from them in one sudden swoop when the villagers stormed the Court.

And despite the fact that there were currently many flames still dancing in the villages, the ceremony would commence tomorrow.

Pasiphae tapped her face with both palms, trying to liven some energy back into herself. She felt like while the tub was draining its dirty water, her vigour was swirling down with it too.