The Diablarist King

17 - The Chosen

EDEVA

     I hear Alekso shouting for me as I flee from the cell. It fades in time, either because he has stopped or I am no longer in earshot of him; I can't tell. My pulse throbs in my ears with every rushed step I take and my mind continues to return to the scene I walked in on: my husband, the man I have fallen so deeply in love with, choking the life out of my friend and protector. I had gone to Gisela asking if she saw Kwen anywhere around, and she replied telling me of a letter she gave to her that came from me. I had sent no letter, though.

     "I'm sorry but I read it," Gisela had said, "and it said that you wanted to meet Kwenny in the cells by the crypts to discuss something of utmost importance."

     Apparently it was some sort of trap so Alekso could get Kwen alone and accuse her of being a rebel, or at the very least affiliated with them. I did not stay around to find out the full reason. Instead, I ran like a coward, leaving my step sister and my friend in the clutches of Alekso.

     How foolish am I to think that in barely a month, the man who'd spent the last decade a cruel, heartless monster in the eyes of his people could change? He was the same man who nearly boiled an opinionated kitchen worker the second day of our marriage. But this time it wasn't a stranger or unknown he was attacking. It was my friend. It hurts even more, that Alekso is so willing to attack someone as close to me as Kwenthrith. What's to stop him from coming after me next?

     To calm myself, I decide to explore the crypts. I know I should turn around and make sure Kwen and Gisela are all right, but every bone in my body urges me to flee. It is what I was taught to do in my younger years. Run away and hide. How foolish am I to think I could change my ways, too? I am a coward and Alekso is a monster. It is as simple as that. No amount of passion and love can mask who we both are on the inside.

     Every turn I make is the wrong one, leading to a new room full of stone coffins. The eerie quiet comes as a comfort to me. Despite myself, I marvel at how well cared for each room is. There is always a torch or two lit; the corners free of cobwebs and dust. Alekso's residual magic creeps along the floors in the form of smoke, hovering harmlessly in a thin layer that sweeps about my ankles as I walk. I know in each coffin lies the body of a person; an empty shell slowly decomposing. Alekso once told me the magic in his crypts slows down the rot to a near crawl but does not stop it completely. The crypts get a yearly check and any bodies no longer suitable for necromancy are burned to make room for new, fresh ones.

     Josephine would have been in here. I bet my father was in the crypt in Ustria until he wasn't viable. The thought makes me shudder.

     I need to stop being so weak and figure things out. I cannot blame Alekso completely for his outburst. He thought Kwen was a traitor because I have been going behind his back. He knew about the meeting with Benedict Tielo. Of course he did, he's the king! Even if I hadn't seen guards watching me, surely they would have been. I was afraid to tell Alekso of my plans because I didn't think he would believe me. My lack of trust is what got Kwenthrith hurt as well as Alekso's rage.

     I just hope once I confess all my subterfuge he will not give me the same treatment he gave Kwen. He sounded distraught when he told me not to fear him. I wonder, would Kazaxon stop him from hurting me?

     No, I cannot think about that now. Just get out of the crypt first and make sure Kwen is all right. I will worry about everything else later.

     It feels like I have been traversing this crypt for hours when it must be a half an hour the most, but time has no real meaning here. I am only brought back to my senses when I hear a scream up ahead. It is muffled at first due to the distance, but I slow down my frantic pacing so I can creep closer without being heard. While the sounds are surely loud enough to drown out any I might make, I know to be cautious here. I track the screaming, which by now has been reduced to long wails and sobs, and the closer I get the more I recognize the owner of the sounds: Audrine Evermire.