The Heirs of Death

28.1 Fissures

FISSURES

I couldn't quite read Blake's eyes as he swallowed me whole with his stares. And I didn't know if it were rage or something far greater, far more different than that.

But I did not comment. No one did, actually.

I'd never seen such tension in a single room, never felt someone almost crumbling my bones to dust with his eyes. Not a single word, not even a whisper.

But his thoughts were wild. And loud. And I did not dare look into them, listen to their murmurs and their growls. But I didn't show that lick of pure terror that seeped in my nerves, my veins, my entire being. I was Elayda, and I was Celestia, and I did not bend to fear.

Even when the mere thought of the trial awaiting me could destroy people within instants: all the pain, all the blood, the injuries. All the hiding. I couldn't break, wouldn't allow myself to do so in front of him, in front of all of them, enemies and friends. I would endure it all, would cling to the fearless, all-powerful façade until the end. I only dreaded the possibility of my runes not hanging as hard as I would. Because even if I survived, once my mask—our masks—would fall, I was just as good as dead.

It was Clair who shattered the silence, her voice a knife slicing through the muteness that had shrouded us like a cocoon. "When will the trial be, my King?"

"This sunrise." Those had been my words, not the prince's. And the look Lysithea wore, it told me enough I was not only digging my own grave, but laying my very corpse in it. But I didn't stop there; I couldn't retain the urge to bring him to boiling point, to make him mad and at rage just like what he'd done to me. Every day, every moment he crossed my mind. "It has been long since we feasted, and my tribe is demanding a hunt to satiate our hunger." I tilted my head to the side, my crown seeming to glow with all the darkness forging it. "Unless you have some men to spare."

The guards reached for the weapons strapped at their waists. They didn't pull them, but they were ready to move at any threat. Because it had been one of the very scarce rules they lived by, to never feed on their own kind.

"This sunrise it will be then.'' Lysithea rose from her throne, her velvet, black gown gleaming as the jewels sewn on the waistline caught reflecting firelight.

Sunrise, a little less than two-third an hour.
"Be ready by then. The guards will export you to the Sombers quarter an hour prior—"

"I know where the Sombers are."

The queen did not reply, only turned slightly to eye her son. He was still watching me as I rose from my throne, the seat and the crown vanishing in a dark mist that drifted away.

Blake had half-turned his body, inclining to take his next step toward the dais, when he commanded, voice hard and clear, "Let this be the last time your words cut mine, whatever the matter is."