The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 39

Joshua

“Where is she?” Joshua shouted as he entered the room.

That day had been a torment from the beginning. With the executions to be held that very afternoon, his mind had been a whirlwind that knew not on which topic to settle. His rounds neither helped clear his mind, nor did they help him make order of his thoughts - he was not even able to finish one thought before the next began. All was chaos, and as a Servant, he knew his duty was to find the balance that the Sun represented and convey it to the believers.

However, his mind kept leaping out of his control. It was obvious to all that the convicted were innocents, and so it was not longer just Alfred who was guilty of the crime of their murder; Joshua knew that he was an accomplice the moment he cowered away and let Alfred do his crime. The gods surely could not look kindly upon any person in this entire kingdom.

A clear mind was needed, he knew, to properly understand the situation. So many things were seen unclearly, through a mirrored glass that showed not only the truth, but also the prejudices and emotions that he held. Right now, his most clear emotion was his hate for Alfred - but even that was confused at times by the redeeming qualities that he had; the qualities he shared with his sister.

However, when Joshua returned to Cecily’s apartments that afternoon, all that might have redeemed Alfred in his mind was washed away by a flood of panic and anger and hatred such as he had never felt before. It carried tears of rage to his eyes and made his heart beat so fast, he was sure he might die in that very moment.

Cecily was gone, and so were all her servants and all her guards. The entire household seemed to have abandoned the chambers.

And so Joshua found himself storming through the castle, and through the door into Alfred’s office where he knew him to be working.

The moment Joshua uttered those three words, he felt himself regret it. He did not know what Alfred was capable of doing; even if he had shown kindness to Joshua, there was no telling. But when Alfred’s only reaction was a frown, as though he had no idea what this was about, Joshua once more felt the rage fuel up within him, bursting like the flames of the Sun.

“Cecily!” he exclaimed. “Do not pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. She has gone, and her household with her. Where did you take her?”

Alfred sighed and pushed at a stack of papers, taking his time. Joshua felt a rush go through him, and suddenly it was very important that he moved, so he did, and he pushed down that stack of papers and repeated some of his words in a hoarse shout.

Alfred blinked, surprised, but did not lean back or even avert his eyes. “Joshua, please,” he began. “Cecily has… gone away. To the country. She needed some time and space.”

“She would’ve brought me with her.”

“Indeed, if she hadn’t been in such a rush,” he agreed.

Joshua shook his head. “If she hadn’t been forced to leave in such a rush, you mean.”

Alfred sighed again, pushed his chair back but remained seated. “She did not want to be here. It’s safer for her if she’s away.”

“Because otherwise, she’ll be punished too when Mary takes her revenge?”

To Joshua’s surprise, he nodded. “Precisely.”

For a moment, Joshua stared back into Alfred’s eyes, trying to find words. His rage had subsided a bit, though he still felt it in the pit of his stomach.

“Why do you do this?” he asked.

“Because I need to,” Alfred replied. “The Turell siblings are the most beloved royals that Etheron has seen in a long time. Elizabeth’s reign was doomed to fail, but if Evelyn were to take power - well, she would still be the daughter of Queen Adrianne.”

“She is still an innocent,” Joshua hissed. “She, and her husband, and everyone else who will be killed today. They are all innocents.”

Alfred chuckled. “Do you really think Evelyn fought a war so that she could not be Queen?”

Joshua drew in a deep breath; he wanted to shout in frustration. He told himself that he was just angry at Alfred, but so much of it came from the fact that he did not know how to argue. He hated himself for seeing the sense in Alfred’s words. It was this cynical and shrewd way of thinking that he hated so much about Alfred and other politicians, and he would hate himself all the more if he began to sympathize with it.

Alfred stood from his chair and walked around the table to stand before him. Alfred was so tall that he had to crane his neck backwards to meet his eyes.

“Joshua, this is politics. You are a man of religion. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Alfred said this in his usual tone of voice; it was amused, as if the lesser intelligence of others seemed ridiculous to him; yet it made you want to rise to his level, prove yourself worthy, and there was the charm. Men and women alike always steered to what was above him.

And then the basis of Alfred’s power hit Joshua. He had no family name, no money to speak of, nor an army or any followers. All he had was his charm and the hope that people would listen. All he had was lies and deception, and all his power was rooted in his firm belief in himself. He never showed doubt when he expressed his opinions, so it never occurred to anyone else to doubt them, either.

It was as thought a puzzle had fallen into place within Joshua’s mind, and he felt his thoughts become calm and focused. He saw it all so clearly now, and just like that, the allure that Alfred had held before was gone.

The fear had not, however. When Alfred moved towards him, eyes darkened by desire, Joshua moved backwards until his back hit the wall.

“I see it in your eyes,” Alfred whispered, breath hot against Joshua’s face. “You want this, too. You just don’t know it. You just won’t let yourself…”

Joshua did not want to cry. He did not want to just endure. He wanted to run, but his way was blocked by Alfred’s body. His hand flew out and, with a pang of pain through his arm, hit a table. He looked to the side and saw a pitcher, and before he knew it, his fingers were clenching tightly, nails digging into the flesh of his hand, and his arm was flying, and then…

Crash.

With a dull bump, Alfred’s body landed on the floor. Around him lay the shattered pieces of the pitcher. Joshua’s hand remained clenched around the handle, so tight his knuckles had turned white. Blood emerged from a wound in Alfred’s head.

“Oh, fuck,” Joshua hissed, and did not even have time to feel shame for his choice of words. Terror filled him to his very core, and everything but the body before him seemed inconsequential and faded from his mind.

What have I done? he thought, and those words kept entering his mind, over and over, until that was all he could think or hear or comprehend, until suddenly it stopped and he realized. Alfred is gone. He can do more injustice, and he is no longer a threat. He is dead, and I have killed him.

It felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders and he could breathe freely again. His entire body seemed to relax with a sigh, and for a long moment, he reveled in the peace he felt. The world, for that while, let him have peace.

Until Alfred’s hand twitched and he let out a groan.

Tears of fear found their way back into Joshua’s eyes. He will not forgive me for this. No desire he might feel for me will save me. He will… He will…

In the end, there was nothing else to do. That was what he told himself. He had no choice. He had to do it. For the good of the kingdom, and for the peace of his own mind.

So he clenched his hand even tighter around the handle of the pitcher and brought down the sharpest edge.