of the Lusca, a sea beast I bested last summer, and the steel blade I’ve had since Father gifted it to me in this prison thirteen years ago. That’s the one whose hilt I take now, clutching it tightly as I crouch before the first prisoner I’m to execute. The man lifts his eyes to me as I tear off his gags, assessing my crown.
“Do your people know their queen is as much of a liar as the rest of her family?” He spits on my hands, then looks at me as though he expects me to reel back. But this is far from the first time I’ve been spat on. I wipe it on my pants.
This isn’t the way it should be; his blood on my hands is not what I want, and without my magic, I can’t even look into his soul to ensure his execution is just. But for the sake of making Visidia believe in me and my protection until I can restore the kingdom and all of its magics, this is what I must do.
Perhaps Lord Garrison was right; maybe I am nothing more than a pawn in this game.
“May the gods judge each of you as you deserve.” Without lingering a moment longer, I stab my dagger into the man’s heart and twist the blade, pressing one hand against his shoulders to steady his body until the convulsing stops. As life drains from his lungs, I lean his corpse against the wall and peel the dagger away.
I move on to the next prisoner. Though I try to make every kill as quick as possible, a blade through the body is far from painless, and I can’t control a body’s desire to live. Some go quickly, while others are slow and painful. One man takes so long and suffers so greatly that I take to slitting his throat so that he might pass on swiftly.
The whimpers of the remaining prisoners turn to tears as they wait, which then turn to sobs and screams muffled by the fabric that gags them.
Their blood stains my hands in such a violent shade that, no matter how hard I may scrub, I know it’ll never come off. For each heart that my blade pierces, a piece of my already withering soul chips away. But I don’t stop until the last prisoner has fallen and my boots bathe in a pool of their mixed blood. And even then, I’m not done; leaving five stabbed bodies is too suspicious when my magic doesn’t rely on a blade to kill. If I had more fire and a bigger room, I’d burn the bodies. But my only option to conceal the wounds is by cutting through them, draining them, and collecting the valuable bones one by one.
For some, I take many bones. For others, I harvest only a few important ones each—one from the clavicle and spine. Just enough to make it appear as though I had good reason to stab into the chests of each of them.
It’s a process I’m used to, but one that’s different this time around, now that I know the truth about soul magic. Now that I know it never needed to be like this.
Nausea has me cold despite the seething fire, and it takes everything in me not to lose my stomach. It takes hours until I’m gathering the bloodied bones to be washed, keeping the bodies of the prisoners exposed for the guards to feed to the fish.
I’ve just finished when footsteps echo through the tunnel. Though Shanty’s gone and I’ve done everything I can to stage my lie, a surge of panic rushes through me and I jolt to my feet, expecting Casem or one of the other guards. But it’s Ferrick who runs into the prison, his face as red as his hair as he pants for breath.
My chest squeezes with relief at the sight of him, even when his nose scrunches and his breaths stop short at the sight of the blood I may as well have bathed in, and a small mountain of corpses behind me. He squeezes his eyes shut and immediately turns away. My cheeks flush hot.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Shame sinks into my bones as I wipe my bloodied hands on the dirt. It’s been a full season since we were last together, back before I gave him his first official job as my lead adviser. I hate that, in our first moment together again, he has to see