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19
GOODBYE
They arrived at dawn.
The executioners from the Land of the Dead made their way down the corridor. The ends of their leather-skinned, membranous wings folded at their backs, the clawed ends dragging the floor. Each one wore hoods over their heads.
Naia’s eyes went to the executioner holding on to the silver chain and followed it to the other end strapped around her father’s neck like a dog. A divine relic in Cassian’s possession with the power to bind a deity.
They were taking him to Moros.
A searing pulse of panic thundered in her bloodstream.
This can’t be happening.
The blush-toned carnation poking from between Mira’s gown, the bright green stem sprouted from her sternum, was tangible proof of Father breaking the rules of his confinement.
How many times had Mira tried ripping the flower from her skin, and watched in absolute fury as it grew back? Naia was unaware, it seemed, of her father’s true power. Not only had he struck Mira, but he’d left her with a permanent mark to remember him by.
Naia watched as Mira observed Father from the far end of the corridor without a flicker of emotion. The triplets stood side by side behind her, their faces devoid of heartbreak or sorrow.
Naia bit down on her tongue, and a metallic flavor coated the inside of her mouth. For once, the presence of blood was welcoming. A distraction from the visceral hole separating her chest.
The sharp edges of Wren’s wings cut into the skin of her palm. An infinite, bleak road stretched out behind her eyes, void of her father and chess games; of long strolls in the garden and laying out on their favorite cove.
“W-what is happening?” Finnian’s voice shook at Naia’s side.
Naia clenched her teeth. Tears filled in her eyes, and she blinked them away, determined to hang onto the image of her father. No flowers decorated his glossy, black strands. The vibrant rays of his aura were like a withered blossom.
The tail of his emerald robe trailed behind him along the crystal floor as he grew closer to where Naia and Finnian stood in the corridor.
Naia took a step towards him.
One of the executioners growled. It turned its cloak-covered head in her direction, and a paralyzing terror tremored through her, forcing her body to cease in its movement.
Father stopped and gave a tug on the chain. The executioners halted. One grumbled something. Father nodded once.
He looked between Naia and Finnian. “Take care of each other. Promise me?”
His words were knives twisting in Naia’s heart. “You cannot leave us,” she said.
A broken smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Promise me, my darlings?”
“No, Father.” Finnian took long, blinking strides, shaking his head. “No.”
The executioner jerked Father forward by the manacle around his neck.
A wistful look glistened in his gaze. “I love you both.”
He straightened his head and resumed his journey down the corridor. The palace doors spread open for them, flooding in the dark hues of the stormy morning.
“Mother! What is the meaning of this?” Finnian shouted through his tears. “Do something!”
Mira remained as still as the statues the mortals worshiped of her.
Disdain warped Finnian’s face. “You are a burden for a mother!” He whipped around and chased after their father. “Father, no! Wait!”
Malik materialized in his path, the sound like a switch cutting across the air, and tackled Finnian onto the floor. His large palm gripped the back of Finnian’s skull like a coconut, pinning his knee in the middle of Finnian’s back. The crystal cracked beneath Finnian’s skull. Cherry-red filled the fractures.
