“Franz Holzer.”
“Hm. Are you related to Leopold Holzer?”
“He’s my younger brother.”
That explained the uncanny resemblance. Seraphina wasn’t sure what to do with the information, though. The man was her rapist’s brother. And he was a captain serving in the High Harvester’s army who’d ordered blood and gore, so he wouldn’t have to get his own hands dirty. She was going to kill him, that wasn’t even a question. If she thought about it, his connection to the man she was after was a bonus, really. When she found Leopold Holzer, she could tell him she’d killed his brother right before she gutted him like a fish. Her revenge would be so much sweeter.
Seraphina showed him what she was holding behind her back. As she twirled the daggers playfully, she started pacing.
Idris hadn’t revealed himself yet. He was rooted in place, watching the scene unfold before him as if it were a bad dream he’d eventually wake up from.
“How would you like to die?” Seraphina asked Franz Holzer. “A musket ball to the head, or a dagger to the throat?”
“Why?” He bared his teeth at her, either to look menacing, or because he could hardly speak under the influence of the thrall relic.
Seraphina caught Idris’s gaze. It was better that he knew. Maybe he wouldn’t judge her as harshly.
“I’m taking the Sentinel with me, which means I need to release him from the Obedience Lattice. That’s reason one, and the most important. Reason two,” she counted on her fingers, “you are a senseless murderer, and as a member of the Sarumite Order and the resistance, I’ve decided you need to be putdown. We’re on opposite sides of the war. That’s how it works.” She shrugged. “And reason number three is personal, and I’ve unraveled it just now, when you told me your name. Two years ago, your brother and three of his mates attacked me on the open road, raped, mutilated me, and left me for dead. As you can see, I didn’t die.”
She spread her arms and gave him a mocking smile.
“I can’t quite remember if before that I had a life purpose. I wanted the usual, I guess. To get married, build a family… That’s not possible anymore since, oh… I almost forgot! Your brother and his three mates also killed my betrothed. So there I was, bleeding and defiled, alone, broken, having to perform a readjustment of my goals and expectations. It unlocked something within me, a calling I hadn’t felt before, what Aristotle would nametelos, the end toward which someone strives.”
She paused for effect.
“Revenge.”
Idris averted his gaze.
The captain swallowed again. No words left his lips.
“I will take this silence as confirmation that you understand,” she said, referring to both of them. “Now, would you like a musket ball to the head, or a dagger to the throat? I’m not cruel. I’m only doing what needs to be done. Just the fact that I’m giving you a choice should prove it. I will make it quick and as painless as I can.”
He clenched his jaw and refused to speak.
Idris shuffled his feet, and Seraphina thought he was going to come out of hiding and step outside.
When another minute passed and no one moved or said a word, Seraphina sighed.
“You,” she said in a bored tone. “Make your choice.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Beads of sweat ran down his temples. The terrified look in his gray eyes almost made Seraphina falter. She knew that after tonight, it would haunt her nightmares.
“Musket,” he gritted out.
She sheathed her daggers.
“Kneel,” she said.
He fell to his knees, and Seraphina stepped closer and took the musket from his hands. He fought her briefly, not wanting to let go, at which point she relaxed and waited for him to come to terms with the fact that this was happening and he couldn’t stop it. His fingers unclenched from around the barrel, and she took the musket and pressed the muzzle between his eyes.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I am sorry, Franz Holzer?”
She pulled the trigger, never once averting her gaze from his. She did feel sorry. For everything. For what had happened to her, for Matteo – his secrets, his toll, and his death – for the war, and for Rune. For what all of it was making her do.
“Seraphina,” the urgency in Idris’s voice snapped her back to reality.
She turned around, musket still raised, the Sentinel in her line of shot. Nine stepped out of the crate holding the lattice in his hand.
