“Let me do it,” Daromir says urgently. “You don’t have to.”
Vana almost accepts.
Imrik wouldn’t deny Vana’s use of Daromir, not in front of all these people. This is a test, and Imrik will let it play out however Vana chooses. Any consequences will comelater. Vana could call Daromir up and command him, because Daromir is his sword to wield. It would fit his image. The First Prince doesn’t get his own hands dirty.
But it wouldn’t fucking help.
Vana touches Daromir’s hand on his arm. “What difference would that make? These are my hands too.”
Daromir nods, but doesn’t let go until Vana pulls away.
The chief executioner, whose job always gets usurped by the king for scalestone smugglers, stands over Fleury. Her greatsword hangs behind her shoulders, a simple, efficient weapon. “Do you need a blade, Your Highness?”
“I don’t,” Vana says.
She bows as well as she can with the greatsword, and steps back. Vana finds himself once again standing over Fleury Bartome. Wet streaks break the dirt and blood on Fleury’s broad cheeks, but he isn’t crying anymore. He looks up, calm and ready.
There’s no negotiation now, and only one mercy Vana can grant him.
From the center of himself, Vana calls forth a streak of magic. It trembles and stings along his arm, building, waiting with violent eagerness.
Now is the point when the king would pontificate. He would scold the convict as he began the torture. Mock him. Make painfully explicit the lesson he’s teaching the gathered crowd, commoners and nobles and family alike.
Vana just says, for Fleury’s ears alone, “Your journey will be quick, my friend.”
Fleury shudders and closes his eyes. Vana lifts his hand and releases his magic.
Lightning barrels from Vana’s palm and torches through Fleury’s skull. Immense pain—just an instant—then nothing. Skin crackles and blackens. Hair scorches. The stone around him stains.
Vana’s arm still stings as he turns away. He’s upset. He can’t feel the emotion yet, but he must be upset, because his magic is being difficult. Rioting against his control. Fighting the magic down with iron practice, Vana bows to the king.
“Enjoy the celebration, Your Majesty.”
Imrik neither smiles nor frowns. “Efficient as always, Prince Vana.”
Vana walks to the edge of the dais, Daromir falling in beside him. They don’t touch, because Daromir surely knows how precarious Vana’s control is. Vana needs to escape. He needs to lock himself in his bedroom and scream for the rest of the night. Thecelebrationwill have to continue without him.
But before he can escape, Lady Naoko intercepts them at the back steps. She looks grim—almost concerned. “Your Highness.”
“Lady Naoko,” Vana says, and can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Drasgard Zuzana will escort you back, whenever you’re done with this display of Draskoran culture.”
Naoko doesn’t flinch from his bitterness. Her face just softens, and she says, “You’re a good man, Your Highness. Thank you.”
Vana doesn’tfeellike a good man. He nods abruptly, then continues his flight from the Dais of Justice. Daromir’s presence at his side is his only anchor.
***
By the time they reach the Opal Tower, Vana’s magic no longer fights him. All his energy has drained away, his mood so low he doesn’t think he could muster a single spark. Vana follows Daromir up to their private quarters, and he flinches when Daromir closes the door.
Daromir touches his shoulder, so lightly Vana scarcely feels it. “I’m checking the rooms. Wait here for me.”
Vana can’t do anything else. He slumps against the wall, cradling his right hand. There’s no sign of lightning in his palm. Besides his calluses from swordplay and riding, his skin is smooth, flawless. A perfect instrument.
Vana thinks right now he can never pick up a pen again. There’s no poetry left in his heart. He won’t see anything in any mirror.
In Sabora, Fleury said he had a family. Vana doesn’t know if that’s true, but it might have been. It probably was. Most people have families, and most of those families aren’t as fucked up as House Tellik or House Dire.
Vana wants to punch the wall until his fingers shatter, but he can’t even do that without hurting someone else.
