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“Why not just kill me now?”
“Do not tempt me,” Gildir groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“Gildir, stick to the agreement.” Warning laced Myrinn’s words.
He sighed, dropped his hand back to his side, then glanced to Myrinn where she loitered behind me.
Do it.This was my chance.Finish him.
I gathered myself up onto one knee, slipped the knife free and lunged.
The tip of the dull knife gleamed in the candlelight. It was fast. But Gildir was quicker. One moment I was facing him. The next Gildir stood behind me in a blur, hands gripping my shoulders as he turned my body to face Myrinn…
The momentum of my attack did not stop. Myrinn didn’t have a moment to blink. Then the knife stabbed through the bottom of her jaw, jarring through sinew and skin, until the hilt slammed into bone.Blood spilled from her open mouth; the gore-stained blade visible between the gaps of her open lips.
I fell backwards, hand letting go of the knife which stayed buried in her face.
“No,” I screamed, gagging for breath as vomit filled my mouth before splattering onto the floor at my feet.
Myrinn gargled in response. Her hands violently shook as she reached up towards her face.
“You have saved me a task,” Gildir whispered into my ear. He sounded both close and far away. “Two perhaps, for once Evelina finds out what you have done to one of its beloved princesses, they will never wish for you, or Faenir, to take the throne.”
I had no fight left in me as Gildir steered my body from the room. Myrinn gagged and spluttered on the blood that filled her mouth. As we left her, I was certain I recognised the thud of a body falling to the floor.
I had killed her.
As my feet moved through Haxton Manor, the thundering boom of the storm still raging outside, I could not stop looking at my hands, at how red they were. My fingers were sticky and slick with her blood. I smelt it, harsh copper that made my mouth water in warning for more vomit.
Soon enough the blood washed away as Gildir pulled me outside. I cared little for the cold, or the sting of the harsh rain that fell upon me. Even with the blood vanishing from my hands I could not stop seeing red. It was everywhere, cursing my mind with each blink. No matter how I willed for it to go, it did not.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes, you did,” Gildir replied, voice raised above the crashing storm.
From somewhere in the distance, I could see the glow of fire. Even through the heavy winds and devouring rain I could smell the harsh scent of smoke.
“She betrayed your trust. She sold your sister to the enemy and for that you wanted to punish her.”
“No…”
“It will be easy to convince them all.” He leaned in close, lips brushing my ear. “Thank you for that.”
The water of lake Styx thrashed furiously beneath the weight of Frila’s conjured storm. Charon waited at the end of the wooden walkway that extended over the lake. His boat knocked against it over and over.
Gildir sat me down within the boat which began to slide away from Haxton Manor. I was helpless to stop it. Charon guided us across choppy waters, his dark cloak billowing behind him.
The further the ferryman took us from Haxton the more I could see. Fire grew from beyond the manor, outlining it with a scarlet halo. Dark clouds of smoke stretched up for as far as I could see, mixing perfectly with the clouds as they willingly joined as one.
Faenir’s name was a whisper against my sick-covered lips. I wished to say it but the pain was too much. I couldn’t conjure up enough energy to do so. Each breath of mine fogged beyond my lips, my lungs rattled as though my grief encouraged my sickness to take me here and now.
“He will come for you,” Gildir confirmed; his words did not bring me relief. “But he will be too late.”
The storm broke suddenly. I felt the air still as the winds calmed and the waters beneath the boat settled into its glass-like face once again. Above, the clouds seemed to part to reveal a sky blanketed with stars. All at once the magic that had crackled within the air had vanished.
“Ah,” Gildir sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he slumped forward in his seat. “It would seem you are not the only one with blood on your hands this eve. How poetic, the prince of death and his mate cut from the same cloth.”
The ferryman skimmed across the Styx like a pebble thrown with force; the speed ripped the tears from my face.
