Page 132 of Merciless Is My Crown

What if none of us had to die?

What if this wasn’t a suicide pact but the beginning of a better future?

I had trouble imagining such an outcome after everything I’d endured, after the cruelties I’d seen inflicted in front of my own eyes, but I couldn’t stop thinking…what if?

What if we could have a life, maybe not here but somewhere? What if we could…be happy? This new magic sang to me, calling to my wyvern, making me want to take flight and sail the winds until my strength gave out.

I had Anaria to thank for that, too. That solemn, quiet freedom of flying I never imagined I’d experience again, never thought I’d want to feel again after losing everything.

The murky sun cast pale, limp shadows on the rocky ground, which was worn barren by the tramping of ten thousand soldiers. I wondered what it might look like after Anaria released her magic. Would this become a great forest or something else?

Last time I’d been trapped underground.

This time, I’d like to see the resurgence for myself, preferably from the air.

I shook my head.

There’d be time enough for that later. After the king was dead. After the astrologer figured out how to release the magic trapped beneath the dirt, which was, as it turned out, tinged with the metallic taste of iron. The dust-laden air left a foul coating in my mouth and sent my magic shuddering.

It was no wonder there was no magic here.

The Shadow King had somehow tamped that down, too, beneath his heavy, merciless boots, just like everything else here.

I pulled my quiver and bow closer, sinking deeper into the shadows. The king’s audience would start momentarily, if court was running on schedule, and from the parade of well-dressed royals streaming up the main boulevard into the Keep, it appeared we were.

On schedule.

I knocked an arrow, keeping my back to the assembled army, most of them going about their morning duties. Pissing, eating, fucking. Being a scourge on this entire realm.

“Hey.” I looked over my shoulder at the approaching soldier, a sergeant, maybe, given the worn insignia on his filthy jacket. “This area’s restricted. Nobody’s supposed to be here. What squad do you belong to?”

I cocked my head and backed up between the wagons, letting the shadows swallow me entirely.

“I’m talking to you, soldier.” Steel hissed against a leather scabbard as the male pursued me, the supply wagons positioned in such a way to form a deadly maze filled with hiding places.

“Squad none of your fucking business,” I murmured before I dodged out from between two wagons and slipped my knife between his ribs.

He didn’t die immediately, swinging the sword up and catching my arm with the tip as he went down. The fucker must have spent his every free moment sharpening his blade because he sliced me to the bone, my right arm going numb as nerves and muscles cleaved apart.

I was barely able to hold my hand over his mouth while he died, lowering his body silently to the ground before I collapsed beside him. Blood flowed freely, soaking my side before I tore a strip off the bottom of my cloak and tied off the gushing wound.

“Fuck.” I crawled for my bow and quiver, laying where I’d dropped them. “Fuck.”

I rolled onto my back and stared at the sun. I wouldn’t be able to draw the bow. I already knew that. Wouldn’t be able to cause the distraction Anaria and the others so desperately needed to put the last part of our plan into action.

The wagons that were loaded with casks of dragonfire were three hundred feet away.

An easy shot with a flaming arrow.

An impossible gauntlet through the rousing Solarys army on foot. Walking would take me too long. Too fucking long…My gaze slid over to the dead sergeant.

Five minutes later I stepped out between the wagons and threw my cloak back over my shoulders so the insignia was in full display, tucking every strand of my red hair beneath the hood, praying to whatever gods were listening no one noticed the fresh bloodstains on my reeking uniform.

It took me forever to pick my way through the maze of tents, campfires, and soldiers who kept saluting me every fucking time I turned around.

By the time I reached the artillery wagons I was dizzy from blood loss, my mouth dry as a desert when I crouched down over the nearest fire, warming my hands. Then I picked up a stick of wood, plunged it into the fire, and waited for the end to ignite.

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