Page 41 of A Dance Macabre

“You’re out of your mind.” She tries to shove me off but I’m too close for her to get good leverage. “Get off me,” she spits.

I don’t let her go. Strained seconds pass in silence while we glare at each other. Laughter drifts out from the open door and I flinch.

I can’t stand looking at her for a second longer. Stepping back, I leave her in the dark alley.

I have more pressing issues at hand.

As soon as I turn the corner, I call Dizzy and order to have my men come round up the troupe. I need every single one of these traitors to suffer.

25

MERCY

It only took Wolfgang two days to arrest the troupe of actors and plan their public demise. We haven’t had a public execution in over a decade, but Wolfgang was adamant about his choice, especially this early into our rule. I agreed without much resistance. Although, if it were me, I would have approached this headache much more privately. I don’t need irrelevant witnesses to exact my revenge.

Death is my audience.

The air crackles with jubilant energy. I can practically smell the anticipation of the crowd gathered in the town square in front of Mount Pravitia. They’re just as bloodthirsty as the rest of us. Even the children. Packed like sardines, half of the city wriggles shoulder to shoulder in the hope of sneaking a chance to witness the spectacle.

And what a spectacle it is.

Having public executions less than a month after the Feast of Fools has sent the masses into a frenzy. The macabre event was announced and broadcasted on a twenty-four-hour cycle all over Vainglory media leading up to today. Wolfgang, of course, keptthe real reason secret. It’s not hard to make up probable cause in the city of Pravitia.

Wolfgang has barely acknowledged my presence since we came across the clandestine play. It’s grating, especially when attending meetings with the rest of our staff. His employee Dizzy has acted as a middleman between us and I’m just about ready to slit her throat just to steal a reaction out of Wolfgang.

In other matters, we’ve yet to find out how the information was leaked. It’s becoming clear that we have a rat amongst us. We might not have said it out loud, but I’m sure both Wolfgang and I are hoping that these executions will frighten whoever is behind this back into submission.

And if they don’t?

I’ll just have to seek them out and kill them myself.

It’s insufferably sunny this afternoon. It hasn’t rained in two days, as if the gods are finally warming up to us mortals again. A similar stage to the one erected for the Feast of Fools stands a few yards away from the stairs of Mount Pravitia, the troupe of actors lined up at the forefront on their knees, hands tied behind their backs.

All six of them are sobbing, beseeching for forgiveness, which only seems to make the crowd more frantic while the families of the condemned scream hysterically for them to be saved from the front row.

It’s a beautiful sight.

Of the ruling six, everyone came to show support except for Belladonna. She’s not one for group activities, especially when Aleksandr is attending.

I would have done the same if I didn’t have to preside over the executions with Wolfgang in a show of unity. I hide behind large black sunglasses as I stand with Gemini on the left side of the stage. Always the one for theatrics, he showed up wearing ablack top hat, a small mourning veil covering half his face, and a silk scarf hanging loosely around his neck.

He’s as giddy as the crowd before us.

Constantine, who’s standing with Aleksandr to the right of the platform has managed to upstage Gemini, appearing to have come back from time-traveling to the late 1700s. Blonde hair curled high above her head, pink feathers and bows adorning herpoufwhile her dress is a cloud of taffeta, embroidered with pearls and lace.

Wolfgang, dressed in a red velvet suit jacket with black satin lapels, stands proudly in the middle of the stage. He prowls behind the six kneeling with a smug smile painted over the curves of his lips. Typically, as a servant of the god of torture, public executions are Constantine’s domain, not mine. My god is more subtle than hers. Death does not seek retribution, only dissolution.

But Wolfgang asked to be responsible for the death of at least one.

Death is all around us, I can practically see the chains tugging on their souls. But in such a large crowd, the six on stage are not the only deaths I can sense, there’s another soul my god will claim today, lodged somewhere in the thick of bodies.

There’s no fixed method for these executions. Wolfgang can kill however which way he wants, and curiosity pricks at the base of my nape as he strolls up to the table with an array of weapons, waiting to see which one he will choose.

There’s an underlying current of anticipation rumbling inside of me; I’ve never watched Wolfgang kill before. The air shifts, as if the whole city is taking a collective breath while we wait for his decision.

We all crane our necks while his fingers slowly curl around a wooden handle, finally brandishing an axe into the air. Thecrowd bursts into cheers at the promise of bloodshed, the true life force of Pravitia.

Snapping his fingers at the guards flanking the stage, Wolfgang orders them to bring the man who dared to impersonate him during the play to kneel over a small chopping block, stretching his neck against it. The sobbing continues, but no one important pays it any mind.

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