Page 181 of Promise of Darkness
Someone hauls on the chain around his throat, driving him to his knees. The prince flinches away from a knife, blood welling on his cheek, but his desperate eyes are still searching for me. Condemning me with a glance.
“Stop.” It’s a bare whisper. I can’t stand to watch this, knowing I’m to blame. “This doesn’t have to end this way.”
“His kingdom and his life,” my mother calls. “Those were his terms. Be silent, daughter. You’ve done enough.”
She snaps her fingers and her executioner steps forward, snapping the leather sheath from his axe.
Hobgoblins snatch at the prince’s chains.
They haul him forward until his chest and face slam into the stone of the Hallow’s floors, his cheek grinding into the runes carved there. Even now, his eyes remain upon me.
The Prince of Tides looks at me. “Long live true love,” he sneers before turning and walking away.
My arms start itching. I dig my fingernails into my palms, trying not to draw mother’s attention. Curse it. How can I stop this?
I grab Andraste by the wrist. “Do something. Stop this!”
“I can’t,” she replies sharply.
“She’ll listen to you! You have magic. You have her ear. This is… this is wrong. It feels wrong.” I’m nearly shredding my arms with my fingernails. “Please.Please! If there’s any part of you that ever loved me, please stop this.”
Andraste swallows. “You set this into motion, Vi. You’re the only one who can stop it.”
“I set it…?” I shake my head. “Why are you doing this to me? She’ll listen to you. You’re the one she adores. You’re her favorite.”
Andraste hesitates.
“I will never forgive you for this.” The pain is drilling, drilling, deep into my soul. I can barely see her face. “I cannot have his death on my conscience. I cannot.”
She captures my hand, tugging it from my eye. “What’s wrong?”
“It hurts.” I curl in half, crippled by the pain. A scream lies trapped in my throat.
“Curse you,” Andraste mutters. She turns. “Mother.”
The hobgoblins fall silent, the lack of noise leaving my ears ringing.
The executioner pauses, his axe gleaming razor sharp.
“I ask… for mercy,” Andraste pleads, going to her knees and bowing. “Let him be exiled into the north, where he belongs.”
There’s a stillness on my mother’s face that warns me even before she speaks. “You disappoint me, daughter. You share your sister’s weaknesses.”
“An Asturian before all else,” Andraste says. “My loyalty lies with you, but it also lies with her. You speak of weaknesses, but I call it strength to speak for my own.” Slowly, she looks up. “You have won. Many times over. Ask for exile.”
“When a thief steals from our court, we do not grant mercy,” the queen hisses. “When he kidnaps one of our own, we do not think of exile—”
“Is it theft or kidnapping if what he stole left willingly?” Andraste dares to ask. “And I ask for mercy, not for his sake, but for hers.”
The other queens exchange slow glances that speak a thousand words.
But my ears are ringing with the sound of Andraste’s voice.
Is it theft or kidnapping if what he stole left willingly?
One by one, glyphs light up against my skin. The itch worsens. They feel like they’re burning, right through to the bone. I try to stifle a scream. There’s one between my eyes, branded on my skull.
My head, my head….
