Page 20 of When Kings Rise

“This world is filled with manmade wonders, ancient and modern. The greatest of these wonders exist only because the right person led an entire nation of people. These men didn’t have to heed the whims of politicians. They didn’t have to worry about maintaining face for an election. They only needed to obey themselves. They accomplished great feats. The human race was made in such a way thatthe majority of people are followers. They are made to bring to life the dreams of greater men. Whether through evolution or divine right, some men are just made to be Kings.”

I roll my eyes again at his spiel. He loves the sound of his own voice as he spews his poison. Like we are still kids eager to please or terrified to fail.

“We put those Kings in the right places so that humanity can continue to achieve great things. Your brothers will be Kings like the other Kings I have made, but you...you are a once-in-a-generation type of King. You are my Warrior King.”

He really loves to talk, and all he is doing is grating on my nerves. He’s trying to praise me, so I don’t think about the child he thinks I’ve just murdered. He continues to speak about my brothers and me as if he owns us. I can sense the weight of my gun in the band of my trousers. My fingers twitch. I can detect exactly where Victor is sitting. I could end it all.

“Richard the Lionheart, Alexander the Great, and Charlemagne. These were Warrior Kings, Diarmuid. Warrior Kings are made to fight the battles that turn the stomachs of other Kings. They are…special.”

He must really detect my displeasure at killing the kid. He’s never tried to praise me so much in one sitting. Is it panic that I hear in his voice? I think how one single bullet could fulfill every dream of revenge that has ever woken me from sleep. There are guards in the sanctuary, but none of them have my training. I could move quickly. I might be able to get away

“When your father left us, I felt great sadness. He thought that your family could survive without the Kings. He didn’t succeed. We didn’t let him. When he came crawling back to us, I felt as if the universe had given me another chance to make a difference in this world. I hope that I didn’t make a mistake.”

All my thoughts cease. Something in Victor's tone has changed. Is it from my lack of response earlier?

I hear the crinkle of paper and wait to hear what he has to say.

“This is the autopsy of Andrew O’Sullivan. A curious document, if I may be honest. The head, hands, and feet have been removed. Without the use of DNA, the coroner may have never identified our dear Andrew. I will say that Andrew didn’t have a peaceful exit from this world. One of his lungs was punctured. Ribs broken. Femur snapped. Burn marks on his chest. Obscenely brutal, his death. I imagine that whoever killed your uncle harbored a great deal of resentment toward him.” I hide a smile at each one of the wounds I gave my uncle. Pride swells in my chest.

“This line of work does that to a man. You can throw a stone in any direction in Dublin and hit a man who wanted to kill my uncle,” I reply.

“Yes, but their want would have never made them actually do the deed. No one is foolish enough to do this. Unless they felt they could get away with it,” Victor responds.

I grit my teeth and then relax my jaw. “Obviously, they won’t get away with it.”

“I don’t imagine they will. It’s just strange. No one I know would have ever left a body like this in a grave; it would have been destroyed,” Victor says simply.

“It sounds like they were stupid,” I respond.

“Or that they wanted to have a grave to spit on.”

He knows. He knows I did it; that’s exactly why I gave my uncle a grave. So I could return to it and remember his brutal death. The way Victor is talking suggests he suspects me, but I don’t think he is the one who set me up. He isn’t the one who placed the female body on top of my uncle’s grave.

“I know how you feel about me, my son. I know that one day, you will disregard your own life and take mine. I can see it in you. I just want you to realize that there are worse monsters than me.”

My heart hammers at his confession. The creak of the wood and the flash of light tells me he is gone. I sit for a moment, listening, and when I step out of the confessional box, the movement of the cleaners catches my attention. They don’t look at me, but I now know I was surrounded the entire time.

Victor is leaving no room for an attempt on his life.

As I walk out of the church, I realize I may have far more people watching me than I suspected.

CHAPTER NINE

Niamh

THE SEA IS calm today. Waves crash along the shoreline, some race across the heavy man-laid rocks and splash onto the concrete slab that warns people not to get any closer. Over the years, people have been dragged into the violent sea when storms erupt. They once were rare, but the weather here is growing more violent as the years pass. Global warming is what people blame.

To me, the sea is freedom; it’s a mass of the unknown, so much not discovered. I fill my glass at the sink and continue to watch the relay teams that have crossed the stretch of sea between Ireland and Wales. The groups are large, as no one has ever done it alone. It’s dangerous as the rough currents and low temperatures scare away anyone who thinks they are brave enough to try it. Also, the idea that the Irish Sea is home to thirty-five species of sharks makes groups feel far more secure swimming in teams than going it alone.

Today, I’m going to jog along the sea. I’m dressed in a light zip-up sweater, yoga pants, and running shoes. I don’t bring music, as I love the sound the sea makes. I always wanted to be the first to row it by myself. Maybe one day.

My father’s voice jolts me out of my musing. I empty the remaining water out of my glass into the sink. A kiss is pressed against my cheek before my father speaks cheerfully. “There is my breadwinner; I hope your night went well?”

I cringe internally. What an awkward way to ask me if I got intimate with someone so I could secure my father’s business interests. I turn to my father. He’s wearing a business suit that fits him perfectly. He’s lean for his years and works out most days. “It was interesting,” I say before zipping up my sweater fully to give myself something to do other than think about how I was chained or how Diarmuid made me climax.

My God, I didn’t want to enjoy it, but it was pure ecstasy. I had tried to fight all the feelings and focus on how he had made me an accessory to murder. Was he serious when he told me that? Did Victor—a priest—give him a command to kill someone? I had so many questions.

“For my sake, spare me the rest of the details. I just hope you do well. We are counting on you.” My father pours himself a coffee, and I look at his wide back. No, Ella is counting on me.

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