Page 42 of Prince of Ruin

The traitorous blade from your ax

Nearly knocked us on our ass

You threw us into anarchy

Your vicious laugh—insanity

You tried to hurl us into hell

And you just about won as well

But now we’re dumping you in your grave

And no one’s ‘round to hear you rave

You better say your final prayer

The vampires and feral bears

Are salivating for your blood

Before we bury you in the mud!

The blaggards are all out of breath

While we watch your race to the death

Down to the realm where you beloooong

And thus we end your tragic song!

Tarsus gives a loud whistle and I don’t have to look back to know that was the signal to release Weaver. My bow drags across the fiddle strings like a match across sandpaper, matching the quick, loudtimbre of drums and tambourines. The music and drunken laughter fills the air, nearly drowning out the sound of my pounding heart as I watch Clavicle race around the balcony, Weaver quickly catching up. Clavicle’s bare feet slam into the marble floor to the rhythm, and I swear, I can hear Tarsus’ vicious, unbridled laughter through the noise.

Tarsus has officially gone rabid. And I’m not sure who I fear more: the Prince of Ruin, or my lover who sits beside me, slowly losing their mind to madness over the man who stabbed them in the back.

As Tarsus sings, I step onto the table, firing my bow across the fiddle as the black smoke of the Shadow Magic weaves ribbons between my fingers. I remind myself of the coldness in Clav’s eyes as he pinned me to the bed, of that fury that swiftly took over his body. I remind myself of every horrible things he’s done that Tarsus told me about. The human sacrifices, murdering his own father in cold blood, and betraying my beloved Tarsus. And I let all these thoughts burn in my mind while my hatred for the bastard prince fuels my music.

Clav

I’ve barely made it halfway around the room when I glance back to find the massive hairy tarantula closing the gap between us. My heart rate spikes and I pick up my speed. Tarsus and the drunken guests below continue singing the bard to the impossibly fast tune of Aden’s fiddle, their loud music nearly drowning out the thrum of my heartbeat against my eardrums.

By the time I’ve made one lap around the perimeter of the large banquet hall, my lungs burn and my knees feel like they might give out beneath me. But I imagine Weaver’s long, curved fangs sinking into my throat—and that keeps me at a quick pace for another lap.

Something soft brushes my ankle, and I leap forward, glancing back to see the spider at my heels. Holy fuck! Can’t tarantulas, like, jump on their prey? I’m fairly certain at this point Weaver is just playing with her food.

The roar of laughter can be heard through the loud, upbeat music when she swipes at the back of my knees with her pedipalp again, making me jump forward, chills spreading over my body. I’m going to collapse at any moment, giving the arachnid her breakfast. The jump below will probably sprain an ankle or twist my leg, but my chances of survival are ten times greater than being sucked dry up by this monster.

Just before my knees give out, I grab the banister and hoist myself over, Weaver snapping from behind. For a very brief and glorious moment, there’s nothing. Just wicked music of Aden’s fiddle, Tarsus’ unbridled laughter, and the air beneath me.

All too soon, though, I land with a hard thud on the ground before slipping and landing on my back. Darkness invades my vision as the air is pushed out of my lungs from the collision onto the floor.

The world fades away as darkness invades my mind.

Then new visions fill my mind.

I’m standing in a large hall with a black marble floor and pillars made of bleached bones. Sunlight slants through large, arched glass windows. Beasts and faeries of every shape and size are gathered. Standing by a throne built from bleached bones with a massive wyvern skull mounted above it, is Tarsus. Their white hair falls over their violet robes,nearly glowing in the sunlight that streams through the long glass windows behind them. Several gold rings hang from their pointed lobes, and chains decorate their antlers. The silver threads trimming their robes match the silver dust upon their lids, the silver balm apron their lips. With the sunlight hitting them just right, they look anointed.

Tarsus is gesturing for me to take the throne. “You deserve it,” they say, and a warm, kind smile I have never seen since I met them breaks across their features. “No more hiding. We can finally be free,SovereignClavicle.”

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