Page 22 of Scars and Burns

He lowers his blade and says, “It’s time.”

17

Aeron

Iappear on the balcony of the room my Father instructed me to go to. Still irritated that this will be my only kill tonight.

Intent on drawing it out.

I look forward to the confusion and shock on the little flower’s face. I’m sure her face will become filled with anger and defiance as she thinks she can fight her way out of this. Soon she will realize she can’t. It will turn to fear. The fear that should have been in her eyes all along.

I enter the room. Emerging from the shadows. Blade at the ready. Then I freeze, staring at the women sitting on the chaise in front of the fire.

It’s not the her.

It’s her Mother.

The one who helped me. Who healed me. I am supposed to kill her as well, in order to prove my worth. But not now. Not this night. I was not prepared. She was kind to me. She spoke to me about my own Mother. The last peaceful moment in my life before I became a broken soul. Shattered into a million pieces by my Father. Left to find them alone, one by one. Never truly being whole again.

I had hoped to overcome my Father before he deemed the time right to take her life. She is the only life I have reservations on. She was my Mother’s friend. Best friend. Perhaps her only friend. If I am to honor her life and memory at all I cannot kill the one person she seemed close to. When she called me little light it brought back a feeling I had lost when my Mother died. A feeling of love and acceptance. No one had ever shown me that sort of kindness. Not even giving me the time of day unless I was training to be a killer. Except for my Mother and her. If I kill the only other person to show me worth not for my ability to kill. My soul will truly be damaged beyond repair.

I lower my sword. Not able to move.

She turns her head and looks at me. Giving me the same warm and endearing smile as she says, “Hello, little light”

She stands and walks toward me. Glancing down at my sword. “I… I didn’t come here to kill you.” I say.

She places her hands on my shoulders. Barely. I tower over her. I tower over everyone now. My size makes me a formidable opponent and only adds to my fear factor.

“No,” she starts, “You came thinking you’d kill my first born, Dinalia”

My eyes widened at her. How does she know that? And how is she so calm? Why is she so calm?

“I have to.” I start but before I can get anything else out she cuts me off.

“Do you? King Perseus sent you to kill me, this night, not her.”

“I have to kill both of you. It’s the only way to prove myself worthy of the throne and rule the Shadowlands. It is my penance for allowing you to live that night.”

Realizing the mental game my Father is playing, she says, “Well, I would not want to stand in the way of you and your destiny.”

Her voice, still so sweet. So calm. No touch of resentmenttowards me.

We stare at each other for a moment. The smile on her face has faded. But she seems content with the fact that she is about to die.

I swallow. Closing my eyes.

The sounds of screams rising. The rest of the castle is well under attack at this point. Servants are being slaughtered. Middle Kingdom soldiers attempting to defend their realm. Caught off guard. Surely outnumbered. Their magic is no match to our own. The castle is burning. I can feel the heat of the blue flames from the open balcony.

I open my eyes. She hasn’t moved. The same peaceful look on her face as before. I raise my sword. Pausing at the climax before bringing it down on her, when she says, “Did you ever learn more about your Mother?”

Shock barrels through me. I recall the conversation we had that day in the forest. That night I came to the realization that my Mother may not have been from the Shadowlands. That I may be of mixed blood. I went to my Father that very evening to ask. But we never had that discussion. That was the night he disowned me. The night I lost the title of son and heir. The night he tasked me with killing the very woman that stands before me.

I never thought about it again after that. Consumed each and every day with training. My days were long. Filled with killing and torture. Either inflicting it or having it inflicted. Devoured with the thought of proving my worth. To become the heir and son my Father always wanted me to be.

I lower my sword back to my side. Shaking my head.

She smiles again. But it’s not filled with evil. Or cunning. No trickery of any kind. Not a hint of trying to delay her death. It’s simply filled with what can only be love and concern. “Would you like to?”

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