Page 105 of A Frozen Pyre
She’d looked into the eyes of King Eero and Queen Darya, knowing it was the last time she’d see them. She’d gazed at their citizens, at the dignitaries, at the throngs who sat in a stolen stadium in a stolen capitol on stolen ground.
Ophir had been about to destroy the world, yet she hadn’t even been there to watch it happen.
The bishop had barely begun the ceremony when Ceneth’s signal had set the plan into motion.
The neutralizer had grabbed King Ceneth, sparing him from Zita’s most terrible power as she had raised her hands and sent thousands of cheering spectators into a mindlessthrong of ripping, tearing maniacs. She had held her shield around their little party as the chaos descended.
The bishop had torn for their throats. When the once-holy man had failed to grab Ceneth or Galena, he’d slashed for Ophir.
Zita had seen the precise moment that Tempus had understood what she’d done.
Her shield had not extended to him.
She had sunk to one knee as her secondary power weighed heavily on her, but she had met her husband’s eyes.
“Zita!” he’d shrieked, still wearing Ophir’s face, holding on to Ceneth’s hands for dear life, desperate to be connected to the neutralizer. The moment Tempus released his vise grip on Ceneth, his mind would be lost.
“Zita, please! Zita!”
She had held his gaze in his final moments. He’d deserved to watch her cold difference as he realized she’d meant what she’d said when she’d banished him. He was a cockroach. The only thing that could kill him was a swarm of insects low enough to eat him alive.
“Zita,” he had gasped one last time. She had maintained her hold on the frenzy and shield alike as the bishop had succeeded in wrenching the bride from Galena. The moment Tempus had lost his grip on the neutralizer, madness had claimed him. They’d ripped into one another with instantaneous wrath, their bloodlust not stopping when nails bore into skin, when teeth bit into flesh, or as entrails were ripped from the abdomen of the other. She’d watched the bride ripple into little more than an unloved man in a stolen dress as the life had dimmed from his eyes. He and the bishop had collapsed into one another, soaking in the other’s blood as the world fell to pieces around them.
Bodies had toppled from on high. Chairs, dresses, instruments, decorations, jewels, wine, and festive pine boughs cut for a Yule wedding had smashed into splinters, floating onrivers of pulp and crimson viscera. The screams had begun to ebb as the numbers around them had dwindled.
Zita had blinked against crippling exhaustion as sickness had begun to claim her. She had looked up through foggy eyes to the royal box where the king and queen had stood only minutes prior and had spotted Eero’s bejeweled crown on a cracked-open skull.
Relief, sorrow, vindication, and remorse had roiled through her as she’d taken several ragged breaths. Her second knee had dropped. Her arms had wavered as she’d struggled to maintain her hold on her gifts. Before she’d realized what was happening, the King of Raascot had scooped her into his arms. With Galena on his heels, they’d launched into the sky, escaping the stadium just as the coliseum had fallen into an eerie, powerful silence.
It was the end of the usurper’s era.
The foliage beyond Priory was untouched by the early signs of winter. Yellow leaves and dense underbrush replaced the yellow hair and twisting bodies in her memory.
She was safe for the time being, though only beginning to feel the true consequences of her power as her heart weakened. Her knees buckled.
Galena landed beside her and rushed to help support her. “Goddess, Zita, are you okay? Is there anything you need?”
“I… I didn’t expect to awaken.” Zita shut her mouth before she said more. She didn’t want to speak her truth before the others: She had wanted to die in that coliseum. She refused to be like the line of Farehold’s kings who had profited off the suffering of civilians. She’d secured one thousand years of her cities wiped off the maps, ensuring her people would not be further exploited by foreign dignitaries. Anyone who’d want vengeance for what had happened in Aubade was dead now, and those who’d survived surely would have no idea what they’d seen or what had occurred. Confusion and frenzy were allies, after all.
Ceneth seemed to understand her silence.
“This isn’t your fault,” he said.
She pursed her lips.
“You helped Aubade find its retribution. You saved your people. I became the sort of villain who could never look Caris in the eyes again. It’s good she’s dead. I wouldn’t want her to see what I’ve become.”
“Would either of you blame the victim for swinging the sword against her pursuer?” Galena asked. She appeared fully present as she waited for their reply.
“It’s a false comparison,” Ceneth exhaled. “Our kingdoms were at peace. They believed us to be their allies.”
“You’re not ignoble for breaking the rules that another exploited for your oppression. The rules were at fault, as was the one who crafted them for subjugation. Not you.”
It was the sharpest Galena had appeared in some time. The winged neutralizer appeared to fall in and out of the present as her eyes unfocused once more.
Zita looked at the king, whose head was still bowed. “Where are we going?”
“Back to Gwydir,” Ceneth said. “You have a direct portal to Tarkhany just beyond the city. With Tempus gone and Suley beginning her new life, there won’t be much incentive to stay in Raascot. Of course, you’re welcome in my kingdom as long as it pleases you. Hassain is still with Samael, but he may very well wish to escort you home.”
