Page 83 of Antiletum
“Oh, no. Rest assured, he’s going to get what’s coming to him as well. But I’m here foryoufor reasons completely separate from your father and his love for sodomizing little boys.”
“Stop saying that,” Roarke hisses, trying to round me again.
I halt him with a hand on his shoulder. Bringing him closer. “Stop saying what? That your wonderful father fucks children in the gutter? He really does like it dirty. You don’t like hearing that? Hmm? Imagine how the children he’s abused feel.”
Roarke grits his teeth, smiling cruelly. “I always knew you and your family were liars. That you aren’t who you say you are. Your famous father and brother showing up in the night with some sickly, reject necromancer no one had ever heard of. It didn’t sit right with me or my father.” Roarke gives me a smug expression, and I know he’s about to give himself away completely after his hints during our game, fartoo arrogant to let his perceived upper hand go unknown. “Or my grandmother. Same as all the mystery surrounding your wife.”
So that was his grandmother in Parliament. Good to know. My gaze rolls towards thecaelosat his ridiculous predictability.
“Ah, yes. That lovely woman on the cabinet. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that would be your father’s mother, with the level of protection he’s received. She was just as unpleasant as the two of you.”
Roarke ignores my comment. “We know what you’re doing. We know that you orchestrated your marriage for the purpose of raising Heartstones. It’s not going to work.”
“Congratulations on your impeccable critical thinking skills,” I say sarcastically, starting a slow walk with my mallet against Roarke’s throat until this weak man’s back hits the brick wall. “But you are wrong on a few accounts. One: I am exactly what I have always claimed to be, Roarke. Just a bastard trying to claw his way out of prejudice and make his own way.
“Two: I orchestrated my marriage because—above all things—Delaney and I are in love and we belong to each other. It just so happens that our union serves another purpose as well. And when we see it through, I will rejoice in our victory as we watch Parliament burn. Because, three: Itisgoing to work.
“We will resurrectallthe Heartstones. We will raise theNocturne. We will see the confines of magic set free andeveryonereturned to the basic fucking human liberties of making their own choices for their own lives. We will see this needless sickness, poverty, and starvation end. Now, if you’ll excuse me. You are stealing my time away from my wife.”
Roarke opens his mouth to retort, sensing his impending death. No words have an opportunity to land though as I rear back my arm and sling it forward, smashing the mallet into Roarke’s infuriating head.
His skull splinters under my strength. Blood splatters my face and across the alley in a spray of glorious red. Grey brain matter and skull fragments drip through the nice crater invading his skull, effectively ending his life in the simple span of a heartbeat.
Fuck, that felt good.
Freeing the mallet from his head, it makes a loud squelching noise and his body falls to the ground. Without a second glance, I wipe my face with a black handkerchief and step over his useless carcass, leaving it to rot in the alley. Out on the street, I straighten my top hat, continuing the whistling tune I began on my trek to this fantastic little meeting.
A group of children catches my attention. They’re all thin—smudged in dirt and other vile things head to bare toe, meeting the description of the victims I only just described to Roarke. I’m overtaken by the urge to take them all back to The Citadel with me. Offer them shelter and security. A hefty meal and a warm bath.
But that isn’t possibile, at least not yet. I instead crouch to a knee, motioning them forward. “You know who I am, yes?”
A chorus of small voices saying, “Yes, my Lord,” answers.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a fat sack of coins I carry around for moments such as this. Their eyes lighten, their mixed hunger and gratitude makes my stomach sour. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.
With the sack open on my palm, I hold it out. “Share it equally. And I don’t want to hear anything about thieving from each other when I leave.”
They nod their agreement.
Touching the tip of my pointer finger to the side of my nose I look at them seriously, knowingly. “If you do, I will know.”
They nod eagerly, taking turns collecting their portion.
What does it say about our society, beyond their appearance, that these children are unflinching at the sight of gore dripping from my croquet mallet?
Standing tall again, I peer into each one of their faces. I have to swallow hard before telling the group in parting, “Look out for one another. You are not each other’s enemy.”
And I force myself to walk away.
Several blocks down, three severe stone figures sit sentinel in the center of a gurgling fountain: a barn owl, a fox, and a caracal. TheNocturne.
From this vantage point, I can make out the same faces acting as a backdrop for the giant Ellden clock tower, looking over the city. What a disgrace.
Without slowing, I lower my head in a respectful salute to the statues of the fountain, dip the black mallet in the murky liquid, and drag it through, letting the remnants of Roarke’s being slough off and mingle with the other trash in the water.
On my journey back to the looming, domed building of The Citadel on its hill, I’m feeling better than I have in months, despite Delaney still being angry with me. Despite yet another gaggle of children I’ve had to leave behind. I can live with my wife’s ire, knowing that she’s there. She’s waiting for me. I’m reveling in that kiss last night, anticipation cresting over barging in on her lovely presence. The way she sought my protection when Roarke’s countenance made her uneasy.
She’s starting to cave to my love for her, and her love for me.
