Page 62 of What Whispers in the Dark
“Garrik!” a voice of death—his mother’s voice—wailed. High atop the castle, her upper arm held by Magnelis with her hands bound behind her back, unsteadily teetering as she was forced to stand on the balcony’s balustrade.
No—
Magnelis’s voice boomed, “Let this be a lesson to all those who believe they can defy me.”
“Garrik!” was the last Airathel screamed before the High King ripped her arm forward, throwing her off balance. A threat, perhaps a last chance for an apology, to plead for herlife. His mouth was moving, but Garrik couldn’t hear as his mother screamed his name again.
“Mother!No!” A Raven jerked his head back. A wordless order to remain silent.
Still there—she was still there. He still had time. The ropes: he was going to snap them. Then run. He could catch her—hecould. He only had to?—
Then … silence.
All sound escaped him. Elysian held its breath.
Garrik watched his mother’s body slip from the ledge by Magnelis’s hand. Like in slow motion, the wind collected the sea-green fabric of her gown. The sunlight burst from the gemstones garnishing it as the layers waved like the crash of a sea.
Those turquoise eyes met his. Full of love and every perfect thing the world would be if she were its ruler. Of a future he desperately hoped for with her in it.
She smiled at him. Stars, it was beautiful.
Garrik almost did too.
Her eyes flickered down. Then back to his. “Your father. You are the key,” she mouthed. “I love y?—”
Then he was screaming. Screaming because his mother had disappeared behind the castle wall, where her gardens would be. Where the ground …
He stared at those walls as if they would mist away and his mother would be standing there whole. Unharmed and alive. Knowing perfectly well she would never be whole again. Knowing if he were to walk through the stone archway to the left …
Two hands held firm to his shoulders as he fell forward, forcing him to remain upright when his entire body refused to cling to life.
When his screams ceased and all he could do was tremble and attempt to breathe, Magnelis’s eyes darkened as he angled his head over his right shoulder. If the High King could ever conjure a real smile, that was the first, as he said loud enough for the citadel to hear, “Thank you for your insight. It was most beneficial in ridding Elysian of the High Queen’s treason.”
Garrik’s eyes flickered to the figure who had stepped forward. Whose hands wrapped around the balustrade and curled his body halfway over to stare into his mother’s treasured gardens. Whose russet eyes scanned the ground where Airathel had fallen—where she was thrown.
Rage—unconquerable, bloodthirsty, outworldly rage—hit him as the wordsbetrayerandtraitorstabbed him deeper than any weapon ever could. Red clouded his vision. His wrists burned as Garrik stared at the male whom he had calledbrothersince birth, standing beside Magnelis.
Ezander.
Those eyes widened when they met the green of Garrik’s.
His mind roared. Roared so terribly that he felt faint. Unsure if his knees would hold him up because his blood nearly hollowed out of every vein. If it were not for the Raven’s hold in his hair, he would have plummeted to the stones.
From the depths of his soul, Garrik cried out. A sound only the dying made. A sound a mother made over the loss of a youngling. Of knowing what once was would never be again. Not entirely sure if the sound of his voice shook the castle, the walls, the ground beneath them, or if the Stars Eternal did. Screamed so loud his throat tore and bled.
He did not lose one so dearly treasured—soloved—that day but two—two.
A fist slammed into Garrik’s cheek, barreling his body sideways before the ground crushed his shoulder. Pain radiated up his neck, down from his jaw, but it wasnothingcompared to the agony feasting at his heart. His vision blurred. Liquid slipped down his cheek. Male laughter echoed and bounced off every hardened surface, splitting his skull and threatening to ring him from consciousness.
Then another voice. A voice he had known his entire life snickered, “Well done, your High Majesty.” He could imagine that vile, sniveling face. Imagine his pathetic, groveling bow and the poor excuse for a crown that never fit his bald head nearly falling.
“And to your heir for their part,” Magnelis returned. “Make no mistake, Kadamar will be greatly favored from this. You and yours have pleased me immensely, Ladomyr.”
“If I may say, it is only a shame that yours has failed you so astoundingly.”
Garrik looked up then. Even from such a far distance, he could see the faces of the High King and King of Kadamar glowering down at him. Ezander was nowhere to be seen, but replaced by another radiating under the sunlight. Her blonde curls spilled over her shoulder. Fingertips covering her wine-colored lips as she surveyed the gardens below in a dress not much different from those his mother wore.
Used … used to wear…
