Page 70 of Among the Burning Flowers
‘Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’
Her father wore a silver mask, but she knew him by the smell of bonfires, the reek that always seemed to emanate from him. Likely the mask was to cover his blisters.
‘Come outside, daughter,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’
Some of the Vardya were behind him, all with cloths over their faces. Marosa had little choice but to follow.
Sigoso had not emerged from the tower since Fýredel had summoned him. His infirmity was becoming too obvious. The Vardya ushered him into one coach, Marosa into another, and escorted them through the streets on horseback, keeping the people at bay with halberds.
Once more, Marosa observed her subjects through her veil, absorbing their silent hatred, their hollow cheeks, the plague masks that must be making them sweat in the oppressive heat of the Tundana.Where is the Saint?their eyes seemed to ask.Where is the Knight of Justice now?
The coach stopped at the Gate of Niunda. Marosa allowed the Captain General to help her down, then beheld the great arch of green stone. The paving stones beneath were dark with blood.
She tensed when she saw a creature nearby, circling the gate – about seven feet in height, with feathered wings and scaled legs ending in talons. It possessed a long tail, like a wyverling, but also a beak and a coxcomb, like a rooster. Its eyes were twin embers.
A cockatrice. It lowered its awful head and licked the ground with a forked tongue.
‘Look up,’ King Sigoso said. Marosa could only do as he ordered.
Jondu hung from the gate by her wrists. Her white tunic was bloody where the Vardya had cut her throat.
To her left was Ermendo Vuleydres.
His armour, came a distant thought.I have never seen Ermendo without his armour.
His face was intact. The rest of him was charred and withered, and his legs ended at the knee, one longer than the other. Next were Sir Robrecht Teldan and the Duchess of Ortégardes, flanked by the two Hróthi ambassadors, who had clearly been dead for several days longer. The beasts had jabbed and torn at their flesh, leaving gaping holes in their bodies.
Last in the row was Yscabel Afleytan, brown hair fluttering in the wind.
Two more cockatrices soared on to the Gate of Niunda. The one below called out to its kin – a sinister clucking – and winged up to join them. In unison, they began to peck at Yscabel.
And Yscabel made a weak sound.
Marosa almost fell to her knees. She turned away from the arch with a gasp of denial, but her father caught her upper arm, his fingers bruising. There were three layers of cloth between his skin and hers, but his touch still flooded herwith fear. Even in his enfeebled state, she knew she could not have broken his grip if she fought him for the rest of her life.
Against her will, she imagined this hand on her mother.
‘No. Look up,’ her father sneered. ‘See what you have done, Marosa.’ Yscabel let out anguished sobs, making Marosa shudder. ‘See what your defiance has brought upon your subjects.’
For once, she wished the veil was thicker. She willed her tears to dull her sight.
‘Fýredel gave you an order, and you disobeyed him,’ King Sigoso said. ‘Did you not think I would find out that the bars in the dungeon were melted with venom? Do you think I am blind and deaf in this state?’ His hold tightened painfully. ‘No. I see and hear more than ever.’
Someone shoot her, Marosa willed the city guards, barely hearing her father. End her pain.But the guards only watched as the cockatrices began to feast. They would not risk being next.
Yscabel did not suffer for long. All the Draconic creatures were hungry, after centuries of macerating in their sleep. Soon there was more blood on the stained ground, and all was quiet again.
Like a tomb.
At last, King Sigoso let go of Marosa. Her ears rang and the world slanted, and there was no Ermendo to steady her. She feared she would fall to the ground, but she could not. Some of the Cárscari had followed the coaches here from the palace, and even if the guards were keeping them away, they could still see her posture, if not her bloodless face. She could not show any sort of weakness in front of her despairing subjects.
‘If you try any other tricks,’ King Sigoso said, ‘the Dowager Prince will be next. I have no further need for ambassadors.’
Stand firm. Marosa locked her knees, and the wave gradually passed.Hold still, as you always have.
‘Forgive me,’ she rasped. ‘Forgive me, Father.’
‘It is not for me to forgive you.’ He shoved her towards the coach. ‘Now only Fýredel can.’
