Page 98 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
The crowd faded. Zarathos’s heart did a slow, sickly thump in his chest. Nothing mattered except the person under the sack.
They knew. Somehow they knew, and now everything was coming to a head.
A guard walked up behind each of the kneeling figures.
There had to be a way out of this. A way to getherout of this. Hell, in the end, the only thing he desired was for his little vampire princess to live. She’d started off as a small thread woven into a greater masterpiece, an unassuming part of the whole. Somehow, that thread had spun her way to the center of Zarathos’s life.
And yet, if he did anything except what he was supposed to, he suspected there would be no making it out for either of them.
The guard pulled the sack off of the head of the female kneeling only a few feet away.
Zarathos stared in shock.
Vivane knelt in front of him. Relief blazed through him even as he knew that was the wrong emotion to feel. Still it went through him, rushed and light. Aryana was safe, or at least had a chance at life. A disgusting sense of guilt came right after. Zarathos truly was monstrous, relieved about one woman’s safety while forced to kill another. Someone who had done nothing but be there for him. Vivane didn’t deserve to die any more than Aryana did.
And yet, he had to kill her.
“No, no,” Rebos, the half-basilisk from Misophae, said as emotion coursed over his face. “I will not. Do you hear me? She is my mother.My mother.I will not! I refuse, you bastards.” And he fell forward and wrapped his arms around the older demon female before him.
The air vibrated near Zarathos. A helpless situation with another female suddenly claimed him. Shit. No, he tried to push it aside, but he also couldn’t take his eyes off the pair, his body stilled and unmoving.
The guards surged forward with ruthless swiftness, drawing their weapons and falling onto the pair, striking them until they became motionless forms on the ground, blood seeping into the dirt. That marked the second champion dead from that kingdom. Their only path to victory now hinged on their kalators’ improbable success. But none of the champions, nor the council, would allow that to happen.
Rage and sorrow rushed like a tidal wave through him at once, and he fought to control the tremors running through his body.
The lesson was obvious. If he refused to execute Vivane, the guard would end her anyway, then they’d be free to execute Zarathos because he had proven himself unworthy.
Just like with his father. Even after all this time, Zarathos still needed to kill to prove his worth.
He walked up to Vivane, and her eyes narrowed though he could smell the anger and fear drifting off of her.
“I’m sorry, Vivane.”
Her lip curled. “I lay with you. Comfort you when you need it. Keep your secrets. This is the thanks I get?”
Zarathos’s grip tightened on the sword. He’d make it quick and painless. That was the best he could offer her. “I didn’t choose this.”
“You have chosen it more than I have.” She dropped her voice to a harsh whisper, her eyes accusing. “I’m not even the one who is supposed to be here.”
His eyes darted to the guard and those nearby. “Watch what you say.”
The manic rage in her gaze gleamed brighter. “Still trying to protect her. You sorry bastard, she has turned you into her own bitch, heeling at her every whim, hasn’t she?”
If he didn’t kill Vivane, she would die anyway. Zarathos would die. Aryana would die.
There was only one path forward.
“I wish there was another way.”
The anger radiated off of her entire being. “You’re pathetic. You’re going to die in the end. She will die and I will have died for nothing.”
He laid his sword to her throat.
“Wait,” she said, her eyes wide and glistening with terror. “One final kiss, Zarathos?”
He hesitated.
“Come on.” Her voice shook a little. “Let’s give them a show. It’s the least that you owe me.”
