Page 4 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

The slaughter vacated most of the city streets; the desolate town was home to piles of bodies.

If the damned resistance did not fear me before, they will now,Matthias thought.

Then, he focused his attention on the dozens of scintillating green trees that lined the main street from the Southland willow tree to the palace walls—the few trees that still gave life to the people.

A strong gust of wind drifted into his bedroom, creating a cold chill over his already dry and brittle skin. They had not had a cloudless day in weeks. The grey sky was not yet black. He shifted his attention behind him, focusing on the small silver rays of moonlight shining down on his bed, right where Serena once slept. The guilt pulled at his heart like burning acid; he clutched his hand to his chest again.

Matthias rubbed his hands over his face right before he heard a quiet click at his door. The king searched the room for ghostly reflections hidden in the shadows. His children emerged into the light. Elijah and Tristan, seven and eight, shuffled their feet across the tile floor. They stood in front of him, their innocent eyes looking back at their father’s.

“Father,” Tristan’s voice shook while his shoulders stayed tense, “we want to say goodbye to Mother, but—” The boy swallowed and pressed his lips together as if contemplating his question.

Elijah smacked his brother over the shoulder and stepped forward to say boldly, “We want to say goodbye, except the guards won’t let us in the room.”

The king’s face twitched—clenching his jaw as he dismissed his boys with a wave of his hand.

“Go now, boys. Leave me alone. I want to be by myself.” Matthias noticed the glimmer of tears in Tristan’s eyes.

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to fight back the tears rolling down his cheek.

He is so weak,the king thought.

The king gave both his children a reassuring smile and regarded their words thoughtfully. He stepped closer to them, leaning in.

“You may say goodbye to your mother,” he said, knowing it would be their last time to speak with her, and he did believe to have some form of compassion left in him. He placed his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Tell Mason I permit you to bid your farewells. However, do not hover. Go in, say your goodbye, and then return to me.”

Tristan’s expression fell after hearing his father’s words. Under his breath, he muttered, “Thank you, Father—”

“Not like she’ll want to see you,” Elijah remarked. “You are the reason she’s going to die.”

“Enough!” the king shouted, clenching his jaw. His eyes narrowed at his boys while the air in the room began to feel heavy, cold. The boys staggered back, tripping over their own feet. Matthias realized how young they still were, so he said, “Tristan, you acted carelessly when you tried to deliver that letter. But it is your mother who now lies in her bed, foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast.” The corner of his eyes shuddered, but he contained the anger. “She betrayed you,” he added, “she betrayed me.” His voice hardened, cutting through the room once more, “and she betrayed her crown!”

He looked away, struggling to meet his children’s eyes, his own self-guilt gnawing at him. “Now, be gone from my sight before the two of you join her.” He cringed at the words that fell thoughtlessly on his tongue—no matter what truth lay behind them.

Tristan gripped Elijah’s arm. “Let’s go, Brother,” he said wearily, “before he changes his mind.”

Elijah’s eyes narrowed at his father in an accusatory way before the two of them left him alone to wallow in his guilt.

The boys hurried out of the king’s chambers, and Matthias glowered their way as Elijah slammed the door behind them. The contemptuous look that painted over Elijah’s face flashed over the king’s mind, causing his scowl to shift to amusement. He acknowledged what a fine ruler Elijah would be someday, now that he would be his only heir. For his first-born, little Tristan, would be joining his mother that night.

Matthias drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword until he gripped around it, feeling his knuckles crack. He flexed out his fingers, placing his hand back at his side.

“Harrowing sacrifices must be made to pave the way for the greater good,” he said to himself.

The king acted quickly because if he had not, he knew he would change his mind. Matthias rushed to the courtyard and waved a hand in the air, signaling to his royal guard’s captain.

“Mason!”

“Sir?” The redheaded guard stammered when he spoke.

The king laid out his orders and watched the blood drain from Mason’s cheeks.

“King Matthias—” Mason began, showing a contemptuous look, though he held his tongue when the king raised his brow.

Matthias puffed out his chest, raising his chin high. “You have your orders, Mason,” he fumed. “Lest you forget, I will remind you how easily you can be replaced,” he rebuked him in a sharp tone, assuming a fierce glower upon his face. “You’ll take Tristan out to the middle of the Portland Sea, where he’ll join the rest of those slaughtered. I’ll not raise a traitor.”

Matthias watched closely as Mason’s eyes grew wide, his shoulders slumping as he gave the king a hesitant nod.

“Make it quick and painless,” the king added. “Then toss his body into the sea.” As the order left his mouth, he felt the hateful, sour taste in his words—he assumed that was what venom tasted like.

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