by Rowan Rook
"Testing me?" Amaranth spat, incredulous. What was this organization's obsession with him?
"Right—to make sure you were ready for this. I was the one who insisted on trying you out first." She shot him a smirk as sharp as her tone. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be worth all this effort."
He stammered, trying and failing at finding words. What was he supposed to say to that?
"That's all the Butterfly was there to do. Nothing more. But my partner and his rebels got a little...excited," malice dripped from her tongue. "The attack became much grander in scale than we'd expected. It's not like we have complete control over Riksharre's troops or its rebels. The destruction was on them, not us."
Amaranth swallowed through his tight throat. "It doesn't sound like you've been particularly diligent when it comes to keeping your end of the Councilor's bargain."
The Butterfly's lips curled beneath her mask. "We haven't. Especially when you consider that we're allowing you to kill him."
Amaranth's eyes widened, his face paling in the orange light.
"Don't look so shocked," the Butterfly scolded. "You remember what I told you before. You know why you came here. You're here to kill him and claim his Inkwell."
Amaranth looked away, finding the man in jewels. "Truly? This is real? You actually want me to kill him?" He shook his head. It suddenly all seemed like some ridiculous joke that he wasn't quite in on. "I don't know if I..."
"Stop it, Anny," she hushed. "I won't tolerate your hypocrisy anymore. If you want to accomplish anything, if you want to change anything at all, then stand up and do whatever it takes."
"Why me?" he pleaded, his stomach folding in on itself. "Why do I have to do it? I'm not a Butterfly! Forget whoever I owe! This mess has nothing to do with me."
"Why bother worrying about any of those things?" She tilted her head. "If you make the kills, you'll be in possession of the Inkwells. That's all you need to know. Don't you want that control?"
He snarled, "How do I know you won't turn around and kill me for them later? How do I know you don't just want me to do the dirty work for you? I'll be your single sacrifice!"
The Butterfly was quiet, her lips twisting in surprise. She finally laughed, "Ah, you are sharp, Anny. You get how this works. I can't say I even considered such a possibility." Her voice lowered, "But don't you worry about that. The Butterfly isn't afraid of dirtying its hands. We're already bloodstained."
Her right hand creeped over and held his. He sucked in a gasp. Something in that simple touch sent shivers through his skin. For such a mad situation, it was far too familiar and warm. Everything he saw in her now contradicted the anger she'd shown him earlier. Nothing about anything in that mine made sense.
"As the Overseer of the Lyrum division, I promise you that we have no intention of harming you. We'll expect you to cooperate with us when the time comes, but ultimately, the Inkwells will be yours to keep until you see fit to use the power they give you. Meanwhile, we will do everything we can to ensure your safety." She squeezed his fingers firmly. "We want you to help us. Please."
For a while, Amaranth said nothing, lost inside the stranger's solemn green eyes. "Why?" His heart squeezed tighter. "I don't understand. Why would some religious cult I'd never heard of want help from someone like me?"
She didn't say anything for a while, either. "Do you know why we named ourselves the Scarlet Butterfly?"
His silence answered for him.
"Scarlet, because we are willing to shed blood for our beliefs. Butterfly, however, comes from those ideals. We want to bring the world its own metamorphosis. We want to make this ugly place into something beautiful, something better. Isn't that what you want, too?"
Her gaze held his so tightly that he couldn't look away.
"All you need to do is trust us. There are those to whom you owe more than you could ever pay. Do this for them, if not for the Butterfly. If you want redemption, then please, help us."
His tongue dried out with dread. So many more questions swam around unspoken, but somehow, he couldn't ask any of them. He couldn't say no, either. He wanted to, but somehow, he couldn't. That frightened him almost as much as the secrets this Lyrum knew, as much as what she was asking him to do. What was this? He wondered again and again. What madness was reaching out to him?
And what madness kept him from pulling away?
This time, she took his silence as consensus. "Good." She smiled, turning away from him and back to the two men arguing in the next room. "Ready yourself. We're going to take him out tonight."
"You're really going to..." Amaranth squeaked. His pulse fluttered in his skull, leaving him lightheaded. "Your own partner?"
"Oh, believe me, he's not the partner he thinks he is. He has no knowledge of our true intentions." Her face hardened. Amaranth wasn't sure if she was concealing a smirk or a frown. "Truth be told, we don't give a damn about what happens to Riksharre anymore." Her features tightened like the name itself was poison. "It's a Hellhole, as I'm sure you'll agree."
He looked away, his gaze drifting back to the ill-fated feud.
"Be careful who you trust, as they say. You weren't wrong to suspect the worst." Her voice was different, tense, like she was the desperate one. "Riksharre isn't really our problem so long as we get what we want out of the Councilor's deal. It's served us well. After what you've done in the name of science, don't you pretend you're any different."
Amaranth didn't answer, a hollow sensation spreading across his stomach like a wound.
"You should have sent more people out there!" the Councilor spat, saliva flying from bared teeth. "You should have killed the survivors! You— I've had enough. It shames me to end my father's work, but our arrangement is through."
The woman pushed passed Amaranth to stand in the spy's way. "You're right. It is." She raised an arm and flicked her fingers. A signal. Two large Humans pinned the spy against the wall before he managed to shriek.
The Councilor gasped for the air they'd knocked out of him. "What..." his shock hardened into anger on his pale face, "the Hell are you doing! Unhand me this instant!" Everything about him shook. "What treachery is this?"
She offered him a grin. "It's called betrayal."
The Councilor's eyes bulged. "You...you can't possibly! I gave you access to my army! I held up my end of the bargain!" Jeweled boots flailed uselessly. "I did more for you than you ever did for Riksharre!"
"Yes, you did," the Butterfly agreed. "We appreciate it, but our loyalty is only to our own needs." She forced his chin toward hers with delicate fingers. "Tell me, have you heard the tale of the Author's fate?"
He gaped, recognition dousing the fire in his eyes. "You can't mean—"
"Oh, but we do."
"You're sick! All of you are sick! What would you even do with the Inkwells? With that sort of power? You'd have to kill everyone else too!" He writhed with all of the strength a Lyrum had, but against the Humans holding him down, it wasn't enough. "It's... The Inkwells are nothing but a story! A campfire myth!" His syllables slurred, "Bitch! Bastards! All of you—"
The Butterfly's fingernails sunk into the Councilor's skin. "What we do with the Inkwells is not your concern, but I can assure you that we have plans. Your sacrifice won't go to waste."
"Fuck all of you! Fuck my father for this! I should've known not to trust anyone who stays in the shadows! I should never have..."
She chuckled. "You're right. You shouldn't have."
Amaranth's legs seemed to disappear from beneath him, nearly sending him to the floor in front of the doorway. His head was so light he feared it might float away and take his mind with it, leaving him with only the pounding in his chest. This really was madness.
"Hey!" the woman's voice snapped him back to reality. She gestured for him to join them. The eyes of her colleagues followed hers, and they all saw him for the first time, their voices suddenly alive with whispers.
Amaranth gathered courage and tried to find his feet to move them. He shoul
d have run the other way without looking back. He should have fled. But he didn't. He walked forward as if his body had a will of its own.
The Butterfly's sneer traced the edges of her mask. "Kill him."
"I..." Amaranth staggered, his senses seeming to slide out from under him.
"What are you waiting for? Kill him and claim his Inkwell."
Amaranth only stood there, suddenly unable to understand anything. She...she was serious? She was really, truly, serious? Discussing the possibility was one thing. Acting on it while they held a living person down in front of him was something else all together.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is why you came here. This is what you agreed to." Green eyes bore into brown. "It'll be easy. A single surge of fire or a single bullet from that Human weapon on your belt. The choice is yours."
"I..." Amaranth looked at the Councilor. The world wouldn't stay still, swimming around him in strange currents. "I-I can't just...!"
He couldn't do it. A dark, desperate part of him may have wanted to, but in that moment, as he locked eyes with the Lyrum, he knew he couldn't. He'd made a mistake.
The woman left the prisoner and touched his shoulder, chills radiating from her fingertips. "You can," she assured, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Do it."
Amaranth stammered, wordless. Reality itself seemed to shake.
A crack came from behind him—the shaking wasn't in his head. He whirled just in time to see rocks break loose from the roof and plunge toward the Humans holding the Lyrum down, as precisely as bullets aimed through a barrel. One man threw himself to the side, but the other was too slow. Debris cut him off from the world with a sick crunch.
Dust filled the room and clawed at the back of Amaranth's throat. The Councilor's silhouette navigated the filth, freed. Nothing remained where he'd stood but a pile of rubble. Blood oozed through the cracks. The surviving Human tried to shout before breaking into coughs.
"Stop him!" a Butterfly cried.
Amaranth covered his mouth with his sleeve and forced his wide eyes to squint. The Councilor had caused the fall. Translation that manipulated stone or soil wasn't uncommon, and they were dealing with a leader—they shouldn't have expected anything less than deadly. It was fortunate, some subconscious part of him realized, that the Councilor couldn't risk bringing down the tunnels on them without also bringing them down on himself...but there was no telling what the desperate would do.
"Get back!"
Amaranth didn't see the rocks hurtling toward him and the Butterfly woman before it was too late. The Butterfly jumped to the side without a second to spare. He wasn't so lucky. Stone slammed into his chest and pushed the air out of his lungs. He heard something snap in his ribs over the gasp of his own silenced scream, the impact sending him flying.
He careened into something soft and bony—other bodies. Rubble and toppled limbs collapsed together. For a while, he only lay there, splayed out on the floor with Butterflies. His eyes burned—whether from the dust or the pain, he didn't know. He fought for the air he'd had stolen, his heart pounding in his ears until he realized he could still breathe.
"He's getting away!" the masked woman screeched, spinning to face the muddle of Humans and Lyrum. "Catch him! He'll warn the other Councilors!"
The few Butterflies still on their feet needed no further encouragement. They gave chase, weapons raised and Translation readied.
Amaranth clutched his chest as he tried to sit up, drawing in breath to chase away the black fog lining his vision. Dust scratched at the back of his throat.
The woman grabbed his collar and dragged him to his knees. "Never make the mistake of hesitating."
She chased after the Councilor before he could rasp out an answer, pulling him along with her. He had no choice but to scramble to his feet. Something cracked in his chest and sent hot shivers of pain up his spine.
"Stop!" he pleaded, but her grip only tightened. He barely had the strength to stand, much less resist.
Shrieks echoed through the tunnel. The body of a silver-pinned Butterfly flew past them among the animated stones. It smacked into the wall, painting red stains as it sunk toward the ground. Fluid leaked from its shattered skull.
Amaranth would've screamed if he'd had enough air.
The Councilor came into view, panting as he raced through the mine with long, shaking strides. He glanced over his shoulder and gestured backward—rocks broke loose from the wall and barreled toward them.
Amaranth froze, but the Butterfly dragged him to the ground with her. The debris flew over their heads. She raised her own palm toward the roof. Ice materialized from the bottom of the tunnel and followed the arc of her fingers, reaching for the unseen sky.
She possessed ice Translation. She'd summoned a blockade. Her target was trapped. Amaranth gaped in her grip.
The Councilor staggered to a halt, bringing more rocks to life and throwing them at the ice. The stone fell away with glassy thuds. He screamed, in rage as much as fear. Breaking through it should have been easy, but his efforts barely left a crack. He may have been skilled, but so was the Overseer. Her ice—something she could birth rather than simply manipulate—was nearly as strong as the stone. And much, much colder. Amaranth shuddered at the winter he saw on the woman's face.
"If this is it, you're coming with me!" The Councilor whirled toward them, snarling. For an instant, the rubble stopped. He looked not at the barrier, and not at them, but at the ceiling. The air snagged in Amaranth's lungs. He was going to bring down the tunnels!
The Butterfly answered with another flick of her palm.
A spear of ice roared up from the floor and ripped through the Councilor's stomach. Howls tore through the rest of him as blood splashed the ceiling.
This time, Amaranth did scream.
She'd skewered the Councilor perfectly. The jagged stalagmite jutted through his gut and emerged from his back. Scarlet drenched the ice, shimmering black in the pale torchlight. He struggled to lift himself with shaky legs, but his knees gave out and sent him slipping further down the spike.
Amaranth recoiled, horror nearly buckling his own legs. There was no way the Councilor would survive. He'd just witnessed a murder.
"Kill him!" The Butterfly shrieked. "Finish him off before the wound does!"
He stared, as if he hadn't heard her at all.
The Councilor writhed like an injured rabbit. Every small movement—every tight, shaking breath—spilled fresh blood. Stones shuddered beside him, but wouldn't fly—not anymore. Crimson dripped over the corners of his lips.
This...this was sick. It didn't matter what it was for. Nothing justified this.
"This is murder!" Amaranth's voice trembled with the rest of him. "I can't... I can't do this. I'll have no part in this!"
The woman whirled on him with eyes as cold as her ice. "And what you do every day in your labs—cutting people open while they're still alive, filling them with needles and wires, forcing them to swallow chemicals that burn them from the inside out, keeping them in cages like cattle, torturing them until they have nothing left to give, until they practically beg for death, then throwing their bodies in the freezer like unwanted meat—isn't murder?"
Amaranth wanted to run, but the acid in her voice fastened his feet to the ground. He couldn't move. He only stared, frozen and white.
"You fucking hypocrite. You worthless, pathetic piece of shit! You've killed for years—don't act like you're on higher ground! I'm sure you already have a special place reserved for you in Hell." She breathed, inhaling air and exhaling poison. "At least give your choices meaning. Embrace what you've become and redeem yourself in the only way you can. Kill him, kill all the others, and create the world you've always wanted."
Amaranth barely swallowed, so numb his body seemed to disappear. The woman's eyes bore into his from behind the winged mask, filled with whole, utter, hatred. He'd never seen anything like it.
"Serve what purpose you have left or I'll gut
you here, right now." She raised her hand, threatening another stalagmite. "What about those we've lost? They'd still be alive if you'd finished him when I gave the order!" She growled so lowly she sounded like a different person, "Kill him, before he dies from the wound and his Inkwell flows to me!"
That's right—if the Councilor died now, she'd be the culprit.
Why wouldn't that be for the best? Why did it have to be him? Who was she? Where was her rage coming from? Was anything she said true? Why would the Butterflies go to such lengths for what he thought were his dreams? Questions flooded him in a single beat, but not one would form on his tongue.
The Butterfly stepped closer and snatched his hands. He gasped, still locked in place. Her fingers guided his own around the gun at his belt and lifted his arm, aiming it in the dying man's direction for him. "Put him out of his misery." Her nails cut into gooseflesh. "Just think of him as another of your specimens—he's not any different."
"No!" Pulsing black edges closed in on his vision. "This isn't..."
She pressed into him to keep him still, her face close to his. "Do you know who that man is? His name is Morak Mayver. Does that ring any bells? It should."
Something clicked. Mayver. Mylo Mayver. He gawked at her, his burning eyes empty and wide.
"Mylo Mayver—this man's father—was the one who gave the order." She smiled. "Did you know that?"
The...order...?
The gun almost fell from his hands. "You don't mean—"
"I do," she assured, her grip tightening.
His breath stopped coming.
"Kill him." Droplets of blood welled beneath her fingernails. "If any Lyrum's death is justified, it's his, right?"
Amaranth exhaled a wordless stutter, salt wetting his cheeks.
Morak Mayver stared up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.
"Do it, Anny!" she ordered. "Do it for them!"