Crown of Cinders

by Rebecca Ethington

  Thom and Wyn were huddled against each other, sobbing in silence. The heavy shudder of Thom’s breathing echoed around us like the ripple of fabric in the wind, ripping him apart. His pain lingered in the sound, cutting into my chest as my own sobs rose to meet his. Our heartbreak wove together as one painful keen.

  “This life will be missed. This life met its end, and we will always remember his past as he goes on without us to find the depth of the future his sight has created for him,” Ilyan said over the distressing sounds of our sobs, his own voice continuing to break right alongside ours.

  Keeping his palm flat, he shifted his weight, lifting the large bottle as he clamped his teeth around the cork. I could feel his magic surge as he eased it out, and the bright smell of wine swirled through the icy air.

  I wrinkled my nose at the scent. While familiar, it reminded me of way too many late nights in the LaRue’s kitchen—Edmund’s kitchen. It was a reminder I didn’t need, not right now.

  My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I pushed it away.

  After spitting the cork into the dead grass, Ilyan put the opening of the bottle over the handkerchief, letting it hover there, one slight tip away from spilling over. He froze there, his emotions swirling powerfully through me as his magic began to shake, his hand trembling visibly.

  “He taught me patience,” Ilyan gasped out in pain, his hand tipping as he released the bright red fluid from the bottle, splashing it onto the white handkerchief he held. It landed against the cotton, the red against white abrasive as the droplets ran down the side of the fabric, absorbing into the white as he passed the bottle to Thom.

  Thom’s hand shook as my face burned and I tried to keep the tears hidden, but they came, anyway, as Thom poured his own amount onto the white cloth. The crimson stain spread over it, seeping into it as it stretched toward the edges until there were only a few spots of white left.

  “He taught me how to love after everything was broken,” Thom whispered, his eyes still focused on the red wine that was seeping throughout the fabric.

  Without a word, he passed the bottle to Wyn. It was like before the battle, during the first night: a drink, a word, a tribute to those you have lost. No, not a tribute. A memory, a piece of his past.

  Memories from each of us poured onto fabric like blood, dripping from our souls as we shared the intimacies of not only ourselves, but of the life we were honoring.

  “He forgave me,” was all Wyn said as she splashed a large amount of wine onto the cloth, the brilliant crimson seeping so fast I knew it wouldn’t hold it all. It dripped from the edges onto the ice-coated grass like tears falling to the ground.

  Without a word, Wyn handed the bottle to me, and my hand shook as I wrapped it around the neck. Thankfully, I didn’t drop it as she let go. It was heavier than I expected it to be and slippery underneath my fingers.

  “He reminded me I had a family,” I said.

  My nose tickled, the tears kept coming, and I could barely get the words out. I let them flow while staring at the white of the handkerchief before I poured the wine onto it. Watching the blood red absorb into it, I gasped, feeling the warmth against my hand, pooling in my palm hidden beneath the surface.

  I stared at it for a moment too long before Ryland reached for the bottle, reminding me of what my job was.

  He grabbed the bottle without hesitation, splashing some onto his own, his lips a tight line as he said, “He was the man his father pretended to be.”

  The words struck home, and I gasped, my tears flowing more freely as Ilyan walked around Dramin’s body, grabbing the bottle from Ryland and continuing the process all over.

  “He showed me how to laugh.”

  “He never gave up on me.”

  “He saved me in more ways than he knew.”

  On and on, they went until each of our handkerchiefs were soaked with wine and our palms were full of the deep red fluid. Then the bottle was empty and set beside Ilyan’s feet, rattling against dying grass and stone as it rocked in the wind that blew past everything. My emotions by now were so raw and open that I was amazed the wind didn’t pick me up and carry me away.

  Ilyan took a step forward and knelt in the dirt beside where my brother lay. Carefully, he placed the handkerchief over his face exactly as he had in the sight. The wine-soaked cloth covered the gray skin, the sunken eyes, and the jaw that looked so broken it didn’t even resemble my brother anymore.

  “I will take care of her as you asked,” Ilyan said, his wine-soaked hand grasping my brother’s dead one. His stiff fingers were like rocks underneath Ilyan’s strong grip.

  Ilyan did not move as Thom limped forward, Wyn helping him to kneel beside his brother. His hand shook as he, too, placed the cloth over Dramin’s face.

  “I will never forget what you have done for me,” Thom whispered, his hand replacing Ilyan’s against the stiffness of Dramin’s.

  Without a word, Wyn knelt beside Thom near Dramin’s feet and leaned over both of them to place her handkerchief over Dramin’s face, on top of all the others.

  “I will be worthy of your forgiveness,” Wyn whispered, her hand clutching Dramin’s before wrapping around Thom’s. Her head fell onto his shoulder as the tears flowed freely.

  Kneel across from me, můj kamarád, Ilyan prompted inside my mind, his voice quiet as he gave me the needed instruction.

  Everything felt weak, numb, and broken. Each step opened up a new agonizing pit in my stomach as I moved toward him then kneeled across from him before I placed my handkerchief over Dramin’s face.

  “I will always be your sister.”

  I squished my face together in an attempt not to let the tears find a way past, in an attempt not to sob and cry like a pitiful little girl. Regardless, the sounds came out. The heartbreak bled from me, anyway. All I could do was sit there and cry.

  I didn’t even hear what Ryland said as he placed his handkerchief over my brother’s face. I couldn’t hear beyond the wind that roared around us and tried to carry me away. I couldn’t hear beyond the sobs that racked my body.

  They grew inside of me, swelling and growing into a pain I could no longer hold back, a pain I didn’t want to feel anymore. I didn’t want to. I let all of the anger, all of the pain, and all of the loss go in a crippling despondency that escaped from me in a scream so loud and feral everyone around me jumped.

  I screamed as I clutched Dramin’s hand. I screamed as I clawed at his arms. I screamed as I tried my hardest to shake him awake, knowing that it wouldn’t work and not caring.

  I clutched at his clothes, at his dead, lifeless arms. Everything was cold and stiff and uncomfortable and not him anymore. Not him ever again.

  He was gone.

  There was nothing left.

  I cried so loudly and so hard I could barely move. I held on to Ryland and Wyn as they flanked me, holding me, trying to calm me.

  It was no use. The heartbreak grew as I felt Ilyan’s magic surge, the earth reacting to it, and the soil before us shifted and moved as it began to swallow Dramin whole.

  The tears kept coming, and I tried to reach him, but he was already being swallowed by the dirt. He was already leaving.

  He was going, and I couldn’t go, too.

  I couldn’t.

  But I wanted to.

  I wanted him to come back.

  Wyn and Ryland tried to hold me back as I lunged for him, part of me needing to claw him out and part of me needing to follow.

  I had done this to him. I needed to make it better.

  I could make it better.

  It was the only thing that was left, that and tears. I didn’t even know what was going on around me anymore. I could feel hands against my arms. I could hear pleadings in the air around me. But the next thing I knew, there was only dirt, and my magic was angry, and I was angry, and my magic surged to the surface as I screamed and Wyn grabbed me, trying to help me.

  Our magic reacted, and everything went white.

  But not the white of
the sight I had pulled everyone into before. It was the white of the explosion I had seen outside of the cathedral, the blast so bright and so hot that everyone’s shrieks rose to match mine. Everyone’s pain rose to match mine.

  Everyone was as trapped in it as I was.

  It was then I realized who those two figures I had seen in the explosion of my sight were and why this moment was so cemented within our timeline.

  As the explosion began to fade, as the cries of pain began to lessen, as the heat of the blast began to subside, I opened my eyes.

  I opened my eyes to a beautiful, blue sky and to snow blowing over us all.

  SAIN

  21

  The smell of dirt and blood mixed with the scent of sweat and desperation in a way that was intoxicating. It lingered in the air and dripped against my skin in tiny pricks of energy, each one infecting me… awakening me.

  Of course, I was positive it had more to do with what was coming than the two women below me who were currently pulling at each other’s hair, a move that would normally insight cheers of glee in the crowds.

  Only a few clapped their hands.

  A coup was moments away. I could feel it in the pinpricks of my sight, feel it in the eagerness of the crowd, their attention half-focused on the battling women in the middle of the mud-filled pits. Their eyes constantly darted to me then darted to the large door inset into the floor of the arena.

  Even if I hadn’t seen what was coming within sight, I would have been able to guess. They gave themselves away.

  Foolish Trpaslíks.

  Smiling to myself, I sat back on the many velvet pillows that Edmund had used as a throne, sipping Black Water like wine. Wine for the greatest of shows.

  One woman clawed at the other before wrapping her teeth around the soft flesh of her neck and pulling. Red sprayed from her neck in a fountain as a large chunk of flesh was pulled from her like overcooked meat.

  The comical reaction was enough to pull the audience’s attention from what was coming. With a roar, they cheered as the bleeding woman fell to the ground in a heap while the victor turned to me, her eyes dangerous as she smiled.

  I laughed at the look, the raw danger she tried so hard to show me. Yes, she would be good in battle; I could see that at once. However, it was the warning behind her eyes that forced the laugh from my chest.

  The threat was clear. She might as well have said, “You’re next, Sain.”

  I laughed harder, the sound echoing around the stadium as her face fell.

  Even the Chosen who were being forced to fight for their lives knew what was coming. They were ready to try to overthrow me as much as the Trpaslíks who were now looking at me with varying degrees of fear and confusion.

  “I am quite ready for this attempted coup to begin,” I said underneath the laugh quiet enough that Ovailia could hear from where she sat, nestled against my legs, one tier of bleachers down.

  Below me where she belonged, where she would die.

  Maybe I would end her in the pits just like all of these fools.

  Ovailia didn’t turn to look at me. Her hand shifted to rub against my leg, her magic swelling. “Is that why you are laughing?” Her voice was dark molasses, sweet and dangerous. It drifted across the tense anticipation in the air like candy, swirling over everything.

  I sighed, pulling long strands of her hair gently before running my fingers over the top of her head.

  She shivered, her magic quivering alongside, and my smile grew.

  “Among many things.” My voice was even lower now, something Ovailia didn’t seem to mind. Damek, however, stepped closer to us, away from the door he was supposed to be guarding, his fear unabashed as he tried to pick up as much of the conversation as he could.

  With one sharp look, I caught him in the act, sending him scuttling back toward the entrance to our little alcove, his shoulders hunched and shivering.

  I would have to punish him for that little trick later. Maybe let him and Ovailia battle it out in a pit of their own.

  The women in the pits had given me something to chew on.

  “Did you see the look on her face?” I whispered into Ovailia’s ear, meeting the glare of the woman below me, the hatred fading a bit due to the look I fixed her with.

  “Hers?” Ovailia asked, her voice shaking a bit as I leaned down toward her, pressing my cheek against hers, our conversation hidden from prying ears.

  “Yes. Did you see the hatred?”

  Ovailia shivered as my magic pressed against her, searching for hers. I let it flow, feeling her unease. The emotion was so strong I could taste it. Delicious.

  “I saw the darkness in her eyes,” Ovailia answered, her uncertainty fading as she pushed strength into her voice. The stoicism that I loved bled into me as she lifted her hand, brushing it against my forearm, her magic sparking pleasantly against my skin. With that one touch, my magic reacted, attempting to connect with hers as she attempted to connect with me. It took all my will to keep my magic restrained. “She wanted to kill you. Do you want to kill her?”

  “I want to kill them all,” I answered as a roar encompassed the crowd, the sound loud enough that I jerked.

  With my cheek still pressed against Ovailia’s, I glanced toward the pit, my heart a thunder of hope that perhaps this would be the start. But no, it was just two scrawny teenage boys dressed in blood-soaked clothes that I knew didn’t originally belong to them.

  They looked at me with the same defiance the woman had. Their hands pressed against their hearts in a salute before they bowed, the motion rehearsed as they turned, shaking in preparation for death.

  “I will kill them all,” I declared, my voice a snake as I smiled. The eagerness for what was to come flourishing.

  “Will you?” Ovailia whispered, turning her head toward me as the words grazed across my cheek in hot breath and soft lips.

  Heart racing in both need and disgust, I pulled away from her, looking her full in the face as my temper howled under my skin. “Don’t question me,” I snapped. She flinched, the reaction fueling my authority more. “I don’t need bottom feeders, Ovi. You either follow me, or I dispose of you. Don’t you like your spine where it is, inside your pretty little back?” I ran my finger up the appendage in question, tracing over the fine silk of her shirt.

  She jerked, attempting to move away from the threat, from the look in my eyes. But I held her against me, letting my magic shoot into the bones of her back in tiny shots of pain.

  “I keep telling you not to unleash the hell inside of me, Ovailia. Why must you keep defying me?” I kept my voice low, the deep, sultry notes affecting her the way I knew they would. The woman melted beneath me in fear, in need. “Do you want to see hell?”

  “I want to see the end, Sain.” She smiled, the grin long and menacing as it stretched over her face.

  An end, I could give her. An end of a blood red blade as it intersected with her neck.

  My own smile stretched, fueled by the sight my magic had given me which was playing on repeat.

  “I want to give that to you, Ovailia. I can end this once and for all. We can end this once and for all,” I continued. The words were a lie, bitter and gross in my mouth. I knew I didn’t mean it, and I was certain she knew it, too. We would not do anything.

  It didn’t matter, however. She smiled, anyway, drowning in the power I taunted her with. The power she had wanted since the very beginning.

  “Then let’s end this,” she said, her voice full of lust and need, her magic pressing against me again in that disgusting desire. I let it twist over me, my own spreading to join hers, my heart betraying me with the contact.

  “Let’s.” I was drowning in her proximity, desperate to connect to her, to feel her.

  I considered slapping myself back to my senses; I would have if it weren’t for the roar that went up from the crowd, the noise signaling the end of yet another battle.

  I didn’t even glance toward the stands to congratulate the winner. I was pr
etty certain what I would find down there, anyway. I could already smell the blood. And sure enough, the boys were covered in it. But they were both still standing, very much alive. They were both staring at me.

  Staring just like everyone else.

  “It’s time,” I announced, a sneer twisting over my lips as excitement invaded me.

  My sight wasn’t far behind, pushing against me in need, but I thrust it away, letting my deeper magic flare, bringing it to the ready. I had already seen what was about to happen; I didn’t need another recap. I did, however, need to be ready for a fight.

  “Go get my creature, Ovailia,” I hissed.

  My anger drenched her pretty blue eyes in a luscious syrup. Watching her was like watching a well-practiced Oscar performance. Anger, seduction, lust, frustration—they all played upon her face in perfect harmony, stirring my own hunger from deep inside of me.

  “Make Damek do it,” she hissed, her anger growing. “I need to be here. They need to see us sta—”

  “They need to see where my power lies. It is not with you!” The snap of my voice smacked her right across the face, and she flinched, cowering away from me.

  Ovailia. Cowering. The brief image was beautiful.

  I had always been told that the witch couldn’t be controlled, that she could never be a true servant. Yet, here she was, beautifully submissive.

  “Go. Get. The. Creature.” I snapped each word like a whip, each one making her recoil, curling up her spine. “We need to show them what we are capable of. You are not we, not right now.” Pushing a hard edge into my voice, I moved away from her, leaning back against the rich softness of the pillows, the plush red blending perfectly with the bloodstained bathrobe I still wore. “Go,” I spoke without even looking at her, my focus on the boys below me as all of us waited for the next step in the show to start.

  I knew it was coming.

  Ovailia left without another word, her sheet of hair falling down her back against the red silk of her dress. The crimson matched her shoes that tapped over the distant screeches of the crowd. They were a countdown that ended with the smack of a heavy door somewhere in the distance.