🕷(96) A Traitor's Death

165 8 27
                                    

Brook POV-

It was early when two masked guards came into her lonely cell with taunts in Russian mean to disorient her. 

The men with the dragon masks knew that Brook would not fear death, so they took to annoying her with promises of her father dying as they dragged her down the halls of old stone.

Brooklyn couldn't really feel her arms so she let herself be dragged between the two of them, focusing on the tingling of blood rushing back to her limbs.

What she DID notice amidst her exhaustion was that no matter how many halls and courtyards they passed...there was no one around. It didn't take long to realize why, because when Brooklyn was dragged down a dark hall, shouts and screams of thousands of people greeted her along with the blinding rays of the sun.

It was still freezing, would likely snow later today, but it seemed that the sun had decided to bid Brook farewell.

The giant coliseum was filled to the brim, its dozens upon dozens or rows full of assassins dressed in all manner of colors that represented their guilds. Though the crowd was large, Brook was still able to make out some faces of people scowling, spitting her last name with disgust, others holding weapons of their own who promised to have their turn with her.

She ignored the taunts, the insults, all of it...

Like last night at the dinning hall, each leader had a special setup. The arena in the middle of the coliseum had been 'decorated' with a raised dais with chains on the floor no doubt meant for Brooklyn. But on the edges of the field were these tent-like set ups with flags of each guild, with chairs, food, and comforts.

Front row seats to her torture...how kind of them.

Brooklyn's body was dragged onto the wooden platform, dropped like a sac of potatoes at Ivan's feet. He was smirking down at her as the guards chained her arms into place painfully until she was kneeling down.

The teen was calm, passive, nothing in her features expressing fear and worry, but most of all, her grief. 

Maybe dad would find Brook eventually, perhaps she could be buried next to her grandparents, by her kin. 

That would be nice...

Brook looked up then, ignoring the weapons and torture devices being brought on to the stage as she looked to the forest green tent before her, where Damian was at his honorary seat next to his mother, separated form the league members by the shaded tarp.

He was still in all his finery, seated on a golden throne. Brooklyn fought back a relieved sigh, knowing Damian was still in his position as heir, that he would be just fine, it made what was about to happen a little easer.

Though Damian's face was as passive as his mother's, Brook noticed the way he clutched one of his katanas hard. She knew this would be difficult for him, and his place before her was probably not helping, but Brooklyn hoped he could think of the bigger picture right now.

She was being a little selfish, not just wanting Damian to stay put so he could save the heroes, but because that meant he would live. Brooklyn wondered if the words and kiss from last night had been induced by guilt or the spur of the moment knowing she would die, or if it was all genuine emotion like what she felt.

It was a shame she'd never get to ask...

Either way, Brooklyn was ready for whatever came.

Ivan quieted the crowd with a raised hand, slowly circling Brooklyn until he reached down to rip the tattered silk robe from last night in one swoop. The robe was practically useless anyways, people had taken out their anger on it last night, but the chill of the morning cold was more evident now that she was left in only a tank top and black pants.

Stones and Glass Houses (Book 1)Where stories live. Discover now