THE APPLE OF SNAKES

lxxi. death of light

Rain pelted against his skin.

His feet were heavy. Every step ached as though shards of glass were being wedged into his heel. He staggered. And then he stumbled. He managed to catch himself before he fell but he hadn't several times before. Mud clung to his tattered clothes. It clung to his tattered skin. It weighed him down. He carried it with him. He'd always carried a heavy burden. What was a little bit more?

The blood was worse. He'd had it on his hands and smeared it against his face. It tangled into his hair. What was once white now seemed something more akin to gray or brown. He hadn't had a chance to look at himself in a mirror. He just knew that blood and dirt and grease and knots had all piled on his scalp, weighing him down.

In his hands, he clutched a dark sack. He'd taken it from one of the bodies. He couldn't remember if it was originally dark or if that was due to all the blood and mud. He'd carried it with him all this way. His fingers were numb where he clutched the bag shut. His arm ached in protest of its weight. He couldn't let go, though. He couldn't. He'd carried it all this way. He couldn't let go of it now.

The gates of Hebikoti Palace were before him.

The guards called out to him. They didn't recognize him. He didn't blame them. He didn't look very much like himself. He also wasn't in the mood to deal with them. He made a gesture and the plants opened the gates for him. They were much more loyal, much more obedient, than any human servant that he knew.

He hobbled through the courtyard. Hebikoti Palace was aglow with candlelight and music that could be heard even from out here. He limped up the steps. Each one was agony. Yet he forced himself to continue. The plants opened the front doors for him as well.

The first servant who saw him screamed. The second did not dare make a sound. He walked through the halls, dripping rain. Dripping mud. Dripping blood. Dripping war. All of it pooled on the floor, staining the expensive carpet. He didn't care. He had come all this way. He had to continue. He couldn't stop now.

The sound of music grew louder the closer he came to the banquet hall. Anger rose in his chest, blooming like a beautiful red rose. He tried to straighten his posture. He tried to make himself look a bit more presentable. But then again, he had just come from war. Why ought he hide that fact for their comfort? They had been drinking, feasting, dancing, lazing while he had been fighting and killing for them.

Nerluce told the plants to open the banquet doors.

The musicians missed a note. It sounded shrill. Then they stopped playing. And everyone stopped talking. And all merriment was put on pause as Nerluce staggered through the banquet hall, darkened with filth and reeking of death. There was a thud. Someone had fainted. Nerluce's lip curled.

If one fainted just by looking at him, what would they do if they witnessed the horrors he'd committed? What would they do if they had been forced to commit those same horrors? But no. They got to live a life of luxury. They got to dress in fine robes. They got to bathe and wash their hair. They got everything Nerluce wanted.

And they would never have to kill another human being. And they would never have to wake up every couple of hours, screaming. And they would never try to wipe away blood only for it to smear across their entire face until it was all they could see. All they could smell. All they could taste. They never had to suffer but they just... got everything that Nerluce was fighting so hard for.

He reached the front of the room. Lord Father was standing there. Coam and Princess Yume were together on one side. All three of them looked utterly horrified.

Nerluce smiled. "I'm home," he said.

"Nerluce," Lord Father said.

Nerluce's smile grew even wider. Lord Father had acknowledged him. That was nice. It still sent a rush of happiness every time it happened. Nerluce wanted to be praised more. He'd fought hard. He'd done his duty. Good work deserved good rewards. That was what Lord Father always said. And Nerluce had done good work.