Ruler [Blood Magic, Book 3]

Chapter 41: After the Altar, Before the Execution

Keel even gave him a set of keys to the surveillance room upstairs so he could go online and watch movies. Of course, those keys came with a warning that if he ever told Ephraim about them or ever used the security feeds to peek into the throne room or the royal chambers, he'd have him strung up in the arena on the next day of public trials.

Bruce had thrown his hands out in front of himself when Keel made the threat. "Listen, Your Majesty, I have no interest in seeing what you two get up to behind closed doors. Far as I'm concerned, I saw more than enough that day in the gym. In case you haven't noticed-" he pulled his hands back and ran them over his unblemished arms "-scarification is not my thing."

"Still, bears stating," Keel said. "That way there can be no misunderstandings."

Bruce then reminded him that loss of all contact with the topside sucked worse than a spot of torture.

And so it went. Training and work. Preparation and plotting. 

Of course, Ephraim wasn't going to stay away forever and his return brought with it all the turmoil I expected and much, much more.

"We can delay the executions no longer," Keel announced in a voice too big for the five bodies seated around the dining table with him. It was a tone he reserved for when Ephraim was in the room, and the things it signified never failed to make my skin crawl. My father brought his beast to the surface in a way I never could and didn't want to. This thing between them remained just as dangerous and volatile despite Ephraim's weeks-long absence.

While the tension cast a noticeable pall over the meeting, Bruce seemed unaware of it, or perhaps he was under orders to ignore it. With Ephraim, you never could tell. Either way, I was thankful for the friendly face. Keel and I had been at odds ever since my father's return, when he informed me the time had come to see justice done. Turns out, Nosferatu cells were not powerful enough to stop me from having strong feelings about executing those not involved in the crime.

"Here is how it will happen." Boras and Arthos listened along as Keel laid out the ritual of punishment for the non-Nosferatu in the room, along with the particular intricacies of his "demonstration": since the would-be assassins had shot the king's sorceress, their bloodlines would die by sorcery. "Should quell anyone else from making an attempt on Sorceress Sarker's life," he concluded.

All the heads at the table bobbed in agreement, except mine. These people were not the shooters, they were Ankor's family and the other families. This was not the justice I wanted. This was wrong, maybe not among the Nosferatu, but on some fundamental moral level.

Keel turned to me, and from the direction of the conversation, I knew he was going to raise that long-ago question about whether I'd perform the demonstration. He'd danced painfully close to asking it for days, which only incensed me more.

Don't ask. Don't you dare ask, I said in his head. Or I might just throw up right here and now.

He swivelled towards Ephraim without saying a word, and I found a new way to hate myself. If I didn't do it, he would get my father to, and then he'd be even further indebted. And yet, I could not stop him. Could not do this. I clenched my fists under the table hard enough to draw blood and all three sets of Nosferatu eyes fell on me. I shook my head and stared down at the wood grain of the tabletop and willed the horror of this to be over soon.