She hated and loved the battlefields.
She strolled through the barren plain across which his army had advanced hours before covered with bodies and blood over which a fine drizzle was falling. She chose to think of it as congratulations on his victory.
Her men were busy picking up the corpses wearing obsidian-black armor, the comrades who had fallen that day. The others wore emerald crests on their breastplates, and those they ignored. They would be fodder for the crows. The thought caused her to make a cruel smile, which widened when he reached the camp that his enemies had occupied earlier. Wrecked and burned to the ground, nothing more and nothing less than what those rebels deserved.
She still wore her sword at his belt, along with his black and silver battle suit splattered with blood; she even had some on her cheek, but she didn't plan to do anything about it until they had finished clearing the plain. After all, most of that blood wasn't hers. A long oval mirror floated beside her, following in her footsteps. She glanced at her reflection out of the corner of her eye: her appearance was both brutal and elegant. Her feminine features contrasted with her dark suit and short shiny white hair. A silvery gleam still glinted in her eyes, which showed disdain and pride. Her lips, splashed with red as if she wore carmine, showed a suggestive and perverse smile.
She hated the battlefield for the bodies of her men who ended up burning on the funeral pyres with full honors, but she loved it more than she hated it. She loved feeling powerful, seeing the enemies fall in her path and inspiring the pure fear that was reflected in their faces when, at the beginning of the fight, they understood that they were not going to be able to win. That soon became clear.
The reflection in the floating mirror winked at her, and she in turn bowed her head in appreciation. It was a gesture her mother had gotten her used to: a show of silent gratitude to the power that granted her victories. Though, of course, she also liked to think that they were partly thanks to her own strength. She paused to contemplate the charred remains of the camp. The Insurrection had set up one of its bases in that isolated plain, and they had been making trouble for some time, which was the only thing that bunch of cowards knew how to do. They thought they were rivals for their mother, they really believed they could recover the throne of Ethryant when they had been trying for more than twenty years. She was now responsible for waging a war that began before she was even born, and she did it gladly because it was now her war. The war of her kingdom and her family. A war she had always been destined to win.
That the Insurrection found it hard to accept this was not their problem.
"Your highness."
She turned to find near her a young man wearing obsidian armor and carrying a rapier at his belt, with the stripes of a commander on his shoulder.
"Look at this, Mylod," she said, pointing to the destroyed camp. "The insurgents are stubborn for continuing to defy us."
"That's because your leaders have no occasion to see you fight, your highness."
"Oh, they will, my friend," she replied, lifting her chin. "When we find out where those rebel rats are hiding, they'll see me fight. It will be the last thing they see."
Mylod gave a faint smile, accustomed to the attitude of his fierce Princess.
"We have no doubt. But, until then, we have already gathered the prisoners in the camp and they are waiting to be interrogated."
The young woman's shoulders tensed.
"How many are there?"
"Six. For now. We are looking for more survivors."
"Well. Bring before my presence all living insurrectionists. Without exception."
The commander nodded and they walked together across the battlefield strewn with bodies to their own camp, which was bustling with activity. Everyone was on the move after a few hours of rest, packing up in preparation for the return trip and tending to the wounded. The mirror followed the Princess at all times, but there were many more places where she could see herself reflected. There were crystalline surfaces all over the camp that she could use to defend it in case of danger, and the shields that the men had used during the battle, and which were now scattered around the black cloth tents, were mirrors. These objects were indispensable to her victories. She knew that, as long as she had one at hand, she was invincible.
They arrived at a tent in the center of the camp, the one the officers used for meetings and planning. Some high-ranking members of their army were already there, along with six members of the Insurrection, handcuffed and on their knees, presenting various injuries that no one in that place was planning to cure them. The prisoners of war were very valuable. All the officers who could be of use to them either fell during the battle or took their own lives in a last and ridiculous act of bravery. For that reason they always made sure to look for survivors. If they knew nothing, they died, but if they suspected them of possessing information, they would spend as much time as they had left in the dungeons and torture cells of Krysthei's palace.
The temperature of the place seemed to drop several degrees when she entered. As soon as they saw her, when the prisoners saw her beautiful blood-spattered face, her pure white hair, her silver eyes and the mirror next to her, some tried to hide their look of fear, but none succeeded. She smiled, satisfied.
"I guess we can skip the introductions," he said, leaning gracefully against the map-covered table in the center of the tent. "Gentlemen, I'm going to set the record straight right now. Your lives are worthless. Your revolutionary ideas are worth nothing. Your beloved Insurrection is worth even less. Right now your comrades are being eaten by crows."
She looked carefully at the six faces before her. Her words had made more of an impact on some than on others. One of them was managing to suppress most of his reactions. A senior officer, probably, another man who thought he was a hero.
"There is only one thing with a shred of value in you: information. Some of you possess it, and some of you do not. Those who do not, will die."
One man visibly swallowed saliva. He was not supposed to know anything. The princess held back a grimace.
"Those who can give me what I want have two options: one is to spend what is left of their miserable and useless life in the dungeons of the castle, being the plaything of our executioners. And mine, of course."
She stepped away from the desk and walked around the store quietly. The silence was sepulchral.
"The other is to tell me everything they know, swear allegiance to the Queen and die peacefully as old men. What do you say?"
The insurrectionists were silent, looking at each other. The Princess grunted to herself and said:
"This is my question: where are your leaders hiding?"
Again, silence. She glanced sideways at his reflection, which was visibly exasperated. Well, more drastic methods should be tried.
She turned to the guy who had swallowed spit earlier. Private, probably. With tanned skin and a rough gesture, for sure the only thing he had been taught was to walk, obey and wield a weapon. No one trusted secrets to someone like that.
"You," she said, pointing at him. "What do you choose?"
He gave her a look that did not reflect much intelligence. That was confirmed when he spat on one of the Princess's bloody boots.
"No woman gives me orders, much less a girl," he snorted. "Go back to your mother and go back to the hole you came from, you dirty b..."
Zas.
Barely a second later, the young woman's sword was in his hand, and the soldier's head was rolling on the ground with a grimace of horror. A new stain decorated her white cheeks. The man's body fell forward, and his companions screamed in terror. She kept the sword in her grip without a hint of anything but cold, lethal anger.
"I don't feel like wasting my time, gentlemen. These are the consequences of fighting a war you cannot win. Now, speak or die."
She watched out of the corner of his eye for the insurgent high official, who had clenched his teeth tightly. Firm, no doubt. She opted to address another low-ranking man, wielding her sword. The guy flinched, and she grabbed his jaw. Her gloves left red furrows across his face.
"Where are the leaders of the Insurrection hiding? Where is the general?!"
"I-I don't know," he stammered, breaking her patience. "I swear, I don't know anything."
She lost her nerve and decapitated him with a single slash, so fast that the movement was no more than a blur. She took a deep breath, noting the uneasiness of her own men. He had killed the prisoners too quickly. Only four were left now, and a huge pool of blood was forming on the ground. He berated himself for his impulsiveness before turning to the other officer. He raised his arm to look at his stripes.
"Well, if it isn't a colonel with us. I'm sure you have something for me."
"I have nothing for usurpers and abominations."
"I would cut out your tongue if I didn't want you to use it to talk."
"You'll never get me to say anything, daughter of the false Queen. I do not fear the pain, for I know it will be worth it when Ethryant is free."
"Ugh, silence. I'm not in the mood for heroic speeches. I know you know where the general is, and I'll make you tell me one way or another."
"I won't."
The girl's eyes emitted a sinister silver glow and she whispered:
"As you wish."
She grabbed the officer kneeling next to the colonel by the neck and lifted him up without taking his eyes off him.
"Every single one of the men you see here will be executed, and with them any survivors they find if you do not speak now."
The soldier she was holding debated, terrified, but another of the prisoners said:
"Don't speak, Colonel. We will face death with honor, for the sake of our cause."
"The honor of those who rebel against their Queen?" snorted the Princess. "You insurrectionists are truly infuriating. Are you going to let me kill your men for the one who sent you to die? I would consider the deal I offer you."
He enjoyed every drop of doubt and remorse in the colonel's eyes as he looked at the officer trembling in the young woman's grip. She raised her sword, menacingly, and the boy screamed:
"Sir!"
"Your "sir" doesn't care enough about you."
She smiled as she watched him slowly lose hope, feeling tiny in her presence and realizing that he was going to die.
"You are running out of time."
"Sir, please! Don't...!"
"I'm sorry, kid. I can't do it." The colonel muttered, then looked away.
The Princess roared, furious, and prepared to behead yet another man, when the boy exclaimed:
"Cavintosh!!!"
She stopped dead in her tracks. The whole tent fell silent, both the prisoners and the officers in black. The first to break it was the colonel:
"Boy! What are you doing?"
"Save life," replied the Princess, smiling again, wickedly. "What is Cavintosh?"
"I-I..."
"Don't say another word!"
"It seems I can't kill you anymore. But don't worry, if I don't do it, it will be my executioners who will get the answers I need from you."
Anger had given way to euphoria. she finally had what she needed.
-"Now tell me what Cavintosh is."
The boy alternated his gaze between her and the three prisoners. It was as if he had to decide with which hand they were strangling him. So she leaned over his ear and whispered:
"They cannot protect you from me."
He dared to look into her crystalline eyes for a second and shivered. However, he said:
"It is an island."
"Traitor!" shouted the colonel. "Coward!"
"Intelligent," she corrected him. "Welcome to the forces of Ethryant, honorable traitor. What is your name?"
He took a moment to respond, as if he still couldn't quite believe what was happening. She had to shake him a little until he stammered:
"M-Marsias. My name is Marsias."
"I think you could be useful to the Crown, Marsias. You're coming with us, and you won't have to set foot in the dungeons if you don't have to. All you have to do is render a service to your Queen."
"You don't deserve to be part of the Insurrection!" exclaimed the colonel in the meantime, out of his mind. "You are selling yourself to the enemy who destroyed our home! Who usurped the throne that belongs to Prince Eneas!"
"I can boast of much worse things than that. Mylod."
Her friend stepped forward instantly, and she released Marsias' collar.
"Take our new ally to the infirmary to have his wounds treated. As long as he is willing to cooperate. You are, aren't you?"
The boy barely looked at her, so she leaned toward him without the slightest sympathy in expression.
"Now I know with absolute certainty that you know what I want you to tell me. This can be by hook or by crook. You can get the answers from my executioners or my kind friend Mylod. You don't have. Any. Other. Option."
After what were probably the most difficult seconds of his life, Marsias nodded. Mylod grabbed him by the shoulder without much consideration and led him out of the tent. The Princess smiled. It had not been very difficult to analyze this young man. He was a person who had grown up in fear, and she embodied his worst nightmare. He had no compelling reason to support the Insurrection except for all the lies he had been told throughout his life, a life he wanted to keep at all costs. However, he was intelligent, more intelligent than most of the individuals who made up the insurrectionist ranks. Probably for that reason he had never wanted to be a soldier, but he had never had any other choice. That should have been his first battle, and seeing what Ethryant's forces were capable of, he had quietly surrendered as soon as it began.
She gave the three living insurrectionists a smile that promised revenge.
"Your friend is weak, but at least he has some sense. He will tell us everything even if he has to do it writhing in pain and with his guts scattered on the floor. The Insurrection's days are numbered, and my mother and I are going to take back what you took from us."
"Evil will not reign in Ethryant for long," replied the colonel, undaunted. "General Aursong will be the one to lead us to victory, whether in life or death, and from the ashes of your dark empire we will create a liberated kingdom, free of creatures like you."
The princess guffawed:
"Creatures like us, huh? You can tell horror stories about us to your children, but I promise you the reality is much worse. You have no idea what my mother and I are capable of. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go meet the Queen."
She walked out of the tent with her head held high, but left the mirror inside. Once she was outside, she turned to his reflection and made a simple gesture with his finger. The person on the other side of the mirror smiled.
A second later, three heads rolled to the floor in unison, and the Princess lowered her raised finger. It had been enough for her to do that for three more corpses to decorate the tent, but in the mirror, her reflection was covered in blood that glistened under the hypnotic light emanating from her eyes.