Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(59)

I ended with a laugh, the loud, disreputable sound barking inside my chest in a pleasant ripple, echoing against the hollow room with a ridge of danger that was not missed by the three men.

They shivered all the more, curling their spines into themselves as if that could somehow save them.

I laughed harder. Nothing could save them. They would understand the punishment for defying me soon. Then death would find them. I had a job for them first, however.

“I was alive, though,” I continued, the laugh ending with a snap, the rough edges of my voice hard against the rocks. The entire room trembled underneath it, underneath my anger. “I saw it all. I was here when they carved the hall, when they protected the deep wells of magic. It was my magic that they cowered beneath, much the same way as you do now.”

They shivered more. Georg even shifted his weight, pulling his body back again in a desperate attempt to get away from me. Not that I blamed him. I could feel his magic pulse in fear, the strong barrier I had placed over them still restraining his power.

“It was in this room that I ruled. In this room, I was king. It seems fitting I put my throne in this room. I much prefer this one to the old wooden ones they gave us before,” I mused as I left the floor they cowered on, jumping lithely onto the raised stage of the old council room. “They were so bland, so boring. Wood,” I scoffed. “Nothing more than a chair your grandmother would knit in. They were supposed to show how humble we were, how much like you.”

The large metal coffers lining the back of the stage erupted to life as I approached them. Brilliant orange flames jumped to life, igniting the dark stone of the stage in streams of color and casting the massive throne I had made for myself in lines of light and shadow.

Bones.

Hundreds of bones. Ripped from the bodies of those who fought and lost. Many of them still glistened with the blood of their former owners. Glistened with the loyalty they held toward Edmund. The loyalty that had ended in their deaths.

The loyalty had been reduced to a place for the king they should have worshiped to sit.

White and red, it rose out of the black stone in twisted lines, rib cages intertwined with arms and legs, fingers stretching over the arm rests, curling over bones.

And above it all, a blackened skull. The fractured remains of a burned king, his eyes nothing more than hollow sockets, chipped teeth of yellowed ash protruding from a slack jaw, opened in an eternal scream.

“I am not like you,” I continued, my back to them as I moved toward the massive structure, a smile stretching over my teeth. “I never have been, and I will no longer pretend to be.”

Blood-soaked cloak rippling behind me, I sat, sinking into the oddly comfortable structure.

Running my fingertips over the bones of the throne, I sighed, enjoying the oddly gritty texture of the skeletal remains. The smooth, almost rock-like surface was familiar and pleasant, made even more so by the vibration of magic that always lived deep within the marrow. I could feel it in the long femur that stretched over the armrest. My elongated nails tapped against the knucklebones, the tiny bones placed like studs against a seam of fabric, binding them together in infamous beauty.

“I am sure you have questions,” I began, shifting the subject as I continued to drum my fingers over the bones of the chair. “About why you are here, I mean. About why I have called for you.”

They continued to tremble as I spoke, their hearts pounding so loudly I could hear their faint echoes in the silence of the dead room. Fingers twitched, backs quivered, yet none of them said anything. They cowered in fear, their panic increasing my joy.

I smiled. How could I not with the way they shivered?

“Yes … yes … my king …” Alojz finally answered when it became obvious I was waiting for a response, his fear-swollen tongue barely able to get the words out.

“It’s quite simple. You see, whispers have been floating around Imdalind, whispers about you three.”

Allowing the ominous depth of my words to drift into nothing, I sat, listening to their dread of discovery beyond the still hush of the cave. The fear tightened their backs as they began to shift, long glances unhidden as they contemplated if they should fight, if they should run, or if they should face me with bravery that I was positive, until this moment, they’d had no doubt of.

“Whispers about you and your loyalty.” The lie left my tongue with rancid honey and vinegar, the disdain masked by a false sense of security I could tell was not enough.

I would have to play their game if I wished to gain their trust.

“Rise.”

As one, they stood. My wicked smile faded before they could catch a glimpse, the shrouded truth of what they had walked into hidden by a look of piety.

“We live to serve you,” Alojz whispered, his head bowed in reverence, a smile shoddily hidden beneath the long curls of his beard.

“Serve.” I repeated the word to myself, the thinly veiled disbelief hidden under my breath.

It was all lies. Lies I was already eager to strip them of. They lived to serve no one but themselves, no one but the man I had already destroyed.

Heavy emotion rippled over me, tensing my muscles and twisting my stomach in eager anticipation. My soul called for the crimson blood of the three to wash the floor now and not to wait.

With their eyes focused on me, I stood, letting the blood-soaked robe fall around me like the cloak it had become.