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Authors: Craig Schaefer
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“we take appropriate action.”
He left her there, walking back to the refugee camp and lending his sore hands to help tear down a tent. He needed physical labor just then. Something to distract him from the whirlwind in his mind.
He wanted to think Columba was mistaken. The night of the escape had been scarring for everyone. In all the fear, all the chaos, it would have been easy for her to misunderstand what she was seeing. As he hauled on the tent ropes, he imagined all the coincidences she might have confused, the details she could have misinterpreted. As much as he tried, though, he kept coming back around to the same two questions.
What if Columba is right?
And if she is, what am I going to do about it?
Chapter Ten
In the torchlit clearing, standing before the black basalt altar, Mari felt the weight of the sacrificial dagger in her hand.
She felt the weight of the coven’s eyes, too, every bone mask and bared face turned to face her.
“I can’t do this,” she said softly. “Nessa, he’s…he’s tied up. He’s defenseless.”
“So?” Nessa replied, arching a sharp eyebrow.
“So a—a knight doesn’t
do
that. A knight only fights in honorable combat.”
“Mari. Look inside yourself and answer me truly: does this man deserve to die for what he’s done?”
She thought back to the flames. The
smell
that hung in the air that day, charred flesh and charred wood. The shrieks of the girl on the pyre, shrill and inhuman as terror turned into raw agony.
Mari locked eyes with the mayor of Kettle Sands, bound to the altar stone. “He does.”
“So if I were to cut him loose and put a weapon in his hand, would it be all right for you to kill him then?”
She blinked. “I…suppose? I think so.”
“But it wouldn’t really,” Nessa said. “Because you’ve had years of battle under your belt, and he’s had none. Give him a sword? Might as well be a toothpick. He’d have no chance against you, just as if he were bound. So, is it therefore
impossible
for you to render justice in this case?”
That didn’t sound right. Mari frowned, working her way through it.
“It shouldn’t be, but…Nessa, knights have rules. They’re not
supposed
to murder helpless prisoners. It’s dishonorable.”
“This isn’t a murder, Mari. It’s a purification.”
She turned Mari to face her, fixing her with her gaze.
“Just like the brigands you killed in Lunegloire to avenge Werner’s death. Just like the soldier you killed to defend me. This is no different. To fight for your liege and her family, to avenge the evils done to them—this is the
essence
of knightly honor.”
She took Mari’s hand, raising the dagger between them. The steel caught the torchlight and glowed fire-orange.
“Do it for your new family,” Nessa said. “Do it for
me
.”
Mari looked to the man on the altar. Maybe he caught something in her expression—a hint of mercy, of compassion—and it made him stop struggling. She could see the hope in his eyes, daring to dream she might cut his bonds and set him free.
She brought the dagger down with both hands and impaled his heart. He howled behind his gag, eyes rolled so far back she could only see the whites, his body bucking under the blade.
“Good,” Nessa purred. “Now
open
him. We can divine with the entrails.”
Mari didn’t hesitate. She dragged the blade downward toward his navel, carving the shrieking man open like a stuffed turkey. Eventually, mercifully, the screaming stopped. Nessa took Mari’s left hand by the wrist and pressed it into the gaping wound, covering her fingers and palm in the hot wash of fresh blood.
She held Mari’s hand high, showing it to the gathering as scarlet trails dripped down their outstretched arms.
“Blood for blood,” Nessa cried. “Mark this day, and mark this hand. She has killed for our coven. She has killed for
you
.”
Despina stepped forward from the pack and pointed at Mari.
“I am Shrike, and I declare this woman my
He left her there, walking back to the refugee camp and lending his sore hands to help tear down a tent. He needed physical labor just then. Something to distract him from the whirlwind in his mind.
He wanted to think Columba was mistaken. The night of the escape had been scarring for everyone. In all the fear, all the chaos, it would have been easy for her to misunderstand what she was seeing. As he hauled on the tent ropes, he imagined all the coincidences she might have confused, the details she could have misinterpreted. As much as he tried, though, he kept coming back around to the same two questions.
What if Columba is right?
And if she is, what am I going to do about it?
Chapter Ten
In the torchlit clearing, standing before the black basalt altar, Mari felt the weight of the sacrificial dagger in her hand.
She felt the weight of the coven’s eyes, too, every bone mask and bared face turned to face her.
“I can’t do this,” she said softly. “Nessa, he’s…he’s tied up. He’s defenseless.”
“So?” Nessa replied, arching a sharp eyebrow.
“So a—a knight doesn’t
do
that. A knight only fights in honorable combat.”
“Mari. Look inside yourself and answer me truly: does this man deserve to die for what he’s done?”
She thought back to the flames. The
smell
that hung in the air that day, charred flesh and charred wood. The shrieks of the girl on the pyre, shrill and inhuman as terror turned into raw agony.
Mari locked eyes with the mayor of Kettle Sands, bound to the altar stone. “He does.”
“So if I were to cut him loose and put a weapon in his hand, would it be all right for you to kill him then?”
She blinked. “I…suppose? I think so.”
“But it wouldn’t really,” Nessa said. “Because you’ve had years of battle under your belt, and he’s had none. Give him a sword? Might as well be a toothpick. He’d have no chance against you, just as if he were bound. So, is it therefore
impossible
for you to render justice in this case?”
That didn’t sound right. Mari frowned, working her way through it.
“It shouldn’t be, but…Nessa, knights have rules. They’re not
supposed
to murder helpless prisoners. It’s dishonorable.”
“This isn’t a murder, Mari. It’s a purification.”
She turned Mari to face her, fixing her with her gaze.
“Just like the brigands you killed in Lunegloire to avenge Werner’s death. Just like the soldier you killed to defend me. This is no different. To fight for your liege and her family, to avenge the evils done to them—this is the
essence
of knightly honor.”
She took Mari’s hand, raising the dagger between them. The steel caught the torchlight and glowed fire-orange.
“Do it for your new family,” Nessa said. “Do it for
me
.”
Mari looked to the man on the altar. Maybe he caught something in her expression—a hint of mercy, of compassion—and it made him stop struggling. She could see the hope in his eyes, daring to dream she might cut his bonds and set him free.
She brought the dagger down with both hands and impaled his heart. He howled behind his gag, eyes rolled so far back she could only see the whites, his body bucking under the blade.
“Good,” Nessa purred. “Now
open
him. We can divine with the entrails.”
Mari didn’t hesitate. She dragged the blade downward toward his navel, carving the shrieking man open like a stuffed turkey. Eventually, mercifully, the screaming stopped. Nessa took Mari’s left hand by the wrist and pressed it into the gaping wound, covering her fingers and palm in the hot wash of fresh blood.
She held Mari’s hand high, showing it to the gathering as scarlet trails dripped down their outstretched arms.
“Blood for blood,” Nessa cried. “Mark this day, and mark this hand. She has killed for our coven. She has killed for
you
.”
Despina stepped forward from the pack and pointed at Mari.
“I am Shrike, and I declare this woman my
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