Oerthe's Crown

The King's Assassin

It cost a conscious to torture and a soul to murder, Seren Silvermore.

-Oerthe's Crown

***

The smell hit her first.

The sight hit her second.

Seren had seen dead bodies before. In the streets; people dead from starvation, slaves thrown from the richer parts of town, the knights that had killed those that dared to challenge them, hangings, whippings; Death barely had a spare breath.

But never, never, had she seen a body like this.

Tortured, without a doubt. Lashes on his back, gleaming bright red. His skin was torn, as if it were nothing more than paper. He wore what use to be gleaming royal robes; now, they were slick with blood and severed in pieces. Worse than the sight, if that was possible, was the stench that wafted from his body. It was enough to make Seren to gag, the food she'd last eaten threatening to make a reappearance.

The man had opened his eyes at the sight of them, squinting at the bright light the torch emitted. His face was not one of an old mans but neither was it the face of a young one; it was the face of a well-placed man in his middle age. A face in its prime, but worn down, paler in the dim light. Blood speckled across it, like the design of a cat's fur.

Seren should've ran. If she had any common sense, she should've ran. And yet, her own body betrayed her again, staying in its place.The stories were true after all. She'd always thought they had exaggerated the Alliance's horrors. Stories of torture, of skin separated from body, of bodies muliated in ways no one could imagine.

"Unfortunately," said Erasyl. "He refused to give any information on the rebellion. It took a while before he began to squeak."

Rebellion. There had been a rebellion. In Oerthe. It was unthinkable. Everyone knew the king ruled with an iron hand. Her mind still reeling with horror, she managed to say, "What rebellion?"

"Rebellions are not given titles. Not unless they are successful, and this fool was idiotic enough to believe the Algyaens could win. He was ill-advised, it seems."

The Algyaens. One of the kingdoms that had been captured. She knew very little about them, having no such luxury as a book. She'd have to think if she wanted to remember what she had learned back before she had become a thief. At the very moment, she could think of very little. "Is he-" She choked on her words. "Is he going to die?" Have you brought me here to die?

"Not yet." Erasyl barely gave the man a glance, walking around to light the other torches inside the room. The fire illuminated a circular room, every inch filled with devices. Half of them were adorned with spikes, the other half looking simple but deadly. Each one had a menacing ambience, uniquely deadly in their own way. Seren felt a shudder run through her.

There was only one she vaguely recognized. It was near the wall, half hidden by a black chair covered with thorns. The appliance was shaped as a coffin, only made of thick bars of metal. It had been in a more deluxe part of the kingdom, the name of which failed her. There had been a man inside, a crowd had gathered. She still remembered the feeling she'd had, the simultaneous feeling of panic and revulsion. Had Seren been caught as a thief, she would end up in the same position. The audience the man had had was not a kind one, spitting insults, throwing vegetables.

Something brushed her shoulder, and she turned. Nothing. It was nothing at all. Though, she could've sworn she saw something move. Heart racing at her act of sciamachy, she turned, only to find gray eyes inches from her. Letting out a startled gasp, she instinctively took a step back.