Deadly Wicked

10 | the dead

Before anyone could stop her, Mavyn leashed the Death Matter in her veins, twisting it to her will. A shadowy blade ripped out of her arm, its tip glistening onyx against the toasty gold air. The Monarch wheezed, clutching at the blade jutting out of her chest. Black blood dripped from the wound, soiling the throne like spilled tar. The stark smell of rotten flowers wafted across the pavilion, making the smile on Mavyn's face wider.

Valen called her name, stealing her attention. He stood with his remaining siblings and their partners, arm stretched out to prevent them from lunging at her. "What have you done?" he said, eyes trained on the being taking her last breaths on the throne. His lips parted, but no other words came out. He looked as if he stepped on a carrion and thought about how it ended up on the pavement.

She turned to the Monarch who attempted to crawl towards her. The almighty Kathari, the ruler of the Underworld, extended a shaking hand towards her. Then, a breeze blew from the ground, snuffing the Monarch's form in a shower of smoke and dust, red dimming into a dark shade of plum.

A brief hum rumbled in her throat. "So, that's how Kathari fades," she said, plucking the blackened blade left by its recipient. She faced the rest of the royal family, picking out Valen's face from the rest once more. It was simply hilarious. She brandished the same knife that killed their beloved Monarch. "Now, who's next?"

Prisca burst past Valen, hands extended towards Mavyn. Tendrils of shadows punched through the marble floor, aimed towards her. Roassa trailed after her sister, rushing to ram her fist towards the lone, Living witch among them. Fools. Valen had the right idea, but was ignored. What else was new?

The shadows wrapped around Mavyn's hand, but she slashed the knife across its length, severing it from the source. From the distance, Prisca wailed, clutching her hand. Mavyn sidestepped Roassa's zipping form, bringing her blade down the Kathari's back. The tip bit flesh. With a quick swish, she summoned her magic and slammed a force against the sisters. Light exploded in bright, green sparks upon impact. Two figures landed in a heap at Valen's feet. Their partners, both cowardly men in a foreign land, stepped back, eyes wide in evident fear.

"Mavyn, why are you doing this?" Valen shouted, his voice carrying across the distance he put between them. Time. He was buying it while his siblings recovered or he worked out how to separate her from her Living weapon. "This isn't you."

A hysterical laugh ripped out of Mavyn's lips. Fine. If it was time he wanted, she'd grant it to him. "The Kathari lie indeed," she said, throwing the scattered strands of hair off her forehead. "This is me. I'm Mavyn of Krauss, a witch of the wicked and the dead. Everything until the Solstice Conclave is part of my glorious plan."

"To what?" Valen asked. Not so mighty now that he was on the ambiguous end of the proverbial stick. Something clicked in his hollow mind, and he narrowed his eyes. "You are not here for Abnegem Philozoros, are you?"

If Mavyn had a small bell, she would have rang that twice. "Why would I be, when I sent him here?" she said. He almost spilled the secret when he begged for his life. "It is interesting how Noclys found him and his knowledge about Living poisons. Without them entering a deal to avenge his murder, the plan would have taken a truly different turn."

"To answer your question, Valen Nox," Mavyn continued, tapping her chin while bracing her hip. "I'm here in search of a particular soul—Mordelle of Caltona. Certainly you've heard of her."

She watched the facts slowly compute into Valen's understanding. Abnegem Philozoros was a mere sacrifice to this dangerous game she played. He wasn't the one who would establish the witches' place in society. If anyone has the power to upturn nations and bring about a rule of witches, it would be Mordelle of Caltona, the Primordial Witch, the Master of Midnight, and the Shadow of the Moon. And as her descendant, establishing Mordelle's legacy was Mavyn's only goal. It was her only purpose.

"The plan had always been simple," Mavyn said aloud, scratching the tip of her knife with her finger. If she cut herself in the Underworld, would her blood still flow red? "I'll use Abnegem's death to enter into an oath with a Kathari, and whoever answered would have been with such a desperate need."

She winked at Valen whose frown could have melted half his face off. "That's where you came in, with your hare-brained theory of an attempted murder through poison," she continued. "And what did I find? A court in the middle of a silent war. I had to watch where it goes, and it all worked in my favor, except for one thing."

The knife's tip pointed towards Valen when she wagged it in his direction. On his feet, his sisters made no move. Life Matter was fatal to the Kathari, but it was only now that Mavyn realized how much. "You had a trace of wickedness in you when you didn't tell me only Monarchs who possess the strongest brand of Death Matter can resurrect the dead. I had to change components of my plan, but it is of no consequence. We arrived at this point nevertheless. Do you know why?"

Valen didn't speak, but he made no move to stop her either. So, she smirked as she pushed on. "Because, like your brother, you dared love a mortal," she said. Her muddy soles scratched against the floor when she backed away in false reverence. "So, go ahead. Take the throne whose path to it I cleared for you. Be the Monarch, and get me Mordelle. That is the only way you can be free of this oath."

"No," was his only answer before the world shifted around Mavyn and pain blossomed in her gut. Murky gray replaced the golden ambience, pocked with splotches of purple and pink. Her boots brushed coarse obsidian, the dark gray debris whisking under her soles. Chest heaving, she forced her eyes to look down, to see what caused the standstill. Valen's hand supported the back of her neck as always, but on his other...

A tapered edge of Death Matter speared through her body. Warm blood trickled down her skirt and tapped against the mud on her boots. The rivulets running down Valen's arm sizzled, but not a trace of discomfort reflected on his face. What a stoic pebble.

She reached up and gripped the lapels of his midnight coat. "You did it," she wheezed. The pain in her gut twisted and roiled, sipping her consciousness out of her brain. "I never thought you could."

"You're right. I can't do it," Valen rasped. The grip pressing their bodies together tightened. "My ire for you abounds, but I can't do it. I can't bear to kill you."

A small laugh flitted out of Mavyn's lips. "The Kathari never lie, Valen," she said softly. "But you do. What does that make you?"

With the last of her strength, she pressed herself deeper into Valen's blade pumped with Death Matter until her lips reached his ear. Her last words were a mere whisper before a deeper darkness washed over her.

Mavyn of Krauss, the Living Witch of the Dead, joined the breeze in its silent journey towards the end.