THE KING IS DEAD

17

III. Save the Fury
° • ♚♛♜♝♞ • °

❝MY KING?❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕾𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗 takes a long, slow moment to come out of himself, meeting the Abbot's eyes. The young king has zoned out, ignoring everything in his grief, yet Silver does not need the man across from him to repeat what was said.

The answer to the question of seeing his wife's corpse right now is no, which Silver implies by asking a question of his own.

"Did she suffer?"

The silence is an obvious yes. ". . . My condolences, Your Majesty," the Abbott says at last.

"Has the sister's body been found?"

"An hour ago, sire. She's being examined and . . . repaired as we speak."

Repaired. As if Sonic tore her to shreds. Which he probably did. There is another twist in Silver's stomach.

"Did she suffer?"

Another silence. Another yes.

And it is also unspoken but agreed upon of the identify of the killer who made two beautiful women suffer before death gave them peace.

Is it possible to hate one person so deeply that there are no words good enough? But Silver bottles up his rage and hate. He cannot act out, not in front of the Abbot. Right now, he must be the mourning husband, the grieving king.

But how can he sit here quietly when there is a blue psycho running loose?

"I need a letter sent to Soleanna."

"Of course, sire. When?"

"Immediately."

"Sire?"

"The sister is—was . . . " The correction cuts him open. ". . . a dear friend of my teacher. He deserves to know what has become of her."

Though, he probably already knows. This thought cuts him even deeper. Shadow is losing at so many angles: his love, his knighthood, his dearest friend. What next?

"Have Espio write and deliver it. He will know what to say and whom to give it to." Espio will be thorough and gentle; he will be discreet.

"As you wish, my King. Consider it done." And the Abbot leaves to complete the quest.

Alone on his throne, Silver realises that he actually dreads Shadow's return. Dreads the fury that will surround the former knight, his teacher, his friend. Shadow will return, as much as Silver does not want him to. Shadow deserves to rest, to be at peace, to live his life with his human companion, but Silver knows he will come marching back, not only for a funeral but to protect his student, his king, his friend . . .

. . . And to rid the world of a blue murderer.

At this point, there no longer is a choice. Sonic must die. A year of peace on their end has been a year of wicked plotting on Sonic's.

Sonic will only stop when he is dead.

"And if you can't do it, I will," he whispers to the ceiling. "Let me."

Shadow is miles away—safe in another country—but Silver can hear the answer: It is my burden to bear.

The King hopes his friend will allow him to share it.

♚♛♜♝♞

❝MY ROSE . . .❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕬𝖒𝖞 lies so still in the velvet. So still. So beautiful. She had been crimson before, ugly with her face twisted in death, and now she has been sewed back together, washed and calmed, tranquil as snow. Silver can almost believe she is just sleeping, if not for the lack of posture. Amy always slept a certain way, never straight and stiff, never on her back. Her posture is what gives her away as a corpse.

It has only been three days since she breathed her last; two since the public announcement—but it feels as if a century has inched by. Silver feels ancient, too weary in these youthful bones.

It is torture, and he tells himself not to do it, yet he does it, anyway. He stands there, above her, thinking of the last they met, of what they said. Did he make it known that he loved her? But in his fevered state, there are no thoughts. He cannot think. He cannot remember.

Sonic ruins his mind. All Silver can think of is killing him; of ways to kill him. It poisons him, but he cannot find it in his heart to remedy it. Dozens of murder plots come and come, all of them delicious.

. . . Is this how Sonic felt, plotting his twin's demise?

"My friend."

Shadow's hand on his shoulder, bringing him back. It startles him; he freezes inside, loses his breath. He wipes his nose on his glove and that hand remains there. Another sob is climbing up his throat. He does not know when Shadow arrived, or how so quickly, but he is grateful.

"Take me away." It barely gets out.

Shadow hears him, pulling him away from the casket, out of the room; out of the palace and into the garden. The sun shines and the birds sing, but the warmth does not reach Silver as he sits on the tree swing. The roses carved into the wood indicate it belongs—belonged—to Amy.

It rips him to pieces.

"Let me kill him." Silver despises that he is begging; braying, furious begging. He wipes his eyes and stands from the tree swing, standing level with his teacher; it catches him by surprise to see the knight without armour, dressed instead in typical peasant garb in shades of orange. "Let me do it. You hold him down and I'll cut him open."

"We must catch him first." Shadow's words are low but not yet a whisper. "And when the time comes, we will flip a coin. Right now, you must save your fury."

"Save it?" Not a mocking echo; a stunned repeat.

"Save it for when we catch him. Right now, you must address Green Hills. Meet with your generals and captains. Right now, you must be King. Be angry when he is at our mercy."

"I understand." And it will be a difficult thing to do, hold everything in until the time is right to let it explode. Shadow is asking a lot of him, but it is understandable. It can be accomplished. "This won't be easy."

"Of course not."

"I mean, ending him. He was my friend at one point, too."

Shadow says nothing. Silver does not expect him to speak, continuing on.

"I have your back in this."

"As long as you don't leave your knives in it."

The remark stings. Sonic left so many knives in Shadow; he cut the knight to ribbons. The lack of trust stings and burns, and Silver tries to hide his hurt.

"Don't leave knives in mine and we're square." Not that Shadow would. There is no dislike between teacher and student, only honour.

. . . Yet Silver feels as though Shadow is shattered glass, and he will get cut, stabbed, killed if he ventures too near.

Save his fury—he can, he will.

But it is clear to Silver, now that he sees Shadow—with his eyes of stone set on the distant horizon—that the words he spoke are hypocritical, and therefore, worthless.

Shivers then torment Silver, icy spiders up his spine, arms, neck at this realisation.

Shadow is going to kill Sonic on sight.