All's Fair in Revenge

Present

The Execution

"Thorne," says Cian from the shadows of his cell. Flashes of memory cross over his gaze, the silver flame of his irises meeting mine. "I am Thorne."

Yes, yes. As if we all hadn't already figured that out.

"Prince Cian Thorne," I correct, tossing a pebble across the floor. "Though after this, I'm sure you'll be freed of all titles."

His stare snaps to me. "This is your fault."

I lean back. "Excuse me?"

Cian marches to the iron bars and twists his fingers around them. "You're the reason I'm here." The tick in his jaw seizes. He moves to grab my arm, but I sidestep it, my stare upon him with such warning I can feel the whites of my eyes blacken to night.

"Don't you dare," I say, a step out of his reach. "This is not my fault. Check your memory again, Druvix. I may be responsible for my own ruin, but our predicament is on you and you alone."

Heavy lids turn his eyes to narrow slits. "Oh, I remember plenty, luv." The whistle of a guard interrupts us as it travels the winding staircase and wiggles beneath the iron door.

A synonymous, "Fuck," leaves our mouths.

"Do you have your magic or not? We'll only get one chance at this."

"Magic? What magic?"

My stare is blank. "Your Druvix energy, Cian."

"I have none, Hana," he says, condescendingly stressing each vowel in my name.

My eye twitches; once, twice, three times. "We have less than a minute before we're carried off to the gallows and you'd rather spend it lying than coming up with a plan?"

"I don't have a single drop of fucking magic, Hana." Now my name is a growl rumbling deep in his belly. He loses his hand in the crest of loose waves. "Don't you think I'd leave if I could?"

Anger rose in my chest, pumping my heart into erratic, hurried beats. "What about the smoke, Cian?"

"That was...that was something different."

"Something different?" Laughter cracks me half, a wild run of hysterical giggles like tiny bubbles of acid. A second later, I slam my body against the cell. Infinite rage paints my vision. I rattle the bars. I stretch toward him and writing to fit between the bars. "You're so dead," rolls from my throat, lost in a fury of high-pitch screeches.

Hinges squeal. I barely hear them. A guard with a thick, chestnut beard tucked beneath the fold of his clunking onyx armor appears. "Oi, knock it off! You're keeping the neighbors up." He laughs at his own joke as if it's the funniest thing he's heard all season. He notices my panting, flinches at the crazed twinkle in my eye. He shoves a hand into his pocket and says, "You're lively for two people about to, you know..." He drags his finger along his throat, a mock grimace pulling tight against his teeth.

I wrench the bars, squeezing the metal between my hands. "If you're to hang me, then do it. Get me out of this fucking hole!"

The guard chuckles. "Don't worry, dear. We'll have you out'ta here in no time. But they ain't going to hang ya, no." His eyes sweep to Cian who's only staring at me, mildly curious and somewhat beguiled. "They're gon'na cook ya. They've had the boys out in the rain all morning for you bastards, they have. We've all been discussing the last time one of us has seen someone burned at the stake before. Ought to be entertaining once the ground dries out a little. I reckon you'll squeal like pigs on a spit. But my buddy, yeah, he thinks you'll pass out first."

The anger in me solidifies. "Stake?" I choke as if the smoke has already entered my lungs and I can feel Cian's attention go stone cold right along with me. "I thought they were hanging us." I don't know why it matters. Dying is dying. And yet, I had mentally prepared for the rope. To switch methods up on us last minute was heinous. Torturous even. Not that they cared.

"And let this Druvix weasel survive it, yea?" A cruel smile splits the guard's mustache. "Not a chance."

When I turn, it's slow and calculated, fire rippling over me in slow, steady waves. Cian's staring at the guard but he can feel the malice pooling at my feet, flooding toward him. "You," I say and it's all I can manage. Black-blue energy rattles under my skin begging for me to call for it. My bones rattle as I try to hold it back, contain it for as long as possible. It may be the only thing I have left to save me and I cannot—no—will not waste it on him.