Annihilation - Book Three

Chapter 22

I'm haunted by Sota in my dreams, a corpse chasing me for his stolen blood. I've killed a man horrifically and left him in the cold to stiffen and rot; surely the guards would find him and dispose of him; killing a lycan was something that had very little punishment. 

The thought alone wounds me; I was nobility, and nobody would care that I killed that lowly man. 

 A small piece of me is happy that Sota is dead, and finally, he has repaid me a fraction of the pain he caused when he took Verando away. I found myself wondering if we would have gotten close, if I would have been able to discover how I felt about him, without that absence. But when I allow myself to sit with it, I know I'd give it all up if it meant he wouldn't have endured the torture at Taryek's hand. 

I shouldn't feel so upset; Sota was a horrible person, and yet I could not find peace with what I'd done. Tossing and turning, I fight against myself. Who am I to decide who dies? I think back to the conversation Verando and I had not only days before this, and I can't help but ask who I was then.

War is different; it's kill or be killed, and it changes your perspective on the right to live and die on that battlefield. There is intimacy there; looking into the eyes of the man you're about to kill or knowing that those behind you are probably dead, it falls to the reality that you do what you have to do to survive. Somehow you justify to yourself that your life is more important than theirs, and you keep living.

 I survived, stayed alive, and fought for a cause, and yet, what I did was nothing more than what it was. Murder. I killed a man because I didn't like him. He hurt me and someone that I love, which cost him his life. He was going to remain in jail for the rest of his days and I saw it upon myself to end that sentence early.

I'm distracted by my companion, who can hardly keep it together as I sit with him on the bathroom floor; the cool tiles must feel good on his clammy skin. I wish I could heal this but I can't, alcohol is something that remedies itself, unfortunately. I can only stroke his hair whenever he returns to laying in my lap.

 My mind wanders to the man on his knees, apologizing to Sota for all his wrongdoings and I decide that that is not my warlord. That was a drunken perception of what he thought was a confession, a version of him that lurked beneath the surface just as the wolf did. This, too, we would banish.

 Stroking his cheek before sliding out from under him, I gather a blanket to leave him on the tiles, if not only to prevent damage to the bed.

Getting dressed, I left the room in my dress coat and riding slacks, adorned with my tall boots; it was time to start playing the part again. The castle is bustling, and my deed seems to go unnoticed. Perhaps it was to my mercy, for I'm not sure I could stand to be questioned when I, myself, wasn't certain how I felt about it. 

 I sneak my way through the castle and make my way quickly outside, rushing to the stables; I need air and to collect my thoughts. The bodies of diseased lycans stop me in my tracks as they are carried away on a cart. Their mangled forms, littered with arrows, make me flinch as I think of Sota's drained body. 

Searching frantically among the corpses, I don't see the snowy hair or startling yellow eyes.

 "Your Highness, are you alright?" 

I blink rapidly at the elf who addresses me. Forcing a smile, I nearly addressed them like a superior, only to remember that I was the leading member of our hierarchy.  Nodding, I push past them, rather for them to believe I was sickened for a different reason than to piece me together with the murder of the imprisoned man. 

Entering the stables, I press my back against the wooden walls as my pulse begins to relax, only for movement to gather my attention. Every man is frozen in their tracks, and Haryek looks at me much like a doe in a field before a hunter. A young human man from the rebellion in his clutches, he quickly fixes his perfect ponytail before excusing the lad.