Reign (4 page)

Clemence pushed into the kitchen, Claude's cloak in her hand. The front of it was stained with blood. Claude knew she was crying before he even turned around. He recognized the choked breathing, her heavy steps. This had become a routine.

He looked down at his supper, ignoring her. The beet soup reminded him of the innocent's blood. Traces of that warm, heavy taste were still in his mouth from the night before. He wouldn't answer to this woman, his wife. He would not explain himself to a mortal.

“When?” she cried at his back. “When will it end? How many more will die before they are appeased?”

“They are appeased for now,” Claude replied, not looking up. “They are appeased because of these sacrifices.”

He'd stopped taking his followers into the woods at night. There were too many in the cult now, over a hundred in all. They stayed in their cottages and prayed to their pagan gods while he killed. Alone in the woods, he'd began drinking the blood. The first taste was hard to get down, but now he'd drunk the blood of four innocents, and he knew he was stronger because of it. Soon the pagan gods would speak to him directly. Lily would come back and let him know what to do next.

Clemence looked down at the cloak in her hands, feeling the material. “It's human skin, isn't it?” she asked. “You made this with human skin.…”

As she dropped it on the floor, the buckles clanked together. Claude had sewn the cloak himself with the skin of two innocents he'd killed weeks back. He'd fastened it with copper buckles and trinkets the villagers had presented him with. They clattered and whistled as he rode through the trees, a sound like a coming storm.

Claude closed his eyes, remembering the night before. Gerard found the innocents for him now and strung them up in the trees. Claude relished hearing the man's screams and seeing him try to free himself. The life in him was powerful, and the more he struggled, the more he wanted to keep it. Claude was starting to understand it now. The ones who most wanted to live were also worth the most in death.

“What evil is this?” Clemence continued. “My mother told me of Visegard… of the place where darkness rises. When I came to this village after my family died, I thought I'd finally found peace. They told me what you did to Lily, but it was the story of a kind, broken boy who had no other choice. What have you become? Who are you now?”

At that, Claude stood, kicking back his chair. “I have become the savior of all mankind,” he yelled. “I am the one who keeps the plague from coming back and killing us all, including you. Don't you forget what I have done and what I will continue to do. Don't you ever tell me it's wrong. You don't know—”

“I do know!” Clemence yelled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I know it's wrong. I know it, Claude. What has happened to you? Who are you? I cannot live in fear anymore.”

She backed away from him, closer to the door. It was then that he saw the small leather bag sitting against the wall. “You think there's somewhere for you to go?” Claude asked. “You are a married woman. If you try to leave, you'll be ruined.”

“I'd rather live a ruined woman than die here with you.” Clemence looked up at him, and her green eyes were nearly unrecognizable. They held so much hate.

He looked away, remembering Lily's eyes—cold, dead—staring back at him. He pictured her as she was the last day he saw her, strung upside down, blood streaming from her wrists. Her mouth moved. “I gave my life. Now you must make a sacrifice,” she whispered to him. “You must give to appease the gods. Give your wife, this innocent. Spill her blood. Only then will the gods reward you.”

He turned his head back to Clemence, still dizzy from the vision. Lily had spoken to him. It was another warning, just like the one he'd received months earlier. He had to kill Clemence. He had no choice.

Before she could get her hand on the door, he lunged at her and pulled her wrists behind her back. “Gerard!” he yelled. “Gerard, come here! Bring rope!”

Within minutes the man was at the door. “Tie her hands,” Claude said, pushing Clemence toward him. “She has disgraced your god. She has turned against the blood cult and she must be sacrificed.”

Gerard looked from Clemence to Claude, confused. “I don't understand, Your Greatness,” he said. “Sacrifice Clemence?”

Claude banged his fist against the doorframe. “I had a vision from Lily… a sign that this woman must die or the plague will return. Take her into the woods and tie her up. I will come for her soon. The gods must be appeased. We have no choice.”

Clemence looked up at him, terrified. “You are a monster,” she yelled as Gerard tied her hands. “You had no vision—you are angry with me for leaving. I have stayed quiet for so long, and now that I speak you want me dead.”

Claude didn't look at her; he addressed only Gerard. “Go quickly. Prepare her. I'll be there in a bit.”

Gerard took Clemence's hands and dragged her out of the house. Claude could hear her screaming as Gerard put her on his horse and took off through the town. He grabbed his cloak off the floor and draped it over his shoulders. Then he pulled his hood up over his head, covering his face. His skin was still scarred and bloody from his last sacrifice. The man had been carrying a knife and had lunged at Claude before Gerard was able to tie his hands.

He went to the lower cabinet and pulled out an old bottle of his father's rum. He drank several gulps and wiped his lips.
She is a lowly human
, he told himself.
She means nothing. She cannot understand the work you do and what the gods ask for. She has never had the visions of Lily. She does not know.

As he paced the house he grew more agitated, thinking of all he had given her. Had he not taken her in after the plague? Had she not accepted the gifts from the villagers, happy to be his wife? She had said she loved him but now claimed he was the one who had ruined them.
She must be sacrificed
, he told himself.
Her blood must be spilled to appease the gods. It cannot be any other way.

He grabbed a knife from his side, then started out of the cottage.
You don't
recognize me anymore? You want to know who I am?
He turned back, holding the side of the door in his hand as he carved into the wood. He slashed and stabbed at it, making each letter as big as possible. It felt good to destroy something.

“I am The Darkness!” he yelled, carving the last letter. “I am the only one who can save the world from the plague's return.”

When he was done he stood back, admiring his work. The word took up the entire front door.
Just like she said
, he thought.
Where darkness rises…

“This is VISEGARD!” he roared. Then he strode around the side of the house to where his six horses were tied up. He climbed on the black one and rode off into the trees, toward the spot where the innocents were left for him. He loved the feel of the cloak as it whipped against his back. He was consumed by the sound, that wild whistling, that clatter of the buckles.

Yes
, he thought.
Tonight she must be sacrificed. Tonight it must be done.

Kenna stepped into the ballroom, holding up the skirt of her gown so she wouldn't trip. Bash couldn't take his eyes off her. Ever since they'd returned to court, he found himself watching her as she slept, as she undid her hair, as she stepped out of the bath. He'd wept and prayed, knowing he'd almost lost her.

“You look magnificent,” he said, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “What did I do to deserve this? To deserve you as my wife?”

“You were as you are,” Kenna said. “Kind, loving, good.”

He looked at her shoulder, to the place where The Darkness had sunk his teeth into her skin. The gown covered the wound, but the silk was stretched across the bandages.

He'd come just in time. After discovering Visegard, The Darkness's lair, he'd ridden back to the country house with Nostradamus, only to find The Darkness there. The man had attacked Kenna and was urging Pascal to kill her, claiming they needed to sacrifice her to keep the plague from returning. He said he was dying and needed Pascal to become the new Darkness so the plague would never come back. That's why he'd kidnapped the boy—he'd wanted him to keep sacrificing innocents.

“You saved me,” Kenna said, looking up at Bash. “In more ways than one.”

He let his fingertips graze her cheek, knowing the guards could see. He knew Pascal would come down soon, but he didn't care. He wanted to be with her always, to touch her, to hold her—sometimes it was hard to believe she was real.

When he'd seen her there in that house, a knife to her throat, he'd died a thousand deaths. Whatever doubt he'd had before was gone. He killed The Darkness, spilling the monster's blood, and knew he couldn't hurt Kenna anymore.

At night, when Bash was alone with her, he sometimes heard the monster's warning. The Darkness had said the plague would come back—that killing him without someone to make the sacrifices for him would bring his visions to fruition. Did he say it as a desperate attempt to save himself? Did he truly believe a shower of stars falling from the sky would mark the plague's return?

“Pascal will be down any minute,” Kenna said. “I told him he could bring one of his new clay soldiers. He's barely put them down since you got them for him, you know. Always running around—”

“Kenna?” Bash asked, unable to stand it any longer. “I have to tell you something.”

Kenna knit her eyebrows, confused. Her hair was gathered on top of her head. Her lips were painted a deep pink. She'd never looked more beautiful. “What is it?” she asked.

Bash leaned in, his mouth against her ear. “I love you. Truly, deeply. With all my heart.”

Kenna beamed. She pulled him close, kissing him with great urgency. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I do. Now, always.”

Bash could not say how much time passed, only that he was brought to by Pascal's hand yanking his own. “Gross,” Pascal said, and laughed, looking up at them. “Come on, Bash, play with me. You can have one of my soldiers.”

The royals were slowly assembling in the banquet hall for dinner. Bash grabbed a soldier and chased Pascal onto the outside balcony, Kenna following close behind them. He felt happy—truly happy—for the first time in a long time. With Kenna, with Pascal, he'd finally found where he'd belonged.

“I got you!” Bash cried, pretending to sword fight with Pascal's soldier. Kenna was laughing at them, but then her gaze turned up to the sky. She paused in the doorway and smiled.

“What is that?” she said. “The sky is sparkling.”

Bash turned, looking over his shoulder. The night sky was streaked with white lines. Every now and then, another would appear and then disappear. He pulled Pascal and Kenna close, urging them back inside. “Stars… falling from the sky,” he said, his stomach sinking. “As The Darkness predicted…”

Pascal clung to Bash's side, afraid. “What does it mean?”

“The plague,” Kenna said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It means the plague has come back.”

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