The Axe and the Throne (53 page)

“I killed him for it,” Cassen said.

Alther, who until now had been pathetic but at least dry eyed, began to weep silently. Cassen watched him cry, still hiding his face with his hands, and wondered why it was that he could not yet take glee in his suffering. He hated Alther more than any other.
This is the undeserving man to whom Crella was gifted, used, and unappreciated
, he reminded himself.

“Thank you,” Alther said quietly after steadying himself.

The words almost made no sense to Cassen.

“Though he deserved far worse,” Alther continued. “Crella has suffered more than any understand. She is not the monster she seems. She shrouds herself in effrontery for protection, but she is not that which she portrays. I tried to protect her and to show her she was safe. But who was I but the son of the man who conquered her people, a constant reminder of the man whose clutches her aunt killed herself to avoid. And to think my father locked her away in the very place from which her aunt had jumped.”

Cassen had nothing to say while watching the tormented man. This was what he had come here to witness.

“And Ethel? She is the result? Crella was not the type to have become pregnant at so young an age otherwise. That appalling man. Thank the Mountain for crushing him before Ethel's birth.”

It was I who crushed him, not your feckless mountain god.
But the thought had no weight to it.

“Please, see that they are not harmed. I will die in here—that much I know. I will not speak another word against you, not that it matters as none would believe me. But in truth, I will hold you in higher esteem than I hold myself if you do this one thing—not for me—but for two innocents who have known nothing but derision and contempt. I see how your lady servants look to you, and I know you have never mistreated them. They would not act as they do toward you otherwise. You are a father to them. They may not be your daughters by blood, but you would not let harm befall them, nor would you cause it yourself. I only wish my father had shown the same respect for Ethel.” Alther rubbed the skin on his forehead with increasing violence. “That pig of a man deserved to die for his behavior. To court one's granddaughter, even if only by marriage…it was an atrocity.”

But I
do
let harm befall my daughters
, thought Cassen.
I encourage it. And that is why I stand here and you are confined.

“My father's death was the only thing that would see Crella freed. I realize that now. I thank you for tricking me into being braver than I truly am. Please, do as I could not. See that Ethel and Crella are cared for, in order that they do not suffer under what is to come for this kingdom—likely nothing but war and bloodshed.”

Alther looked at him now. With the exception of Sacarat, Cassen had not been looked upon by another man without seeing the disgust and repulsion present in their eyes. But whereas the Satyr looked at Cassen as an equal, Alther looked at Cassen for what he truly believed himself to be—a man who held the power to do all that he pleased. Alther pleaded to him as a beggar pleads to a king, and something about it revolted Cassen beyond explanation.

Without saying another word Cassen turned and walked away. Alther at least did not degrade himself further by attempting to call out to Cassen any last pleas.
You pathetic, groveling man,
thought Cassen nonetheless.

After Cassen had walked a good distance, he realized he had his hand in his silks where Crella's kerchief still lay. His intention of revealing to Alther that Crella was now his toy had not exactly gone as he'd planned. He fought back the swell of self-accusation as he felt the soft fabric between his fingers and imagined how lovely it must still smell—a scent somewhere between citrus and the onset of autumn, yet impossible to fully discern.
I simply did not wish to part with my token of conquest so soon. That is all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It seemed their entire clan had gathered in the tiny bedroom. Soon Titon son of Titon would come back to life. Soon everyone would see that Decker had not murdered his only brother.

Decker stood at Titon's bedside. Thick white sheets covered his brother. Though no giant to begin with, Titon had come to look scarily weak and sallow during his many days asleep.
We will hunt for tree rats and make another stew of them with tinder berries,
Decker told him without speaking.
We will eat until we nearly burst, and you will regain your strength quickly. I promise.

He did not believe his sleeping brother could hear his thoughts the way his mother could, but it did no harm. And he must think of things to say in order to keep Titon from hating him. Decker was determined to do everything in his power to ensure he recovered fully, bearing no scars of the wrong that was done him.

Decker had come to recognize what must have driven Titon into his rage; she stood opposite him at the bedside. Even so, Decker hoped his brother would see Red first. It would not do to have him awaken to the sight of the one who had put him into his coma. It was a sickening realization, though, that this would not be the only time Titon had awakened to see her sad, beautiful face after having first been knocked unconscious by Decker.
What sort of man am I? How can I ever be forgiven?
Decker merely hoped that Titon rose healthy this time as he did the last, but without the humiliation that had followed it. It turned Decker's stomach to remember.

Titon's eyelids began to quiver as if struggling to part. Decker imagined the difficulty one must have opening their eyes after so long a sleep. Sometimes he would have to rub his eyes just to speed up the process of rising with the Dawnstar.
Why are you not doing the same? Are you unable to move your arms? If I have caused you a waking sleep I will throw myself from a cliff in shame—but not before ending yours, I swear that to you, brother.

It was hard to imagine a crueler fate to be suffered by a warrior: to be alive and aware but unable to move the limbs. It was not something Galatai liked to discuss or imagine, and thus none had spoken of it when it came to Titon. Those who suffered such a sickness begged for death from the onset, though no man desired to be the one to have to fulfill that wish. The job often fell to their father.
I will do it, and I will not delay
, thought Decker determinedly.

Growing impatient, Decker glanced at Red. It was a mistake. Seeing her—truly seeing her—for perhaps the first time stirred a slavering desire to devour her. The unrivaled beauty of Kilandra seemed a distant memory. The urge to climb over the bed and have her overwhelmed him, but he would not.
Out of respect for my brother
, he told himself, but he knew it to be false. It was out of fear. The look of shame she would crush him with was all that kept him from acting on his lust. Scorn from such an enchantress would reduce even his father to a quivering boy.

Stay asleep.

Decker looked around the room in a panic, fearful someone had somehow heard his thought. If his mother was near, she might have, but she was not in sight. Still, he could not shake the feeling that he had been heard, nor could he convince himself that the desire was insincere.
If he sleeps long enough, I can have her.
Decker did not have time to resolve the implications of his sudden selfishness.

Gasps from the crowd signaled Titon's activity. Decker watched as one eye finally opened, followed by the other.

Red veins crawled through the whites of Titon's eyes so thick that there was hardly any white left within them. Even the dark blue of his irises seemed to have turned purple. Titon's eyes rolled slowly away from Decker, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. They went to Red, but as they fixed on her they did not soften. The red veins seemed to come alive with anger and writhe within their spherical prisons.

It was he that heard me.

Titon's eyes turned with a sudden fury, locking upon Decker, and while he had looked angry with Red, Titon now also showed the hurt of a brother betrayed. Decker tried to speak, finding it impossible to force out any words. As Titon's eyes grew wider and he shrunk backward into his pillow, Decker attempted to  gesture with his hands that he meant him no harm, but the hands he raised were curled into fists. Titon squirmed in his bed and grasped for something at his side, a knife. With all his force, Decker tried to back away, but his efforts were in vain. There were too many people gathered, all so eager to see Titon's awakening, and they pushed him closer to the bedside—closer to the hand that held the blade.

This time I will let him stab me
, thought Decker. But his hands did not obey. As the blade touched the skin of Decker's belly he lashed out at his brother, hammering him with three blows. Decker heard their mother cry out in sobbing desperation somewhere in the back. Titon was not stopped, and the knife began to press into Decker's skin, threatening to break through. Decker hit him harder, again three times. The sound of the successive impacts of his fist against his brother's face was awful—a palpable “thwack, thwack, thwack” as if he were beating a corpse. But the knife kept pressing, breaking through his skin and about to gut him. Decker panicked and hit his brother again, holding nothing back. The “thwack, thwack, thwack” was so loud it reverberated in his ears. Then he heard the booming voice of another Titon call out his name.

“What sort of coward attacks his helpless brother as he sleeps?” His father held his mighty axe—the axe that Decker had seen take the heads of those in their clan who had been condemned to die for unforgivable actions. And now he was one of them, and his father's axe swung down to remove his own head. With a face bent in rage, his father's mouth opened wide and screeched, “Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”

“Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”

Decker jolted upright and opened his eyes as wide as he could, willing them to adjust. His heart raced, and he was further unsettled when he did not recognize his surroundings.

“Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”

He breathed deeply as his senses returned and placed his hands upon his face. He did not remember much of what he had dreamt, only that he was glad to now be awake. He was in Kilandra's home—or was it still Keethro's? His hands continued up his face, stretching his skin and finally running through his long, tangled hair. In either case, he had been sleeping in Kilandra's bed. He confirmed as much by looking to his right to see her still sleeping beside him. Her coverings were thick, but he could still make out her form beneath. It was enough for him to want to wake her with an assault—one she would no doubt enjoy. He had learned quickly that she wished to be pushed rather than lead…contrary to what one may have guessed given her extreme confidence and sensuality. And she wished to be pushed much further than most. It had worked out well, as Decker would not be led in such things—no matter how lovely the leader.

He would have indulged in the act if not for the foul mood his dreams had placed him in. And that damn jay was making itself known far too early as well. Kilandra had no trouble sleeping through the racket, but he had been woken by it nearly every day of the past week. He was also starved near to death.

“Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”

The River drown you, damn bird!
He reached for the mug filled with wine. Chilled by the cold of the winter morning, it was actually quite refreshing. He swished it around in his mouth for a while and swallowed it down.

Rolling out of bed and standing to stretch, he found he erected quite a fort in his underclothes thanks to the Dawnstar's calling. He looked once again at the graceful shape made by her body under the coverings and sucked at his upper lip.
Another time. Soon though
, he promised himself.

Like most of the homes of their clansmen, this home had a large root cellar outdoors and a smaller one that could be accessed while still indoors. Decker planned to break his fast on some cheese and eggs, both of which had caught his eye in the small cellar the previous night when he'd fetched the wine. He put on a shirt to help stave off the cold and closed the door behind him, softly as to not wake his sleeping paramour.

The wood beneath his bare feet nipped at him, reminding him that he should have put on some socks, but he was too hungry now. He made his way to the main room where the iron-topped stove resided, but did not feel as much heat coming from it as he'd hoped.

“Dammit, Red,” he muttered under his breath. She should have placed more wood inside when she returned home last night. The girl had become a true nuisance to him. As would be expected, he did not feel comfortable in the presence of both her and her mother, and in fairness, he did not find himself comfortable in Red's presence even when the two were alone, given how he could not look upon her without being reminded of his brother. He was already accustomed to avoiding the girl. He'd done no different in the past, rejecting every request from her friends for him to pursue her in order to avoid tormenting Titon.
A whole lot of good it had done.
He wished he never had to see her again, but given the circumstances, that was not likely.

There was still a bit of coal with embers, and it was not long before the several logs he placed inside were surrounded by flames. He put his hand over the skillet that sat atop the stove. It would soon be suitably warm to cook his eggs, and he made his way toward the cellar.

The front door burst open, causing Decker to ready himself for battle out of instinct, but it was merely Red. He did not know where she had been and did not really care, but she had an urgency about her that let him know he would soon find out. Before she spoke, her eyes went downward and darted up again to meet his own. He did not need to look down himself to realize that the Dawnstar still beckoned. He hoped his scraggy beard might hide the majority of his newfound color.

Red spoke quickly, ignoring the embarrassment of the situation. “It's Titon. He is awake and well.” She was dressed in heavy furs suitable for walking in the frigid temperatures of the northern winter. They may have hidden her body, but they did not succeed in covering the youth and beauty of her face, now framed with dark hair showing only glimmers of crimson. Despite her somewhat cheerful voice, she wore a troubled expression. “But… Just come and see.”

Decker dressed as quickly as he could and met her outside. During the short walk to where Titon stayed, Red was reluctant to speak.

“How is it that you were with him so early? Is that where you have been staying?”

Red took long enough to answer, and did so only with a nod. She seemed uncomfortable around him as well, which he supposed was rather understandable. It did not soften his feelings toward her, however.
Perhaps you should simply stay away from him. You have caused enough harm as it is.

It did not take them long to reach their destination, though the thick snow on the ground fought their every step. Upon entering the home, Decker had a sickening feeling in his gut. It felt as though he'd been here more recently than he had, and the air tasted of disease.

Relief flooded him when he saw Titon awake and sitting up in bed, his lower body covered by grey sheets that gave Decker unexplained comfort. With the exception of some darkness underneath, Titon's blue eyes looked alert and healthy, accented only by their distinctive flecks of silver.